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E v. I Ml' ■ ROtVTI.KLC'.ii, FAl.Jt N' -1 ' /N ;'l'REET. 



THE 


POETICAL WORKS 


OF 


JOHN DRYDEN; 


• 

CONTAINING 


ORIGINAL POEMS, TALES, AND TRANSLATIONS; 


WITH NOTES 


BY 


THE REV. JOSEPH WARTON, D.D. ; THE REV. JOHN WARTON, M.A. ; 


AND OTHERS. 


LONDON : 


ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE, 


FARRINGDON STREET. 


NEW YORK : 56, WALKER STREET. 


18G2. 



7$W 



i\ 



1 



^OrCj,- 






TO 



THE HON. MR. JUSTICE TALFOURD, D.C.L., 



THIS EDITION OF 



THE POETICAL WOEKS OE DKYDEN 



IS INSCRIBED 



THE PUBLISHER. 



March, 1851. 



CONTENTS. 



i. .:•!•. 



THE LIFE OF DEYDEN, BY DR. JOHNSON X 

UPON THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS 1 

VERSES TO J. HODDESDON 3 

HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL, WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL 4 
ASTR.EA REDUX; A POEM ON THE HAPPY RESTORATION AND RETURN OF HIS SACRED 

MAJESTY CHARLES II, 1660 7 

TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY ; A PANEGYRIC ON THE CORONATION OF KING CHARLES II. . 12 

TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE; PRESENTED ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1662 13 

SATIRE ON THE DUTCH, WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1662 15 

TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OF YORK, ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY GAINED 
BY THE DUKE OVER THE HOLLANDERS, JUNE 3, 1665, AND ON HER JOURNEY AFTER- 
WARDS INTO THE NORTH 16 

-ANNUS MIRABILIS; THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666; AN HISTORICAL POEM 17 

AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE, BY MR. DRYDEN AND THE EARL OF MULGRAVE .... 41 

ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL, PART 1 46 

PART II 64 

KEY TO ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL 77 

THE MEDAL ; A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION 78 

-RELIGIO LAICI ; OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH 84 

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS; A FUNERAL PINDARIC POEM, SACRED TO THE HAPPY MEMORY 

OF KING CHARLES II 94 

VERSES TO MR. J. NORTHLEIGH, AUTHOR OF THE PARALLEL, ON HIS TRIUMPH OF THE 

BRITISH MONARCHY 99 

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER; A POEM, IN THREE PARTS 100 

BRITANNIA REDIVIVA ; A POEM ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE 131 

MAC-FLECKNOE 135 

EPISTLES : 

TO MY HONOURED FRIEND, SIR ROBERT HOWARD, ON HIS EXCELLENT POEMS . . .138 

TO MY HONOURED FRIEND, DR. CHARLETON, ON HIS LEARNED AND USEFUL WORKS ; BUT 
MORE PARTICULARLY HIS TREATISE OF STONEHENGE, BY HIM RESTORED TO THE TRUE 

FOUNDER . . 139 



viii 



CONTENTS. 



EPISTLES— (Continued.) 

TO THE LADY CASTLEMAIN, UPON HER ENCOURAGING HIS FIRST PLAY . . . . 141 

TO MR. LEE, ON HIS ALEXANDER 141 

TO THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON, ON HIS EXCELLENT ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE . . 142 

TO THE DUCHESS OF YORK, ON HER RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, IN THE YEAR 1682 . . 143 

TO SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE 143 

TO MR. SOUTHERNE, ON HIS COMEDY CALLED, '''THE WIVES' EXCUSE" 144 

TO HENRY HIGDEN, ESQ., ON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL . 144 

TO MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. CONGREVE, ON HIS COMEDY, CALLED "THE DOUBLE DEALER" . 145 

TO MR. GRANVILLE, ON HIS EXCELLENT TRAGEDY, CALLED " HEROIC LOVE "... 146 

TO MY FRIEND, MR. MOTTEUX, ON HIS TRAGEDY, CALLED "BEAUTY IN DISTRESS" . . 146 

TO MY HONOURED KINSMAN, JOHN DRYDEN, OF CHESTERTON, IN THE COUNTY OF 

HUNTINGDON, ESQ 147 

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, PRINCIPAL PAINTER TO HIS MAJESTY 149 

ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS : 

TO THE MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM 151 

TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF THE ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY, MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW, 

EXCELLENT IN THE TWO SISTER ARTS OF POESY AND PAINTING. AN ODE . . . 151 

UPON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF DUNDEE 153 

ELEONORA ; A PANEGYRICAL POEM, DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE COUNTESS 

OF ABINGDON 154 

ON THE DEATH OF AMYNTAS; A PASTORAL ELEGY 159 

ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN 160 

UPON YOUNG MR. ROGERS, OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE 160 

ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL, SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BLOW 160 

EPITAPH ON THE LADY WHITMORE 161 

EPITAPH ON SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY 161 

UNDER MR. MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS "PARADISE LOST" 161 

ON THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY, WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE 

INTERRED 161 

EPITAPH ON MRS. MARGARET PASTON, OF BURNINGHAM, IN NORFOLK .... 162 

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER 162 

SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE : 

THE FAIR STRANGER, A SONG 163 

ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN 163 

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 " 163 

SONG. "FAREWELL, FAIR ARMIDA " 164 

THE LADY'S SONG ■ 164 

SONGS 165 

A SONG. TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING . . . 165 
ALEXANDER'S FEAST ; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC : AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S 

DAY 166 

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS, PARAPHRASED 168 

THE SECULAR MASQUE 168 

SONG OF A SCHOLAR AND HIS MISTRESS, WHO BEING CROSSED BY THEIR FRIENDS, FELL 

MAD FOR ONE ANOTHER, AND NOW FIRST MEET IN BEDLAM 169 



CONTENTS. ix 



TAOE 

SONGS AND ODES— (Continued.) 

SONGS IN THE "INDIAN EMPEROR " - 170 

SONG IN THE " MAIDEN QUEEN " 170 

SONG IN THE FIRST PART OP "THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA " 170 

SONG, IN TWO PARTS, IN THE SECOND PART OF "THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA " . .171 

SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN " AMBOYNA " 171 

INCANTATION IN " (EDIPUS " . . ■ 171 

SONGS IN "ALBION AND ALBANIUS " 172 

"KING ARTHUR" 172 

SONGS TO BRITANNIA, IN "KING ARTHUR" 173 

SONG OF JEALOUSY, IN "LOVE TRIUMPHANT" 173 

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES: 

PROLOGUE TO "THE RIVAL LADIES" '. 174 

"THE INDIAN QUEEN" 174 

EPILOGUE TO DITTO, SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA 175 

"THE INDIAN EMPEROR," BY A MERCURY 175 

PROLOGUE TO "SIR MARTIN MAR- ALL " 175 

"THE TEMPEST" ' . . . 175 

" TYRANNIC LOVE " 176 

EPILOGUE TO "THE WILD GALLANT," WHEN REVIVED 176 

PROLOGUE, SPOKEN THE FIRST DAY OF THE KING'S HOUSE ACTING AFTER THE FIRE . 176 

EPILOGUE TO THE SECOND PART OF "THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA " 177 

PROLOGUE TO " AMBOYNA " . 177 

EPILOGUE TO DITTO 177 

PROLOGUE SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE, MARCH 26TH, 1674 . . . 177 

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1674 ; SPOKEN BY MR. HART . . . . 178 

"CIRCE." BY DR. DAVENANT, 1675 179 

EPILOGUE INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY THE LADY HEN. MAR. WENTWORTH, 

WHEN "CALISTO" WAS ACTED AT COURT 179 

PROLOGUE TO "AURENGZEBE" 179 

EPILOGUE TO " THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, SIR FOPLING FLUTTER." BY SIR GEORGE ETHE- 

REGE, 1676 180 

EPILOGUE TO "ALL FOR LOVE " 180 

PROLOGUE TO " LIMBERHAM " 180 

EPILOGUE TO " MITHRIDATES, KING OF PONTUS." BY MR. N. LEE, 1678 .... 180 

PROLOGUE TO " (EDIPUS " 181 

EPILOGUE TO DITTO 181 

PROLOGUE TO " TROILUS AND CRESSIDA." SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON, REPRESENTING THE 

OHOST OF SHAKSPEARE 182 

PROLOGUE TO " OESAR BOROIA." BY MR. N. LEE, 1680 1S2 

" SOPHONISBA," AT OXFORD, 1680 182 

A PROLOGUE 183 

PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1681 188 

niS ROYAL HIGHNESS, UPON HIS FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE DUKE'S 

THEATRE, AFTER niS RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, 1682 184 



CONTENTS. 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES— (Continued.) 

prologue to "the earl of essex." by me. j. banks, 1682. spoken to the king 

and the queen at their coming to the house 184 

an epilogue for the king's house 184 

prologue to " the loyal brother; or, the persian prince." by mr. southerne, 1682 185 

'■ to the king and queen, upon the union op the two companies 

in 1682 185 

prologue to the university of oxford. spoken by mr. hart, at the acting of 

"the silent woman" . 186 

epilogue, spoken by the same 186 

at oxford, by mrs. marshall . 187 

prologues to the university of oxford . . 187 

prologue to "albion and albanius " 188 

epilogue to ditto 188 

prologue to "arviragus and philicia," revived. by lodowick carlell, esq. 

spoken by mr. hart 189 

prologue to "don sebastian." spoken by a woman 189 

" the prophetess." by beaumont and fletcher, revived by mr. dryden. 

spoken by mr. betterton 189 

prologue to "the mistakes" ... . 190 

" king arthur." spoken by mr. betterton 191 

epilogue to " henry ii." by mr. mountfort, 1693. spoken by mrs. bracegirdle . 191 

prologue to " albumazar " 191 

an epilogue 192 

epilogue to "the husband his own cuckold" 192 

prologue to "the pilgrim." revived for our author's benefit, anno 1700 . . 193 

epilogue to " the pilgrim " 193 

TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS, LUCRETIUS, AND HORACE : 

AMARYLLIS; OR, THE THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS, PARAPHRASED .... 201 
THE EPITHALAMIUM OF HELEN AND MENELAUS, FROM THE EIGHTEENTH IDYLLIUM OF 

THEOCRITUS 202 

THE DESPAIRING LOVER; FROM THE TWENTY-THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS. . . . 203 

THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCRETIUS 204 

SECOND BOOK OF LUCRETIUS 204 

THE LATTER PART OF THE THIRD BOOK OF LUCRETIUS, AGAINST THE FEAR OF DEATH . 205 

FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF LUCRETIUS 207 

THE THIRD ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE; INSCRIBED TO THE EARL OF 

ROSCOMMON, ON HIS INTENDED VOYAGE TO IRELAND 208 

THE NINTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE 208 

THE TWENTY-NINTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE ; PARAPHRASED IN PINDARIC 

VERSE, AND INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. LAURENCE, EARL OF ROCHESTER . . 209 

THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE 210 

FABLES : 

TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ORMOND , .211 

PREFACE PREFIXED TO THE FABLES . . 214 



CONTENTS. 



FABLES— ( Continued.) 

TO UEK GKACE THE DUCHESS OP ORMOND 224 

PALAMON AND ARCITE ; OB, THE KNIGHT'S TALE. BOOK 1 226 

. BOOK II 231 

book m. ...... 238 

THE COCK AND THE FOX ; OE, THE TALE OP THE NUN'S PRIEST 249 

THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF ; OR, THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR. A VISION . . . . 256 

THE WIPE OF BATH, HER TALE 262 

THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON 267 

TRANSLATIONS FROM BOCCACE : 

SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO 268 

THEODORE AND HONORIA 275 

CYMON AFD IPHIGENIA 278 

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S METAMORPHOSES : 

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD RADCLIFFE 284 

THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES 289 

MELEAGER AND ATALANTA, OUT OF THE EIGHTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES . . 298 

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON, OUT OF THE EIGHTH BOOK OF OVIDS METAMORPHOSES . . . 301 

THE FABLE OF IPHIS AND IANTHE, FROM THE NINTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES . 303 

PYGMALION AND THE STATUE, FROM THE TENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES . . 305 

CINYRAS AND MYRRHA, OUT OF THE TENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES . . . 306 

CEYX AND ALCYONE, OUT OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES . . . 309 
jESACUS TRANSFORMED INTO A CORMORANT, FROM THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF OVID'S 

METAMORPHOSES 313 

THE TWELFTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES WHOLLY TRANSLATED . . . .313 

THE SPEECHES OF AJAX AND ULYSSES, FROM THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S 

METAMORPHOSES 320 

THE STORY OF ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA, FROM THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S 

METAMORPHOSES 325 

OF THE PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY, FROM THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES 327 

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S EPISTLES: 

PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES 333 

CANACE TO MACAREUS. EPIST. XI. 338 

HELEN TO PARIS. EPIST. XVII 339 

DIDO TO iENEAS. EPIST. VII. 341 

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S ART OF LOVE: 

THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S ART OF LOVE 343 

FROM OVID'S AMOURS. BOOK I. ELEG. 1 350 

BOOK I. ELEG. 4 350 

BOOK II. ELEG. 19 351 

TRANSLATIONS FROM JUVENAL: 

A DISCOURSE CONCERNING THE ORIGINAL AND PROGRESS OF SATIRE 352 

THE FIRST SATIRE 389 

THE THIRD SATIRE 392 

THE SIXTH SATIBE 397 



xii CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

TRANSLATIONS FROM JUVENAL— (Continued.) 

THE TENTH SATIRE . . . . 405 

THE SIXTEENTH SATIRE 411 

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS : 

THE FIRST SATIRE 412 

THE FIRST SATIRE. IN DIALOGUE BETWIXT THE POET AND HIS FRIEND OE MONITOR . 413 

THE SECOND SATIRE • 416 

THE THIRD SATIRE 418 

THE FOURTH SATIRE 420 

THE FIFTH SATIRE. INSCRIBED TO THE REV. DR. BUSBY ....... 422 

THE SIXTH SATIRE. TO CiESIUS BASSUS, A LYRIC POET . 425 

TRANSLATIONS FROM HOMER: 

THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS . . . 428 

THE LAST PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE, FROM THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD 435 

THE ART OF POETRY: 

CANTO 1 437 

CANTO II 439 

canto m. . . 440 

canto rv. 444 







THE LIFE OF DRYDEN, 

BY DR. JOHNSON. 



QF the great poet whose life I am about to delineate, the curiosity which his reputation must 

excite will require a display more ample than can now be given. His contemporaries, 
however they reverenced Ms genius, left his life unwritten ; and nothing therefore can be 
known beyond what casual mention and uncertain tradition have supplied. 

John Dryden was born August 9, 1631,* at Aldwinkle near Oundle, the son of Erasmus 
Dryden of Titchmersh ; who was the third son of Sir Erasmus Dryden, baronet, of Canons 
Ashby. All these places are in Northamptonshire ; but the original stock of the family was 
in the county of Huntingdon.t 

He is reported by his last biographer, Derrick, to have inherited from his father an estate 
of two hundred a year, and to have been bred, as was said, an Anabaptist. For either of 
these particulars no authority is given. Such a fortune ought to have secured him from that 
poverty which seems always to have oppressed him ; or, if he had wasted it, to have made 
him ashamed of publishing his necessities. But though he had many enemies, who undoubt- 
edly examined his life with a scrutiny sufficiently malicious, I do not remember that he is 
ever charged with waste of his patrimony. He was indeed sometimes reproached for his 
iirst religion. I am therefore inclined to believe that Derrick's intelligence was partly true, 
and partly erroneous.! 

From Westminster school, where he was instructed as one of the Bang's Scholars by 
Dr. Busby, whom he long after continued to reverence, he was in 1650 elected to one of the 
Westminster scholarships at C'ambridge.§ 

Of his school performances has appeared only a poem on the death of Lord Hastings, 
composed with great ambition of such conceits as, notwithstanding the reformation begun by 
Waller and Denham, the example of Cowley still kept in reputation. Lord Hastings died 
of the small pox ; and his poet has made of the pustules, first rosebuds, and then gems ; at 
last he exalts them into stars ; and says, — 

" No comet need forctel his change drew on, 
Whose corpse might seem a constellation." 

At the university he does not appear to have been eager of poetical distinction, or to 
have lavished his early wit either on fictitious subjects or public occasions. He probably 

• Mr. Malone lias lately proved that there is no satisfactory evidence for this date. The inscription on Dryden'a 
monument says only nnlws 1632. See Malone's Life of Dryden, prefixed to his " Critical and Miscellaneous Prose Works." 
p. 6. note.— C. t Of Cumberland. Ihid. p. 10.— C. 

\ Mr. Derrick's Life of Dryden was prefixed to a very lieautiful and correct edition of Dryden'a Miscellanies, published 
by the Tonsons in 1760, 1 vols.8vo. Derrick's part, however, was poorly executed, and the edition never became p ipul ur. — C. 

| Ho went off to Trinity College, and was admit tod to a llachclor's Degree in Jan. 1653-1, and in Hi.">7 was made M \. C 

b 



LIFE OF DKYDEN. 



considered, that he, who proposed to be an author, ought first to he a student. He obtained, 
whatever was the reason, no fellowship in the College. Why he was excluded cannot now 
be known-, and it is vain to guess ; had he thought himself injured, he knew how to complain. 
In the Life of Plutarch he mentions his education in the College with gratitude ; but, in a 
prologue at Oxford, he has these lines : 

" Oxford to him a dearer name shall he 
Than his own mother-university ; 
Thehes did his rude, unknowing youth engage ; 
He chooses Athens in his riper age." 

It was not till the death of Cromwell, in 1658, that he became a public candidate for fame, 
by publishing Heroic Stanzas on the late Lord Protector ; which, compared with the verses of 
Sprat and Waller on the same occasion, were sufficient to raise great expectations of the 
rising poet. 

When the king was restored, Dryden, like the other panegyrists of usurpation, changed 
his opinion, or his profession, and published Astrea Eedux ; a Poem on the happy Restora- 
tion and Return of his most sacred Majesty King Charles the Second. 

The reproach of inconstancy was, on this occasion, shared with such numbers, that it 
produced neither hatred nor disgrace ; if he changed, he changed with the nation. It was, 
however, not totally forgotten when his reputation raised him enemies. 

The same year he praised the new king in a second poem on his restoration. In the 
Astrea was the line, 

" An horrid stillness first invades the ear, 
And in that silence we a tempest fear — " 

for which he was persecuted with perpetual ridicule, perhaps with more than was deserved. 
Silence is indeed mere privation ; and, so considered, cannot invade ; but privation likewise 
certainly is darkness, and probably cold ; yet poetry has never been refused the right of 
ascribing effects or agency to them as to .positive powers. Wo man scruples to say that 
darkness hinders him from his work ; or that cold has killefy the plants. Death is also 
privation ; yet who has made any difficulty of assigning to Death a dart and the power of 
striking 1 

In settling the order of his works there is some difficulty ; for, even when they are im- 
portant enough to be formally offered to a patron, he does not commonly date his dedication ; 
the time of writing and publishing is not always the same ; nor can the first editions be 
easily found, if even from them could be obtained the necessary information* 

The time at which his first play was exhibited is not certainly known, because it was 
not printed till it was, some years afterwards, altered and revived ; but since the plays are 
said to be printed in the order in which they were written, from the dates of some, those of 
others may be inferred ; and thus it may be collected, that in 1663, in the thirty-second year 
of his life, he commenced a writer for the stage ; compelled undoubtedly by necessity, for he 
appears never to have loved that exercise of his genius, or to have much pleased himself with 
his own dramas. 

Of the stage, when he had once invaded it, he kept possession for many years ; not indeed 
without the competition of rivals who sometimes prevailed, or the censure of critics, which 
was often poignant, and often just ; but with such a degree of reputation as made him at 
least secure of being heard, whatever might be the final determination of the public. 

His first piece was a comedy called the Wild Gallant. He began with no happy auguries ; 
for his performance was so much disapproved, that he was compelled to recal it, and change it 
from its imperfect state to the form in which it now appears, and which is yet sufficiently 
defective to vindicate the critics. 

* The order of his plays has heen accurately ascertained hy Mr. Malone. — C. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



I wish that there were no necessity of following the progress of his theatrical fame, or 
tracing the meanders of his mind through the whole series of his dramatic performances ; it 
will he fit, however, to enumerate them, and to take especial notice of those that are distin- 
guished by any peculiarity, intrinsic or concomitant ; for the composition and fate of eight- 
and-twenty dramas include too much of a poetical life to be omitted. 

In 1664 he published the Rival Ladies, which he dedicated to the Earl of Orrery, a man 
of high reputation, both as a writer and as a statesman. In this play he made his essay of 
dramatic rhyme, which he defends, in his dedication, with sufficient certainty of a favourable 
hearing ; for Orrery was himself a writer of rhyming tragedies. 

He then joined with Sir Robert Howard in the Indian Queen, a tragedy in rhyme. The 
parts which either of them wrote are not distinguished. 

The Indian Emperor was published in 1667. It is a tragedy in rhyme, intended for a 
sequel to Howard's Indian Queen. Of this connection notice was given to the audience by 
printed bills, distributed at the door ; an expedient supposed to be ridiculed in the Rehearsal, 
where Bayes tells how many reams he has printed, to instil into the audience some conception 
of his plot. 

In this play is the description of Night, which Eymer has made famous by preferring it 
to those of all other poets. 

The practice of making tragedies in rhyme was introduced soon after the Restoration, as 
it seems by the Earl of Orrery, in compliance with the opinion of Charles the Second, who 
had formed his taste by the French theatre ; and Dryden, who wrote, and made no difficulty 
of declaring that he wrote only to please, and who perhaps knew that by his dexterity of 
versification he was more likely to excel others in rhyme than without it, very readily 
adopted his master's preference. He therefore made rhyming tragedies, till, by the pre- 
valence of manifest propriety, he seems to have grown ashamed of making them any longer. 

To this play is prefixed a very vehement defence of dramatic rhyme, in confutation of 
the preface to the Duke of Lerma, in which Sir Robert Howard had censured it. 

In 1667 he published Annus Mirabilis, the Year of Wonders, which may be esteemed one 
of liis most elaborate works. 

It is addressed to Sir Robert Howard by a letter, which is not properly a dedication ; 
and, writing to a poet, he has interspersed many critical observations, of which some are 
common, and some perhaps ventured without much consideration. He began, even now, to 
exercise the domination of conscious genius, by recommending his own performance : " I am 
satisfied that as the Prince and General [Rupert and Monk] are incomparably the best sub- 
jects I ever had, so what I have written on them is much better than what I have perfonned 
on any other. As I have endeavoured to adorn my poem with noble thoughts, so much more 
to express those thoughts with elocution." 

It is written in quatrains, or heroic stanzas of four lines ; a measure which he had learned 
from the Oondibert of Davenant, and which he then thought the most majestic that the Eng- 
lish language affords. Of this stanza he mentions the incumbrances, increased as they were 
by the exactness which the age required. It was, throughout his life, very much his custom 
to recommend his works by representation of the difficulties that he had encountered, without 
appearing to have sufficiently considered, that where there is no difficulty there is no praise. 

There seems to be, in the conduct of Sir Robert Howard and Dryden towards each other, 
something that is not now easily to be explained. Dryden, in his dedication to the Earl of 
Orrery, had defended dramatic rhyme ; and Howard, in the preface to a collection of plays, 
had censured his opinion. Dryden vindicated himself in his Dialogue on Dramatic Poetry : 
Howard, in his preface to the Duke of Lerma, animadverted on the Vindication ; and Dryden, 
in a preface to the Indian Emperor, replied to the Animadversions with great asperity, and 
almost with contumely. The dedication to this play is dated the year in which the Annua 
HfirabUia was published. Here appears a strange inconsistency ; but Langbaine affords some 
help, by relating that the answer to Howard was not published in the first edition of the 

12 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



play, but was added when it was afterwards reprinted ; and as the Duke of Lerrna did not 
appear till 1668, the same year in which the dialogue was published, there was time enough 
for enmity to grow up between authors, who, writing both for the theatre, were naturally 
rivals. 

He was now so much distinguished, that in 1668* he succeeded Sir "William Davenant as 
poet laureat. The salary of the laureat had been raised in favour of Jonson, by Charles the 
First, from an hundred marks to one hundred pounds a year, and a tierce of wine ; a revenue 
in those days not inadequate to the conveniences of life. 

The same year, he published his essay on Dramatic Poetry, an elegant and instructive 
dialogue, in which we are told, by Prior, that the principal character is meant to represent 
the Duke of Dorset. This work seems to have given Addison a model for his Dialogues 
upon Medals. 

Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen (1668), is a tragi-comedy. In the preface he discusses a 
curious question, whether a poet can judge well of his own productions 1 and determines 
very justly, that, of the plan and disposition, and all that can be reduced to principles of 
science, the author may depend upon his own opinion ; but that, in those parts where fancy 
predominates, self-love may easily deceive. He might have observed, that what is good only 
because it pleases, cannot be pronounced good till it has been found to please. 

Sir Martin Marr-all (1668) is a comedy, published without preface or dedication, and at 
first without the name of the author. Langbaine charges it, like most of the rest, with 
plagiarism ; and observes, that the song is translated from Voiture, allowing however that 
both the sense and measure are exactly observed. 

The Tempest (1670) is an alteration of Shakspeare's play, made by Dryden in conjunction 
with Davenant ; " whom," says he, " I found of so quick a fancy, that nothing was proposed 
to him in which he could not suddenly produce a thought extremely pleasant and surprising ; 
and those first thoughts of his, contrary to the Latin proverb, were not always the least 
happy ; and as his fancy was quick, so likewise were the products of it remote and new. He 
borrowed not of any other ; and his imaginations were such as could not easily enter into any 
other man." 

The effect produced by the conjunction of these two powerful minds was, that to Shak- 
speare's monster, Caliban, is added a sister monster, Sycorax ; and a woman, who, in the 
original play, had never seen a man, is in this brought acquainted with a man that had never 
seen a woman. 

About this time, in 1673, Dryden seems to have had his quiet much disturbed by the 
success of the Empress of Morocco, a tragedy written in rhyme by Elhanah Settle ; which was 
so much applauded, as to make him think his supremacy of reputation in some danger. 
Settle had not only been prosperous on the stage, but, in the confidence of success, had 
published his play, with sculptures and a preface of defiance. Here was one offence added 
to another ; and, for the last blast of inflammation, it was acted at Whitehall by the court- 
ladies. 

Dryden could not now repress those emotions, which he called indignation, and others 
jealousy ; but wrote upon the play and the dedication such criticism as malignant impatience 
could pour out in haste. 

Of Settle he gives this character : " He 's an animal of a most deplored understanding, 
without reading and conversation. His being is in a twilight of sense, and some glimmering 
of thought which he can never fashion into wit or English. His style is boisterous and 
rough-hewn, his rhyme incorrigibly lewd, and his numbers perpetually harsh and ill-sounding. 
The little talent which he has, is fancy. He sometimes labours with a thought ; bat, with 
the pudder he makes to bring it into the world, 'tis commonly still-born ; so that, for want 

* He did not obtain the Laurel till August 18, 1670, but, Mr. Malone informs us, the patent had a retrospect, and the 
salary commenced from the Midsummer after D'Avenant's death.— C. 



LIFE OP DRYDKN. 



of learning and elocution, he will never be able to express anything either naturally or 

justly." 

This is not very decent ; yet this is one of the pages in which criticism prevails over 
brutal fury. 

He proceeds : "He has a heavy hand at fools, and a great felicity in writing nonsense for 
them. Fools they will be in spite of him. His King, his two Empresses, his Villain, and 
his Sub-villain, nay his Hero, have all a certain natural cast of the father— their father was 
born and bred in them, and something of the Elkanah will be visible." 

This is Dryden's general declamation ; I will not withhold from the reader a particular 
remark. Having gone through the first act, he says, " To conclude this act with the most 
rumbling piece of nonsense spoken yet : — 

" ' To flattering lightning our feign'd smiles conform, 
AVhich, back'd with thunder, do but gild a storm.' 

" Conform a smile to lightning, make a smile imitate lightning, and flattering lightning : 
lightning sure is a threatening thing. And this lightning mustgilda storm. Now, if I must con- 
form my smiles to lightning, then my smiles must gild a storm too : to gild with smiles, is a new 
bx\ intion of gilding. And gild a storm by being backed with thunder. Thunder is part of the 
storm ; so one part of the storm must help to gild another part, and help by backing; as if a man 
would gild a thing the better for being backed, or having a load upon Ms back. So that here is 
gilding by conforming, smiling, lightning, backing, and thundering. The whole is as if I should 
say thus : I will make my counterfeit smiles look like a flattering stone-horse, which, being 
backed with a trooper, does but gild the battle. I am mistaken if nonsense is not here pretty 
thick sown. Sure the poet writ these two lines a-board some smack in a storm, and, beino- 
sea-sick, spewed up a good lump of clotted nonsense at once." 

Here is perhaps a sufficient specimen ; but as the pamphlet, though Dryden's, has never 
been thought worthy of republication, and is not easily to be found, it may gratify curiosity 
to quote it more largely : — 

" ' Whene'er she bleeds, 

lie no severer a damnation needs, 

That dares pronounce the senteuce of her death, 

Than the infection that attends that breath.' 

" That attends that breath. — The poet is at breath again ; breath can never 'scape him ; and 
here he brings in a breath that must be infectious with pro7iouncing a sentence ; and this 
sentence is not to be pronounced tdl the condemned party bleeds; that is, she must lie 
executed first, and sentenced after ; and the pronouncing of this sentence will be infectious ; 
that is, others will catch the disease of that sentence, and this infecting of others will torment 
a man's self. The whole is thus ; when she bleeds, thou needest no greater hell or torment to 
thyself, than infecting of others by pronouncing a sentence upon her. What hodge podge does 
!"■ make here ! Never was Dutch grout such clogging, thick, indigestible stuff. But this is 
but a taste to stay the stomach ; we shall have a more plentiful mess presently. 
"Now to dish up the poet's broth, that I promised :— 

" ' For when we 're dead, and our freed souls enlarged, 
of nature's grosser burden we're discharged. 
Then, gentle as a happy lover's sigh, 
Like wiiud'ring meteors through the air we'll fly. 
And in our airy walk, as subtle guests, 
We'll steal into our cruel fathers' breasts, 
There read (heir souls, and track each passion's sphere, 
Sec how Revenge moves there, Ambition here ; 
Ami in their orbs \ iru (lie dark characters 
Of sieges, ruins, murders, blood, ami wars. 
W e M blol out ail those hideous draughts, ami write 

Pure and white forms; then with a radiant light 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



Their breasts encircle, till their passions be 

Gentle as nature in its infancy ; 

Till, soften'd by our charms, their furies cease, 

And their revenge resolves into a peace. 

Thus by our death their quarrel ends, 

Whom living we made, foes, dead we'll make friends.' 

" If this be not a very liberal mess, I will refer myself to the stomach of any moderate guest. 
And a rare mess it is, far excelling any Westminster white-broth. It is a kind of giblet 
porridge, made of the giblets of a couple of young geese, stogged full of meteors, orbs, spheres, 
track, hideous draughts, dark characters, white forms, and radiant lights, designed not only to 
please appetite, and indulge luxury, but it is also physical, being an approved medicine to 
purge choler ; for it is propounded, by Morena, as a receipt to cure their fathers of their 
choleric humours ; and, were it written in characters as barbarous as the words, might very 
well pass for a doctor's bill. To conclude : it is porridge, 'tis a receipt, 'tis a pig with a 
pudding in the belly, 'tis I know not what : for, certainly, never any one that pretended to 
write sense had the impudence before to put such stuff as this into the mouths of those that 
were to speak it before an audience, whom he did not take to be all fools ; and after that to 
print it too, and expose it to the examination of the world. But let us see what we can 
make of this stuff : — 

" ' For when we 're dead, and our freed souls enlarged — ' 

Here he tells us what it is to be dead ; it is to have our freed souls set free. Now, if to have 
a soul set free, is to be dead ; then to have & freed soul set free, is to have a dead man die. 

" ' Then, gently as a happy lover's sigh ' 

They two like one sigh, and that one sigh like two wandering meteors, 

" ' Shall fly through the air ' 

That is, they shall mount above like falling stars, or else they shall skip like two jacks with 
Ian thorns, or Will with a whisp, and Madge with a candle. 

" And in their airy walk steal into their cruel fathers' breasts, like subtle guests. — So that their 
fathers' breasts must be in an airy walk, an airy walk of a flier. And there they will read their 
souls, and track the spheres of their passions. That is, these walking fliers, Jack with a 
lanthorn, &c, will put on his spectacles, and fall a reading souls, and put on his pumps and 
fall a tracking of spheres : so that he will read and run, walk and fly, at the same time ! Oh ! 

nimble Jack ! Then he will see, how revenge here, how ambition there The birds will hop 

about. And then view the dark characters of sieges, ruins, murders, blood, and wars, in their 
orbs : Track the characters to their forms ! Oh ! rare sport for Jack ! Never was place so 
full of game as these breasts ! You cannot stir, but flush a sphere, start a character, or 
unkennel an orb !" 

Settle's is said to have been the first play embellished with sculptures ; those ornaments 
seem to have given poor Dryden great disturbance. He tries however to ease his pain by 
venting his malice in a parody. 

" The poet has not only been so imprudent to expose all this stuff, but so arrogant to 
defend it with an epistle ; like a saucy booth-keeper, that, when he had put a cheat upon 
the people, would wrangle and fight with any that would not like it, or would offer to 
discover it ; for which arrogance our poet receives this correction ; and, to jerk him a little 
the sharper, I will not transpose his verse, but by the help of his own words transnonsense 
sense, that by my stuff, people may judge the better what is his : — 

" Great Boy, thy tragedy and sculptures done, 
From press and plates, in fleets do homeward run ; 
And, in ridiculous and humble pride, 
Their course in ballad-singers' baskets guide, 



LIFE OP DRYDKN. 



Wliose greasy twigs do all new beauties take, 

From the gay shows thy dainty sculptures make. 

Thy lines a mess of rhyming nonsense yield, 

A senseless tale, with flattering fustian fill'd. 

No grain of sense does in one line appear, 

Thy words big bulks of boisterous bombast bear. 

With noise they move, and from players' mouths rebound, 

When their tongues dance to thy words' empty sound, 

By thee inspired the rumbling verses roll, 

As if that rhyme and bombast lent a soul ; 

And with that soul they seem taught duty too; 

To huffing words does humble nonsense bow, 

As if it would thy worthless worth enhance, 

To th' lowest rank of fops thy praise advance, 

To whom, by instinct, all thy stuff is dear : 

Their loud claps echo to the theatre. 

From breaths of fools thy commendation spreads, 

Fame sings thy praise with mouths of logger-heads. 

With noise and laughing each thy fustian greets, 

'Tis clapp'd by choirs of empty-headed cits, 

Who have their tribute sent, and homage given, 

As men in whispers send loud noise to Heaven. 

" Thus I have daubed him with his own puddle : and now we are come from aboard his 
dancing, masking, rebounding, breathing fleet : and, as if we had landed at Gotham, we meet 
nothing but fools and nonsense." 

Such was the criticism to which the genius of Dryden could be reduced, between rao-e 
and terror ; rage with little provocation, and terror with little danger. To see the highest 
mind thus levelled with the meanest, may produce some solace to the consciousness of 
weakness, and some mortification to the pride of wisdom. But let it be remembered that 
minds are not levelled in their powers but when they are first levelled in their desires. 
Dryden and Settle had both placed their happiness in the claps of multitudes. 

An Evening's Love, or The Mock Astrologer, a comedy (1671), is dedicated to the illustrious 
Duke of Newcastle, whom he courts by adding to his praises those of his lady, not only as 
a lover, but a partner of his studies. It is unpleasing to think how many names once 
celebrated, are since forgotten. Of Newcastle's works nothing is now known but his 
Treatise on Horsemanship. 

The Preface seems very elaborately written, and contains many just remarks on the 
Fathers of the English drama. Shakspeare's plots, he says, are in the hundred novels 
of Cinthio; those of Beaumont and Fletcher in Spanish stories ; Jonson only made them for 
himself. His criticisms upon tragedy, comedy, and farce, are judicious and profound. He 
endeavours to defend the i m morality of some of his comedies by the example of former 
writers ; which is only to say, that he was not the first nor perhaps the greatest offender. 
Against those that accused him of plagiarism he alleges a favourable expression of the king : 
" He only desired, that they who accuse me of thefts, would steal him plays like mine ; " and 
then relates how much labour he spends in fitting for the English stage what he borrows 
from others. 

Tyrannic Love, or the Virgin Martyr (1672), was another tragedy in rhyme, conspicuous 
for many passages of strength and elegance, and many of empty noise and ridiculous 
turbulence. The rants of Maximin have been always the sport of criticism ; and were at 
length, if his own confession may be trusted, the shame of the writer. 

Of this play he has taken care to let the reader know, that it was contrived and written 
in seven weeks. Want of time was often his excuse, or perhaps shortness of time was his 
private boast in the form of an apology. 

It was written before The Conquest of Oranada, but published after it. The design is to 
recommend piety. " I considered that pleasure was not the only end of Poesy ; and that 
even the instructions of morality were not so wholly the business of a poet, as that 
the precepts and examples of piety were to be omitted; for to leave that employment 
altogether to the clergy, were to forget that religion was fust taught in verse, which the 



LIFE OF DEYDEN. 



laziness or dulness of succeeding priesthood turned afterwards into prose." Thus foolishly 
could Dryden write, rather than not show his malice to the parsons.* 

The two parts of The Conquest of Granada (1672) are written with a seeming determina- 
tion to glut the public with dramatic wonders, to exhibit in its highest elevation a theatrical 
meteor of incredible love and impossible valour, and to leave no room for a wilder flight to 
the extravagance of posterity. All the rays of romantic heat, whether amorous or warlike, 
glow in Almanzor by a kind of concentration. He is above all laws ; he is exempt from all 
restraints ; he ranges the world at will, and governs wherever he appears. He fights 
without inquiring the cause, and loves in spite of the obligations of justice, of rejection by 
his mistress, and of prohibition from the dead. Yet the scenes are, for the most part, 
delightful ; they exhibit a kind of illustrious depravity, and majestic madness, such as, if it 
is sometimes despised, is often reverenced, and in which the ridiculous is mingled with the 
astonishing. 

In the Epilogue to the second part of The Conquest of Granada, Dryden indulges his 
favourite pleasure of discrediting his predecessors ; and this Epilogue he has defended by a 
long postscript. He had promised a second dialogue, in which he should more fully treat of 
the virtues and faults of the English poets, who have written in the dramatic, epic, or lyric 
way. This promise was never formally performed ; but, with respect to the dramatic writers, 
he has given us in his prefaces, and in this postscript, something equivalent ; but his purpose 
being to exalt himself by the comparison, he shows faults distinctly, and only praises 
excellence in general terms. 

A play thus written, in professed defiance of probability, naturally drew upon itself the 
vultures of the theatre. One of the critics that attacked it was Martin Clifford, to whom Sprat 
addressed the Life of Cowley, with such veneration of his critical powers as might naturally 
excite great expectations of instructions from his remarks. But let honest credulity beware 
of receiving characters from contemporary writers. Clifford's remarks, by the favour of 
Dr. Percy, were at last obtained ; and, that no man may ever want them more, I will extract 
enough to satisfy all reasonable desire. 

In the first Letter his observation is only general ; " You do live," says he, " in as much 
ignorance and darkness as you did in the womb ; your writings are like a Jack-of-all-trade's 
shop ; they have a variety, but nothing of value ; and if thou art not the dullest plant- 
animal that ever the earth produced, all that I have conversed with are strangely mistaken 
in thee." 

In the second he tells him that Almanzor is not more copied from Achilles than from 
Ancient Pistol. " But I am," says he, " strangely mistaken if I have not seen this very 
Almanzor of yours in some disguise about this town, and passing under another name. 
Pr'ythee tell me true, was not this Huffcap once the Indian Emperor ? and at another time 
did he not call himself Maximin ? "Was not Lyndaraxa once called Almeria ? I mean under 
Montezuma the Indian Emperor. I protest and vow they are either the same, or so alike, 
that I cannot, for my heart, distinguish one from the other. You are therefore a strange 
unconscionable thief; thou art not content to steal from others, but dost rob thy poor 
wretched self too." 

Now was Settle's time to take his revenge. He wrote a vindication of his own fines ; 
and, if he is forced to yield any thing, makes his reprisals upon his enemy. To say that 

* So fond was he of opportunity to gratify his spleen against the clergy, -that he scrupled not to convert Chaucer's 
images, in the Knighte's Tale, of " The smiler with the knif under the cloke," and of " Conteke with hlody knif," into 
these satires on the Church. See Warton's Hist Eng. Poetry, vol. i. p. 358. 

" Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer, 
Soft-smiling, and demurely looking down, 
But hid the dagger underneath the gown. 
Contest with sharpened knives in cloisters drawn, 
And all with blood bespread the holy lawn." — T 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



his answer is equal to the censure, is no high commendation. To expose Dryden's method of 
analysing his expressions, he tries the same experiment upon the same description of the 
ships in the Indian Emperor, of which however he does not deny the excellence ; but intends 
to show, that by studied misconstruction every thing may be equally represented as ridi- 
culous. After so much of Dryden's elegant animadversions, justice requires that something 
of Settle's shoidd be exhibited. The following observations are therefore extracted from a 
quarto pamphlet of ninety-five pages : — 

" ' Fate after him below with pain did move, 
And victory could scarce keep pace above.' 

" These two lines, if he can show me any sense or thought in, or anything but bombast and 
noise, he shall make me bebeve every word in his observations on Morocco sense." 
In Tlie Empress of Morocco were these lines : — 

"I'll travel then to some remoter sphere. 
Till I find out new worlds, and crown you there." 

On which Dryden made this remark : — 

" I believe our learned author takes a sphere for a country ; the sphere of Morocco ; as if 
Morocco were the globe of earth and water ; but a globe is no sphere neither, by his leave," 
&e. "So sphere must not be sense, unless it relates to a circular motion about a globe, in 
which sense the astronomers use it. I would desire him to expound those lines in 
Granada : — 

" ' I '11 to the turrets of the palace go, 

And add new fire to those that fight below. 
Thence, Hero-like, with torches by my side, 
(Far be the omen though) my love I '11 guide. 
No, like his better fortune I '11 appear, 
With open arms, loose veil, and flowing hair, 
Just flying forward from my rowling sphere.' 

" I wonder, if he be so strict, how he dares make so bold with sphere himself, and be so 
critical in other men's writings. Fortune is fancied standing on a globe, not on a sphere, as 
he told us in the first act. 

"Because ElkanaKs Similes are the most unlike things to what they are compared in the 
world, I '11 venture to start a simile in his Annus Miralilis : he gives this poetical description 
of the ship called the London: — 

" ' The goodly London in her gallant trim, 

i Tin' Phoenix daughter of the vanquished old,) 
Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim, 
And on her shadow rides in floating gold. 

" ' Her flag aloft spread ruffling in the wind, 

And sanguine streamers seem the flood to fire: 
The weaver, charm'd with what his loom design'd, 
Goes on to sea, and knows not to retire. 

■ ' With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, 

Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves : 
Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, 
She seems a sea-wasp flying on the waves.' 

" What a wonderful pother is here, to make all these poetical beautifications of a ship ; 
that is, aphosnix in the first stanza, and but a wasp in the last ; nay, to make his humble 
comparison of a wasp more ridiculous, he does not say it flies upon the waves as ninilily as a 
wasp, or the like, but it seemed a wasp. But our author at the writing of this was not in 
his altitudes, to compare ships to floating palaces: a comparison to the purpose, was a 
perfection he did not arrive to till the Indian Emperor's days. But perhaps his similitude 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



has more in it than we imagine ; this ship had a great many guns in her, and they, put 
all together, made the sting in the wasp's tail : for this is all the reason I can guess, 
why it seemed a wasp. But, because we will allow him all we can to help out, let it 
be a phmnix sea-wasp, and the rarity of such an animal may do much towards heightening 
the fancy. 

" It had been much more to his purpose, if he had designed to render the senseless play 
little, to have searched for some such pedantry as this : — 

" ' Two ifa scarce make one possibility. 
If justice will take all and nothing give, 
Justice, metliinks, is not distributive. 
To die or kill you is the alternative. 
Rather than take your life, I will not live.' 

" Observe how prettily our author chops logick in heroick verse. Three such fustian 
canting words as distributive, alternative, and two ifs, no man but himself would have come 
within the noise of. But he's a man of general learning, and all comes into his play. 

" 'T would have done well too if he could have met with the rant or two worth the 
observation : such as, 

" ' Move swiftly, Sun, and fly a lover's pace, 

Leave months and weeks behind thee in thy race.' 

" But surely the Sun, whether he flies a lover's or not a lover's pace, leaves weeks and 
months, nay years too, behind him in his race. 

" Poor Robin, or any of the Philo-mathematicks, would have given him satisfaction in the 
point. 

" ' If I could kill thee now, thy fate 's so low, 
That I must stoop, ere I can give the blow. 
But mine is fixt so far above thy crown, 
That all thy men, 
Piled on thy back, can never pull it down.' 

" Now where that is, Almanzor's fate js fixt, I cannot guess : but, wherever it is, I believe 
Almanzor, and think that all Abdalla's subjects, piled upon one another, might not pull 
down his fate so well as without piling : besides I think Abdalla so wise a man, that, if 
Almanzor had told him piling his men upon his back might do the feat, he would scarcely 
bear such a weight for the pleasure of the exploit ; but it is a huff, and let Abdalla do it if 
he dare. 

" ' The people like a headlong torrent go, 
And every dam they break or overflow. 
But, unopposed, they either lose their force, 
- Or wind in volumes to their former course :' 

" A very pretty allusion, contrary to all sense or reason. Torrents, I take it, let them 
wind never so much, can never return to their former course, unless he can suppose that 
fountains can go upwards, which is impossible ; nay more, in the foregoing page he tells us so 
too ; a trick of a very unfaithful memory. 

" ' But can no more than fountains upward flow;' . 

which of a torrent, which signifies a rapid stream, is much more impossible. Besides, if 
he goes to quibble, and say that it is possible by art water may be made return, and the 
same water run twice in one and the same channel ; then he quite confutes what he says : 
for it is by being opposed, that it runs into its former course ; for all engines that make 
water so return, do it by compulsion and opposition. Or, if he means a headlong torrent for 
a tide, which would be ridiculous, yet they do not wind in volumes, but come fore-right back 



LIFE OF DRYDEN". 



(if their upright lies straight to their former course), and that by opposition of the sea-water, 
that drives them back again. 

" And for fancy, when he lights of any thing like it, 'tis a wonder if it be not borrowed. 
A a here, for example of, I find this fanciful thought in his Ann. Mirab. 

" ' Old father Thames raised up his reverend head, 
But fear'd the fate of Simois would return; 
Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, 
And shrunk his waters back into his urn.' 



" This is stolen from Cowley's Davideis, p. 9. 



" ' Swift Jordan started, and straight backward fled, 
Hiding amongst thick reeds his aged head.' 

" And when the Spaniards their assault begin, 
At once beat those without and those within.' 

" This Almanzor speaks of himself ; and sure for one man to conquer an army within the 
city, and another without the city, at once, is something difficult : but this flight is pardon- 
able to some we meet with in Granada : Osmin, speaking of Almanzor, 

" ' Who, like a tempest that outrides the wind, 
Made a just battle, ere the bodies join'd.' 

Pray, what does this honourable person mean by a tempest that outrides the wind ? A 
tempest that outrides itself. To suppose a tempest without wind, is as bad as supposing a 
man to walk without feet ; for if he supposes the tempest to be something distinct from the 
wind, yet, as being the effect of wind only, to come before the cause is a little preposterous ; 
so that, if he takes it one way, or if he takes it the other, those two ifs will scarcely make 
one possibility" Enough of Settle. 

Marriage d~la-mode (1673) is a comedy dedicated to the Earl of Rochester ; whom he 
acknowledges not only as the defender of his poetry, but the promoter of his fortune. 
Langbaine places this play in 1673. The Earl of Rochester, therefore, was the famous Wilmot, 
whom yet tradition always represents as an enemy to Dryden, and who is mentioned by him 
with some disrespect in the preface to Juvenal. 

The Assignation, or Love in a Nunnery, a comedy (1673), was driven off the stage, against 
the opinion, as the author says, of the best judges. It is dedicated, in a veiy elegant address, 
to Sir Charles Sedley ; in which he finds an opportunity for his usual complaint of hard 
treatment and unreasonable censure. 

Amboyna (1673) is a tissue of mingled dialogue in verse and prose, and was perhaps 
written in less time than The Virgin Martyr ; though the author thought not fit either 
ostentatiously or mournfully to tell how little labour it cost him, or at how short a warning 
he produced it. It was a temporary performance, written in the time of the Dutch war, to 
inflame the nation against their enemies ; to whom he hopes, as he declares in his Epilogue, 
to make his poetry not less destructive than that by which Tyrtasus of old animated the 
Spartans. This play was written in the second Dutch war, in 1673. 

Troilus and Cressida (1679) is a play altered from Shakspeare ; but so altered, that, even 
in Langbaine's opinion, " the last scene in the third act is a master-piece." It is introduced 
by a discourse on " the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy," to which I suspect that Rymer's 
book had given occasion. 

The Spanish Friar (1681) is a tragi-comedy, eminent for the happy coincidence and 
coalition of the two plots. As it was written against the Papists, it would naturally at that 
time have friends and enemies ; and partly by the popularity which it obtained at first, ami 
partly by the real power both of the serious and risible part, it continued long a favourite of 
the public. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN". 



It was Dryden's opinion, at least for some time, and lie maintains it in the dedication 
of this play, that the drama required an alternation of comic and tragic scenes ; and that it 
is necessary to mitigate by alleviations of merriment the pressure of ponderous events, and 
the fatigue of toilsome passions. " Whoever," says he, " cannot perform both parts, is but half 
a writer for the stage." 

The Duke of Guise, a tragedy (1683), written in conjunction with Lee, as Oedipus had 
been before, seems to deserve notice only for the offence which it gave to the remnant of the 
Covenanters, and in general to the enemies of the court, who attacked him with great 
violence, and were answered by him ; though at last he seems to withdraw from the conflict, 
by transferring the greater part of the blame or merit to his partner. It happened that a 
contract had been made between them, by which they were to join in writing a play : and 
" he happened," says Dryden, "to claim the promise just upon the finishing of a poem, when 
I would have been glad of a little respite. :ZW-thirds of it belonged to him ; and to me only 
the first scene of the play, the whole fourth act, and the first half, or somewhat more, of the 
fifth." 

This was a play written professedly for the party of the Duke of York, whose succession 
was then opposed. A parallel is intended between the Leaguers of France and the 
Covenanters of England : and this intention produced the controversy. 

Albion and Albanius (1685) is a musical drama or opera, written, like The Duke of Guise, 
against the Republicans. With what success it was performed, I have not found.* 

The State of Innocence and Fall of Man (1675) is termed by him an opera : it is rather a 

tragedy in heroic rhyme, but of which the personages are such as cannot decently be 

exhibited on the stage. Some such production was foreseen by Marvel, who writes thus to 

Milton ;— 

" Or if a work so Infinite be spann'd, 
Jealous I was lest some less skilful hand 
(Such as disquiet always what is well, 
And by ill-imitating would excel) 
Might hence presume the whole creation's day 
To change in scenes, and show it in a play." 

It is another of his hasty productions ; for the heat of his imagination raised it hi a month. 

This composition is addressed to the Princess of Modena, then Duchess of York, in a 
strain of flattery which disgraces genius, and which it was wonderful that any man that knew 
the meaning of his own words could use without self-detestation. It is an attempt to mingle 
Earth and Heaven, by praising human excellence in the language of religion. 

The preface contains an apology for heroic verse and poetic licence ; by which is meant 
not any liberty taken in contracting or extending words, but the use of bold fictions and 
ambitious figures. 

The reason which he gives for printing what was never acted cannot be overpassed : " I 
was induced to it in my own defence, many hundred copies of it being dispersed abroad 
without my knowledge or consent ; and every one gathering new faults, it became at length 
a libel against me." These copies, as they gathered faults, were apparently manuscript ; and 
he lived in an age very unlike ours, if many hundred copies of fourteen hundred lines were 
likely to be transcribed. An author has a right to print his own works, and need not seek 
an apology in falsehood ; but he that could bear to write the dedication, felt no pain in 
writing the preface. 

Aureng Zebe (1676) is a tragedy founded on the actions of a great prince then reigning, 
but over nations not likely to employ their critics upon the transactions of the English stage. 
If he had known and disliked his own character, our trade was not in those times secure 



* Downes says, it was performed on a very unlucky day, viz. that on which the Duke of Monmouth landed in the 
West ; and he intimates, that the consternation into which the kingdom was thrown by this event was a reason why it 
was performed but six times, and was in general ill received. — H. 






LIFE OP DRYDEN. 



from his resentment. His country is at such a distance, that the manners might be safely 
falsified, and the incidents feigned ; for the remoteness of place is remarked, by Racine, to 
affoixl the same conveniences to a poet as length of time. 

This play is written in rhyme ; and has the appearance of being the most elaborate of all 
the dramas. The personages are imperial ; but the dialogue is often domestic, and therefore 
susceptible of sentiments accommodated to familiar incidents. The complaint of life is 
celebrated ; and there are many other passages that may be read with pleasure. 

This play is addressed to the Earl of Mulgrave, afterwards Duke of Buckingham, himself, 
if not a poet, yet a writer of verses, and a critic. In this address Dryden gave the first hints 
of his intention to write an epic poem. He mentions his design in terms so obscure, that he 
seems afraid lest his plan should be purloined, as, he says, happened to him when he told it 
more plainly in his preface to Juvenal. " The design," says he, " you know is great, the 
story English, and neither too near the present times, nor too distant from them." 

All for Love, or the World well Lost (1678), a tragedy founded upon the stoiy of Anthony 
and Cleopatra, he tells us, " is the only play which he wrote for himself : " the rest were 
given to the people. It is by universal consent accounted the work in which he has admitted 
the fewest improprieties of style or character ; but it has one fault equal to many, though 
rather moral than critical, that, by admitting the romantic omnipotence of Love, he has 
recommended, as laudable and worthy of imitation, that conduct which, through all ages, 
the good have censured as vicious, and the bad despised as foolish. 

Of this play the prologue and the epilogue, though written upon the common topics of 
malicious and ignorant criticism, and without any particular relation to the characters 
or incidents of the drama, are deservedly celebrated for their elegance and sprightliness. 

Limberharn, or the kind Keeper (1680), is a comedy, which, after the third night, was 
prohibited as too indecent for the stage. What gave offence, was in the printing, as the 
author says, altered or omitted. Dryden confesses that its indecency was objected to ; but 
Langbaiue, who yet seldom favours him, imputes its expulsion to resentment, because it " so 
much exposed the keeping pari of the town." 

Oedipus (1679) is a tragedy formed by Dryden and Lee, in conjunction, from the works of 
Sophocles, Seneca, and Corneille. Dryden planned the scenes, and composed the first and 
third acts. 

Don Sebastian (1690) is commonly esteemed either the first or second of his dramatic 
performances. It is too long to be all acted, and has many characters and many incidents ; and 
though it is not without sallies of frantic dignity, and more noise than meaning, yet, as it 
makes approaches to the possibilities of real life, and has some sentiments which leave a 
strong impression, it continued long to attract attention. Amidst the distresses of princes, 
and the vicissitudes of empire, are inserted several scenes which the writer intended for 
comic ; but which, I suppose, that age did not much commend, and this would not endure. 
There are, however, passages of excellence universally acknowledged : the dispute and the 
reconciliation of Dorax and Sebastian has always been admired. 

This play was first acted in 1690, after Dryden had for some years discontinued dramatic 
poetry. 

Amphitryon is a comedy derived from Plautus and Moliere. The dedication is dated 
Oct. 1690. This play seems to have succeeded at its first appearance ; and was, I think, long 
considered as a very diverting entertainment. 

Cleomenes (1692) is a tragedy, only remarkable as it occasioned an incident related in the 
Guardian, and allusively mentioned by Dryden in his preface. As he came out from the 
representation, he was accosted thus by some airy stripling : "Had 1 been left alone with a 
young beauty, I would not have spent my time like your Spartan." " That, Sir," said Dryden. 
'• perhaps is true ; but give me leave to tell you that you are no hero." 

King Arthur (1691) is another opera. It was the last work that Dryden performed for 
King Charles who did not live to see it exhibited, and it does not seem to have been ev< r 



LIFE OP DEYDEK. 



brought upon the stage.* In the dedication to the Marquis of Halifax, there is a very 
elegant character of Charles, and a pleasing account of his latter life. When this was first 
brought upon the stage, news that the Duke of Monmouth had landed was told in the 
theatre ; upon which the company departed, and Arthur was exhibited no more. 

His last drama was Love Triumphant, a tragi-comedy. In his dedication to the Earl of 
Salisbury he mentions " the lowness of fortune to which he has voluntarily reduced himself, 
and of which he has no reason to be ashamed." 

This play appeared in 1694. It is said to have been unsuccessful. The catastrophe, 
proceeding merely from a change of mind, is confessed by the author to be defective. Thus 
he began and ended his dramatic labours with ill success. 

From such a number of theatrical pieces, it will be supposed, by most readers, that he 
must have improved his fortune ; at least, that such diligence with such abilities must have 
set penury at defiance. But in Dryden 's time the drama was very far from that universal 
approbation which it has now obtained. The playhouse was abhorred by the Puritans, and 
avoided by those who desired the character of seriousness or decency. A grave lawyer 
would have debased his dignity, and a young trader would have impaired his credit, by 
appearing in those mansions of dissolute licentiousness. The profits of the theatre, when so 
many classes of the people were deducted from the audience, were not great ; and the poet 
had, for a long time, but a single night. The first that had two nights was Southern ; and 
the first that had three was Howe. There were, however, in those days, arts of im- 
proving a poet's profit, which Dryden forbore to practise ; and a play therefore seldom 
produced him more than a hundred pounds by the accumulated gain of the third night, the 
dedication, and the copy. 

Almost every piece had a dedication, written with such elegance and luxuriance of praise 
as _ neither haughtiness nor avarice could be imagined able to resist. But he seems to have 
made flattery too cheap. That praise is worth nothing of which the price is known. 

To increase the value of his copies, he often accompanied his work with a preface of 
criticism ; a kind of learning then almost new in the English language, and which he, who 
had considered with great accuracy the principles of writing, was able to distribute copiously 
as occasions arose. By these dissertations the public judgment must have been much 
improved ; and Swift, who conversed with Dryden, relates that he regretted the success of 
his own instructions, and found his readers made suddenly too skilful to be easily satisfied. 

His prologues had such reputation, that for some time a play was considered as less likely 
to be well received, if some of his verses did not introduce it. The price of a prologue was two 
guineas, till, being asked to write one for Mr. Southern, he demanded three : " Not," said he, 
" young man, out of disrespect to you ; but the players have had my goods too cheap." 

Though he declares, that in his own opinion his genius was not dramatic, he had great 
confidence in his own fertility ; for he is said to have engaged, by contract, to furnish four 
plays a year. 

It is certain that in one year, 1678,t he published All for Love, The Assignation, two 
parts of the Conquest of Granada, Sir Martin Marr-all, and the State of Lnnocence, six complete 
plays, with a celerity of performance, which, though all Langbaine's charges of plagiarism 
should be allowed, shows such facility of composition, such readiness of language, and such 
copiousness of sentiment, as, since the time of Lopez de Vega, perhaps no other author has 
ever possessed. 

He did not enjoy his reputation, however great, nor his profits, however small, without 
molestation. He had critics to endure, and rivals to oppose. The two most distinguished 
wits of the nobility, the Duke of Buckingham and Earl of Rochester, declared themselves 
his enemies. 

* This is a mistake. It was set to music by Purcell, and well received, and is yet a favourite entertainment. — H. 
t Dr. Johnson in this assertion was misled by Langbaine. Only one of these plays appeared in 1678. Nor were 
there more than three in any one year. The dates are now added from the original editions. — E. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



Buckingham characterised him, in 1671, by the name of Bayes, in the Rehearsal ; a farce 
which he is said to have written with the assistance of Butler, the author of Hudibras ; 
Martin Clifford, of the Charter-house ; and Dr Sprat, the friend of Cowley, then his 
chaplain. Dryden and his friends laughed at the length of time, and the number of hands 
employed upon this performance ; in which, though by some artifice of action it yet keeps 
possession of the stage, it is not possible now to find any thing that might not have been 
written without so long delay, or a confederacy so numerous. 

To adjust the minute events of literary history, is tedious and troublesome ; it requires 
indeed no great force of understanding, but often depends upon inquiries which there is no 
opportunity of making, or is to be fetched from books and pamphlets not always at hand. 

The Rehearsal was played in 1671,* and yet is represented as ridiculing passages in the 
Conquest of Granadaf and Assignation, which were not published till 1678 ; in Marriage d-la- 
mode, published in 1673 ; and in Tyrannic Love, in 1677. These contradictions show how 
rashly satire is applied.! 

It is said that this farce was originally intended against Davenant, who, in the first 
draught, was characterised by the name of Bilboa. Davenant had been a soldier and an 
adventurer. 

There is one passage in the Rehearsal still remaining, which seems to have related 
originally to Davenant. Bayes hurts his nose, and comes in with brown paper applied to the 
bruise : how this affected Dryden does not appear. Davenant's nose had suffered such dimi- 
nution by mishaps among the women, that a patch upon that part evidently denoted him. 

It is said likewise that Sir Bobert Howard was once meant. The design was probably 
to ridicule the reigning poet, whatever he might be. 

Much of the personal satire, to which it might owe its first reception, is now lost or 
obscured. Bayes probably imitated the dress, and mimicked the manner of Dryden ; the 
cant words which are so often in his mouth may be supposed to have been Dryden's 
habitual phrases, or customary exclamations. Bayes, when he is to write, is blooded and 
purged ; this, as Lamotte relates himself to have heai'd, was the real practice of the 
poet. 

There were other strokes in the Rehearsal by which malice was gratified ; the debate 
between Love and Honour, which keeps prince Volscius in a single boot, is said to have 
alluded to the misconduct of the Duke of Ormond, who lost Dublin to the rebels while he 
was toying with a mistress. 

The Earl of Bochester, to suppress the reputation of Dryden, took Settle into his pro- 
tection, and endeavoured to pei-suade the public that its approbation had been to that time 
misplaced. Settle was a while in high reputation ; his Empress of Morocco, having first 
delighted the town, was carried in triumph to Whitehall, and played by the ladies of the 
court. Now was the poetical meteor at the highest : the next moment began its fall. 
Bochester withdrew his patronage ; seeming resolved, says one of his biographers, " to have 
a judgment contrary to that of the town ;" perhaps being unable to endure any reputation 
beyond a certain height, even when he had himself contributed to raise it. 

Neither critics nor rivals did Dryden much mischief, unless they gained from his own 
temper the power of vexing him, which his frequent bursts of resentment give reason to 
suspect. He is always angry at some past, or afraid of some future censure ; but he lessens 
the smart of his wounds by the balm of his own approbation, and endeavours to repel the 
shafts of criticism by opposing a shield of adamantine confidence. 

The perpetual accusation produced against him, was that of plagiarism, against which he 

• It was published in 1672.— B. 

t Tlir. Conquest nf Qranada was published in Ki7'2; The Assignation, in 1G73 ; Marriage a-la-modc in the same yeai 
mill Tyrannic Love in 1672. 

t There is no contradiction, according to Mr. Mnlone, but what arises from Dr. Johuson's having copied tho erroneous 
dates assigned to these plays by Langbaine, — C. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



never attempted any vigorous defence ; for though he was perhaps sometimes injuriously 
censured, he would, by denying part of the charge, have confessed the rest ; and, as his 
adversaries had the proof in their own hands, he, who knew that wit had little power against 
facts, wisely left, in that perplexity which it generally produces, a question which it was his 
interest to suppress, and which, unless provoked by vindication, few were likely to examine. 

Though the life of a writer, from about thirty-five to sixty-three, may be supposed to 
have been sufficiently busied by the composition of eight-and-twenty pieces for the stage, 
Dryden found room in the same space for many other undertakings. 

But, how much soever he wrote, he was at least once suspected of writing more ; for, in 
1679, a paper of verses, called An Essay on Satire, was shown about in manuscript; by which 
the Earl of Eochester, the Duchess of Portsmouth, and others, were so much provoked, that, 
as was supposed (for the actors were never discovered), they procured Dryden, whom they 
suspected as the author, to be waylaid and beaten. This incident is mentioned by the Duke 
of Buckinghamshire,* the true writer, in his Art of Poetry ; where he says of Dryden, 

" Though praised and beaten for another's rhymes, 
His own deserve as great applause sometimes." 

His reputation in time was such, that his name was thought necessary to the success of 
every poetical or literary performance, and therefore he was engaged to contribute something, 
whatever it might be, to many publications. He prefixed the Life of Polybius to the 
translation of Sir Henry Sheers : and those of Lucian and Plutarch, to versions of their 
works by different hands. Of the English Tacitus he translated the first book ; and, if 
Gordon be credited, translated it from the French. Such a charge can hardly be mentioned 
without some degree of indignation ; but it is not, I suppose, so much to be inferred, that 
Dryden wanted the literature necessary to the perusal of Tacitus, as that, considering 
himself as hidden in a crowd, he had no awe of the public ; and, writing merely for money, 
was contented to get it by the nearest way. 

In 1680, the Epistles of Ovid being translated by the poets of the time, among which one 
was the work of Dryden, and another of Dryden and Lord Mulgrave, it was necessary to 
introduce them by a preface ; and Dryden, who on such occasions was regularly summoned, 
prefixed a discourse upon translation, which was then struggling for the liberty that it now 
enjoys. Why it should find any difficulty in breaking the shackles of verbal interpretation, 
which must for ever debar it from elegance, it would be difficult to conjecture, were not the 
power of prejudice every day observed. The authority of Jonson, Sandys, and Holiday, had 
fixed the judgment of the nation ; and it was not easily believed that a better way could be 
found than they had taken, though Fanshaw, Denham, "Waller, and Cowley, had tried to 
give examples of a different practice. 

In 1681, Dryden became yet more conspicuous by uniting politics with poetry, in the 
memorable satire called Absalom and Achitophel, written against the faction which, by Lord 
Shaftesbury's incitement, set the Duke of Monmouth at its head. 

Of this poem, in which personal satire was applied to the support of public principles, 
and in which therefore every mind was interested, the reception was eager, and the sale so 
large, that my father, an old bookseller, ' told me, he had not known it equalled but by 
Sacheverell's trial. 

The reason of this general perusal Addison has attempted to derive from the delight 
which the mind feels in the investigation of secrets ; and thinks that curiosity to decipher 
the names procured readers to the poem. There is no need to inquire why those verses 
were read, which, to all the attractions of wit, elegance, and harmony, added the co-operation 
of all the factious passions, and filled every mind with triumph or resentment. 

* It is mentioned by A. Wood, Athen. Oxon. vol. ii, p. 804. 2nd Ed.— C. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



It could not be supposed that all the provocation given by Dryden would be endured 
without resistance or reply. Both his person and his party were exposed in their turns to 
the shafts of satire, which, though neither so well pointed, nor perhaps so well aimed, 
undoubtedly drew blood. 

One of these poems is called Dryden's Satire on his Muse : ascribed, though, as Pope says, 
falsely, to Sorners, who was afterwards chancellor. The poem, whosesoever it was, has much 
virulence, and some sprightliness. The writer tells all the ill that he can collect both of 
Dryden and his friends. 

The poem of Absalom and Achitophel had two answers, now both forgotten ; one called 
Azaria and Hushai ; the other Absalom senior. Of these hostile compositions, Dryden 
apparently imputes Absalom senior to Settle, by quoting in his verses against him the second 
line. Azaria and Hushai was, as Wood says, imputed to him, though it is somewhat unlikely 
that he should write twice on the same occasion. This is a difficulty which I cannot remove, 
for want of a minuter knowledge of poetical transactions* 

The same year he published The Medal, of which the subject is a medal struck on Lord 
Shaftesbury's escape from a prosecution, by the ignoramus of a grand jury of Londoners. 

In both poems he maintains the same principles, and saw them both attacked by the 
same antagonist. Elkanah Settle, who had answered Absalom, appeared with equal courage 
in opposition to The Medal, and published an answer called The Medxd reversed, with so much 
.success in both encounters, that he left the palm doubtful, and divided the suffrages of the 
nation. Such are the revolutions of fame, or such is the prevalence of fashion, that the man, 
whose works have not yet been thought to deserve the care of collecting them, who died 
forgotten in an hospital, and whose latter years were spent in contriving shows for fairs, and 
carrying an elegy or epithalamium, of which the beginning and end were occasionally varied, 
but the intermediate parts were always the same, to every house where there was a funeral 
or a wedding, might with truth have had inscribed upon his stone, 

" Here lies the Rival and Antagonist of Dryden." 

Settle was, for his rebellion, severely chastised by Dryden under the name of Doeg, in the 
second part of Absalom and Achitophel ; and was perhaps for his factious audacity made the 
City poet, whose annual office was to describe the glories of the Mayor's day. Of these bards 
he was the last, and seems not much to have deserved even this degree of regard, if it was 
paid to his political opinions ; for he afterwards wrote a panegyric on the virtues of Judge 
JefFeries ; and what more could have been done by the meanest zealot for prerogative 1 

Of translated fragments, or occasional poems, to enumerate the titles, or settle the dates, 
would be tedious, with little use. It may be observed, that, as Dryden's genius was 
commonly excited by some personal regard, he rarely writes upon a general topic. 

Soon after the accession of King James, when the design of reconciling the nation to the 
( '1 nirch of Eome became apparent, and the religion of the court gave the only efficacious title 
to its favours, Dryden declared himself a convert to Popery. This at any other time might 
have passed with little censure. Sir Kenelm Digby embraced Popery ; the two Keyuolds 
reciprocally converted one another ;t and Cliillingworth himself was awhile so entangled in 
the wilds of controversy, as to retire for quiet to an infallible Church. If men of argument 
and study can find such difficulties, or such motives, as may either unite them to the Church 
of Rome, or detain them in uncertainty, there can be no wonder that a man, who perhaps 
never inquired why he was a Protestant, should by an artful and experienced disputant be 
made a Papist, overborne by the sudden violence of new and unexpected arguments, or 

• Azaria and Hushai was written by Samuel Pordage, a dramatic writer of that time. — C. 
t Dr. John Reynolds, who lived temp. Jac. I. was at first a zealous Papist, and his brother William as earnest 
a Protestant ; but, liy mutual disputation, each converted the other. Sec Fuller's Church History, p. 47. book x.— 11. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



deceived by a representation which shows only the doubts on one part, and only the evidence 
on the other. 

That conversion will always be suspected that apparently concurs with interest. He that 
never finds his error till it hinders his progress towards wealth or honour, will not be 
thought to love Truth only for herself. Yet it may easily happen that information may come 
at a commodious time ; and, as truth and interest are not by any fatal necessity at variance, 
that one may by accident introduce the other. When opinions are struggling into popularity, 
the arguments by which they are opposed or defended become more known ; and he that 
changes his profession would perhaps have changed it before, with the like opportunities of 
instruction. This was the then state of Popery ; every artifice was used to show it in its 
fairest form ; and it must be owned to be a religion of external appearance sufficiently 
attractive. 

It is natural to hope that a comprehensive is likewise an elevated soul, and that whoever 
is wise is also honest. I am willing to believe that Dryden, having employed his mind, 
active as it was, upon different studies, and filled it, capacious as it was, with other materials, 
came unprovided to the controversy, and wanted rather skill to discover the right, than 
virtue to maintain it. But inquiries into the heart are not for man ; we must now leave 
him to his Judge. 

The priests, having strengthened their cause by so powerful an adherent, were not long 
before they brought him. into action. They engaged him to defend the controversial papers 
found in the strong box of Charles the Second ; and, what yet was harder, to defend them 
against Stillingfleet. 

"With hopes of promoting Popery, he was employed to translate Maimbourg's History of 
the League ; which he published with a large introduction. His name is likewise prefixed 
to the English Life of Francis Xavier ; but I know not that he ever owned himself the 
translator. Perhaps the use of his name was a pious fraud, which however seems not to 
have had much effect ; for neither of the books, I believe, was ever popular. 

The version of Xavier's Life is commended by Brown, in a pamphlet not written to flatter ; 
and the occasion of it is said to have been, that the Queen, when she solicited a son, made 
vows to him as her tutelary saint. 

He was supposed to have undertaken to translate Varillas's History of Heresies; and, 
when Burnet published remarks upon it, to have written an Answer ;* upon which Burnet 
makes the following observation : — 

" I have been informed from England, that a gentleman, who is famous both for poetry 
and several other things, had spent three months in translating M. Varillas's History ; but 
that, as soon as my Eeflections appeared, he discontinued his labour, finding the credit of his 
author was gone. Now, if he thinks it is recovered by his Answer, he will perhaps go on 
with his translation ; and this may be, for aught I know, as good an entertainment for him 
as the conversation that he had set on between the Hinds and Panthers, and all the rest of 
animals, for whom M.Varillas may serve well enough as an author : and this history and that 
poem are such extraordinary things of their kind, that it will be but suitable to see the author of 
the worst poem become likewise the translator of the worst history that the age has pro- 
duced. If his grace and his wit improve both proportionably, he will hardly find that he has 
gained much by the change he has made, from having no religion, to choose one of the worst. 
It is true, he had somewhat to sink from in matter of wit ; but, as for his morals, it is 
scarcely possible for him to grow a worse man than he was. He has lately wreaked his 
malice on me for spoiling his three months' labour ; but in it he has done me all the honour 
that any man can receive from him, which is to be railed at by him. If I had ill-nature 
enough to prompt me to wish a very bad wish for him, it should be, that he would go on 

* This is a mistake. See Malone t). 194 &c. — C. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



and finish his translation. By that it will appear, whether the English nation, which is 
the most competent judge in this matter, has, upon the seeing our dehate, pronounced in 
M.Varillas's favour, or in mine. It is true, Mr. D. will suffer a little by it ; but at least it will 
serve to keejj him in from other extravagances ; and if he gains little honour by this work, 
yet he cannot lose so much by it as he has done by his last employment." 

Having probably felt his own inferioi-ity in theological controversy, he was desirous ol 
trying whether, by bringing poetry to aid his arguments, he might become a more efficacious 
defender of his new profession. To reason in verse was, indeed, one of his powers ; but 
subtilty and harmony, united, are still feeble, when ojiposed to truth. 

Actuated therefore by zeal for Eome, or hope of fame, he published the Hind and 
Panther, a poem in which the Church of Eome, figured by the milk-white Hind, defends her 
tenets against the Church of England, represented by the Panther, a beast beautiful, but 
spotted. 

A fable, which exhibits two beasts talking Theology, appears at once full of absurdity ; 
and it was accordingly ridiculed in the City Mouse and Country Mouse, a parody, written by 
Montague, afterwards Earl of Halifax, and Frior, who then gave the first specimen of his 
abilities. 

The conversion of such a man, at such a time, was not likely to pass uncensured. Three 
dialogues were published by the facetious Thomas Brown, of which the two first were called 
Reasons of Mr. Bayes's changing his Religion : and the third, the Reasons of Mr. Hains the 
Player's Conversion and Re-conversion. The first was printed in 1688, the second not till 1690, 
the third in 1691. The clamour seems to have been long continued, and the subject to have 
strongly fixed the public attention. 

In the two first dialogues Bayes is brought into the company of Crites and Eugenius, 
with whom he had formerly debated on dramatic poetry. The two talkers in the third are 
Mr. Bayes and Mr. Hains. 

Brown was a man not deficient in literature, nor destitute of fancy ; but he seems to have 
thought it the pinnacle of excellence to be a merry fellow ; and therefore laid out his powers 
upon small jests or gross buffoonery ; so that his performances have little intrinsic value, and 
were read only while they were recommended by the novelty of the event that occasioned 
them. 

These dialogues are like his other works : what sense or knowledge they contain is dis- 
graced by the garb in which it is exhibited. One great source of pleasure is to call Dryden 
little Bayes. Ajax, who happens to be mentioned, is "he that wore as many cow-hides upon 
his shield as would have furnished half the King's army with shoe-leather." 

Being asked whether he had seen the Hind and Panther, Crites answers : " Seen it ! Mr. 
Bayes, why I can stir nowhere but it pursues me : it haunts me worse than a pewter-buttoned 
Serjeant does a decayed cit. Sometimes I meet it in a bandbox, when my laundress brings 
home my linen ; sometimes, whether I will or no, it lights my pipe at a coffee-house ; 
sometimes it surprises me in a trunk-maker's shop ; and sometimes it refreshes my memory 
for me on the backside of a Chancery-lane parcel. For your comfort, too, Mr. Bayes, I have 
not only seen it, as you may perceive, but have read it too, and can quote it as freely upon 
occasion as a frugal tradesman can quote that noble treatise, the Worth of a Penny, to his 
extravagant 'prentice, that revels in stewed apples and pemry custards." 

The whole animation of these compositions arises from a profusion of ludicrous and 
affected comparisons. "To secure one's chastity," says Bayes, "little more is necessary 
than to leave off a correspondence with the other sex, which, to a wise man, is no greater a 
punishment than it would be to a fanatic person to be forbid seeing The Cheats and The 
Committee; or for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen to be interdicted the sight of The London 
Cuckolds." This is the general strain, and therefore I shall be easily excused the labour 
of more transcription. 

Brown does not wholly forget past transactions ; " You began," says Crites to Baye . 

ci ' 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



very different religion, and have not mended the matter in your last choice. It was but 
reason that your Muse, which appeared first in a tyrant's quarrel, should employ her last 
efforts to justify the usurpation of the Hind." 

Next year the nation was summoned to celebrate the birth of the Prince. Now was the 
time for Dryden to rouse his imagination, and strain his voice. Happy days were at hand, 
and he was willing to enjoy and diffuse the anticipated blessings. He published a poem, 
filled with predictions of greatness and prosperity ; predictions, of which it is not necessary 
to tell how they have been verified. 

A few months passed after these joyful notes, and every blossom of Popish hope was 
blasted for ever by the Eevolution. A Papist now could be no longer laureat. The revenue, 
which he had enjoyed with so much pride and praise, was transferred to Shadwell, an old 
enemy, whom he had formerly stigmatised by the name of Off. Dryden could not decently 
complain that he was deposed ; but seemed very angry that Shadwell succeeded him, and 
has therefore celebrated the intruder's inauguration in a poem exquisitely satirical, called 
Mac Flecknoe;* of which the Dunciad, as Pope himself declares, is an imitation, though 
more extended in its plan, and more diversified in its incidents. 

It is related by Prior, that Lord Dorset, when, as Chamberlain, he was constrained to 
eject Dryden from his office, gave him from his own purse an allowance equal to the salary. 
This is no romantic or incredible act of generosity ; an hundred a year is often enough given 
to claims less cogent by men less famed for liberality. Yet Dryden always represented 
himself as suffering under a public infliction ; and once particularly demands respect for 
the patience with which he endured the loss of his little fortune. His patron might, 
indeed, enjoin him to suppress his bounty ; but, if he suffered nothing, he should not have 
complained. 

During the short reign of King James, he had written nothing for the stage,t being, in hip 
opinion, more profitably employed in controversy and flattery. Of praise he might perhaps 
have been less lavish without inconvenience, for James was never said to have much regard 
for poetry : he was to be flattered only by adopting his religion. 

Times were now changed . Dryden was no longer the court-poet, and was to look back 
for support to his former trade ; and having waited about two years, either considering 
himself as discountenanced by the public, or perhaps expecting a second Eevolution, he pro- 
duced Bon Sebastian in 1690 ; and in the next four years four dramas more. 

In 1693 appeared a new version of Juvenal and Persius. Of Juvenal he translated the 
first, third, sixth, tenth, and sixteenth satires ; and of Persius the whole work. On this 
occasion he introduced his two sons to the public, as nurselings of the Muses. The 
fourteenth of Juvenal was the work of John, and the seventh of Charles Dryden. He 
prefixed a very ample preface, in the form of a dedication to Lord Dorset ; and there gives 
an account of the design which he had once formed to write an epic poem on the actions 
either of Arthur or the Black Prince. He considered the epic as necessarily including some 
kind of supernatural agency, and had imagined a new kind of contest between the guardian 
angels of kingdoms, of whom he conceived that each might be represented zealous for his 
charge, without any intended opposition to the purposes of the Supreme Being, of which all 
created minds must in part be ignorant. 

This is the most reasonable scheme of celestial interposition that ever was formed. The 
surprises and terrors of enchantments, which have succeeded to the intrigues and 
oppositions of Pagan deities, afford very striking scenes, and open a vast extent to 
the imagination ; but, as Boileau observes (and Boileau will be seldom found mistaken), with 
this incurable defect,, that, in a contest between Heaven and Hell, we know at the beginning 



* All Dryden's biographers have misdated this poem, which Mr. Malone's more accurate researches prove to have 
been published on the 4th of October, 1682. — C. f Albion and Albanius must however be excepted. — K. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



which is to prevail ; for this reason we follow Rinaldo to the enchanted wood with more 
curiosity than terror. 

In the scheme of Dryden there is one great difficulty, which yet he would perhaps have 
had address enough to surmount. In a war, justice can be but on one side ; and, to entitle 
the hero to the protection of angels, he must fight in defence of indubitable right. Yet 
some of the celestial beings, thus opposed to each other, must have been represented as 
defending guilt. 

That this poem was never written, is reasonably to be lamented. It would doubtless 
have improved our numbers, and enlarged our language : and might perhaps have 
contributed by pleasing instructions to rectify our opinions, and purify our manners. 

What he required as the indispensable condition of such an undertaking, a public 
stipend, was not likely in these times to be obtained. Riches were not become familiar to 
us ; nor had the nation yet learned to be liberal. 

This plan he charged Blackmore with stealing : " only," says he, " the guardian angels 
of kingdoms were machines too ponderous for him to manage." 

In 1694, he began the most laborious and difficult of all his works, the translation of 
Virgil ; from which he borrowed two months, that he might turn " Fresnoy's Art of 
Painting " into English prose. The preface, which he boasts to have written in twelve 
mornings, exhibits a parallel of poetry and painting, with a miscellaneous collection of 
critical remarks, such as cost a mind stored like his no labour to produce them. 

In 1697, he published his version of the works of Virgil ; and, that no opportunity of 
profit might be lost, dedicated the Pastorals to the Lord Clifford, the Georgics to the Earl 
of Chesterfield, and the iEneid to the Earl of Mulgrave. This economy of flattery, at once 
lavish and discreet, did not pass without observation. 

This translation was censured by Milbourne, a clergyman, styled by Pope, " the fairest of 
critics," because he exhibited his own version to be compared with that which he condemned. 

His last work was his Fables, published in consequence, as is supposed, of a contract 
now in the hands of Mr. Tonson : by which he obliged himself, in consideration of three 
hundred pounds, to finish for the press ten thousand verses. 

In this volume is comprised the well-known ode on St. Cecilia's Day, which, as appeared 
by a letter communicated to Dr. Birch, he spent a fortnight in composing and correcting. 
But what is this to the patience and diligence of Boileau, whose Equivoque, a poem of only 
three hundred and forty-six lines, took from his life eleven months to write it, and three 
years to revise it 1 

Part of his book of Fables is the first Iliad in English, intended as a specimen of a version 
of the whole. Considering into what hands Homer was to fall, the reader cannot but rejoice 
that this project went no further. 

The time was now at hand which was to put an end to all his schemes and labours. On 
the first of May, 1701, having been some time, as he tells us, a cripple in his limbs, he died, 
in Gerard-street, of a mortification hi his leg. 

There is extant a wild stoiy relating to some vexatious events that happened at his 
funeral, which, at the end of Congreve's Life, by a writer of I know not what credit, are thus 
related, as I find the account transferred to a biographical dictionary. 

"Mr. Dryden dying on the Wednesday morning, Dr. Thomas Sprat, then Bishop of 
Rochester and Dean of Westminster, sent the next day to the Lady Elizabeth Howard, 
Mr. Dryden's widow, that he would make a present of the ground, which was forty pounds, 
with all the other Abbey-fees. The Lord Halifax likewise sent to the Lady Elizabeth, and 
M r. Charles Dryden her son, that, if they would give him leave to bury Mr. Dryden, he would 
inter him with a gentleman's private funeral, and afterwards bestow five hundred pounds on 
a monument in the Abbey ; which, as they had no reason to refuse, they accepted. On the 
Saturday following the company came ; the corpse was put into ;i velvet hearse ; and 
eighteen mourning coaches, filled with company, attended. When thej were jus< ready to 



LIFE OF BKYDEN. 



move, the Lord Jefferies, son of the Lord Chancellor Jefferies, with some of his rakish 
companions, coming by, asked whose funeral it was : and being told Mr. Dryden's, he said, 
' What, shall Dryden, the greatest honour and ornament of the nation, be buried after this 
private manner ! No, gentlemen, let all that loved Mr. Dryden, and honour his memory, 
alight and join with me in gaining my lady's consent to let me have the honour of his inter- 
ment, which shall be after another manner than this ; and I will bestow a thousand pounds 
on a monument in the Abbey for him.' The gentlemen in the coaches, not knowing of the 
Bishop of Eochester's favour, nor of the Lord Halifax's generous design (they both having, 
out of respect to the family, enjoined the Lady Elizabeth, and her son, to keep their favour 
concealed to the world, and let it pass for their own expense), readily came out of their 
coaches, and attended Lord Jefferies up to the lady's bedside, who was then sick. He 
repeated the purport of what he had before said ; but she absolutely refusing, he fell on his 
knees, vowing never to rise till his request was granted. The rest of the company by his 
desire kneeled also ; and the lady, being under a sudden surprize, fainted away. As soon as 
she recovered her speech, she cried, No. no. Enough, gentlemen, replied he ; my lady is very 
good, she says, Go, go. She repeated her former words with all her strength, but in vain, 
for her feeble voice was lost in their acclamations of joy ; and the Lord Jefferies ordered the 
hearsemen to carry the corpse to Mr. Russel's, an undertaker in Cheapside, and leave it 
there till he should send orders for the embalment, which, he added, should be after the 
royal manner. His directions were obeyed, the company dispersed, and Lady Elizabeth and 
her son remained inconsolable. The next day Mr. Charles Dryden waited on the Lord 
Halifax and the Bishop, to excuse his mother and himself, by relating the real truth. But 
neither his Lordship nor the Bishop would admit of any plea ; especially the latter, who had 
the Abbey lighted, the ground opened, the choir attending, an anthem ready set, and himself 
waiting for some time without any corpse to bury. The undertaker, after three days 
expectance of orders for embalment without receiving any, waited on the Lord Jefferies ; 
who, pretending ignorance of the matter, turned it off with an ill-natured jest, saying, that 
those who observed the orders of a drunken frolick deserved no better ; that he remembered 
nothing at all of it ; and that he might do what he pleased with the corpse. Upon this, 
the undertaker waited upon the Lady Elizabeth and her son, and threatened to bring the 
corpse home, and set it before the door. They desired a day's respite, which was granted. 
Mr. Charles Dryden wrote a handsome letter to the Lord Jefferies, who returned it with this 
cool answer : ' That he knew nothing of the matter, and would be troubled no more about it.' 
He then addressed the Lord Halifax and the Bishop of Rochester, who absolutely refused to 
do anything in it. In this distress Dr. Garth sent for the corpse to the College of 
Physicians, and proposed a funeral by subscription, to which himself set a most noble 
example. At last a day, about three weeks after Mr. Dryden's decease, was appointed for 
the interment. Dr. Garth pronounced a fine Latin, oration, at the College, over the corpse*; 
which was attended to the Abbey by a numerous train of coaches. When the funeral was 
over, Mr. Charles Dryden sent a challenge to the Lord Jefferies, who refusing to answer it, 
he sent several others, and went often himself ; but could neither get a letter delivered, nor 
admittance to speak to him ; which so incensed him, that he resolved, since his Lordship 
refused to answer him like a gentleman, that he would watch an opportunity to meet and 
fight off-hand, though with all the rules of honour ; which his Lordship hearing, left the 
town : and Mr. Charles Dryden could never have the satisfaction of meeting him, though he 
sought it till his death with the utmost application." 

* In a satirical poem, entitled " The Apparition," &c. of which there were two editions in 1710, Garth's eloquence, on 
this occasion, is thus described: 

" John Dryden, with his brethren of the bays, 
His love to Garth, blaspheming Garth, conveys, 
And thanks him for his Pagan funeral praise." — T. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



This story I once intended to omit, as it appears with no great evidence ; nor have I met 
with any confirmation, hut in a letter of Farquhar ; and he only relates that the funeral of 
Dryden was tumultuary and confused* 

Supposing the story true, we may remark, that the gradual change of manners, though 
imperceptible in the process, appears great when different times, and those not very distant, 
are compared. If at this time a young drunken Lord should interrupt the pompous 
regularity of a magnificent funeral, what would be the event, but that he would be justled 
out of the way, and compelled to be quiet 1 If he should thrust himself into an house, he 
would be sent roughly away ; and, what is yet more to the honour of the present time, I 
believe that those, who had subscribed to the funeral of a man like Dryden, would not, for 
such an accident, have withdrawn their contributions, t 

He was buried among the poets in Westminster Abbey, where, though the Duke of 
Newcastle had, in a general dedication prefixed by Congreve to his dramatic works, 
accepted thanks for his intention of erecting him a monument, he lay long without dis- 
tinction, till the Duke of Buckinghamshire gave him a tablet, inscribed only with the name 
of Dryden. 

He married the Lady Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Earl of Berkshire, with circum- 
stances, according to the satire imputed to Lord Somers, not very honourable to either party ; 
by her he had three sons, Charles, John, and Henry. Charles was usher of the palace to 
Pope Clement the Xlth ; and, visiting England in 1704, was drowned in an attempt to 
swim across the Thames at Windsor. 

John was author of a comedy called The Husband his own Cuckold. He is said to 
have died at Rome. Henry entered into some religious order. It is some proof of Dryden's 
sincerity in his second religion, that he taught it to his sons. A man, conscious of hypocritical 
profession in himself, is not likely to convert others ; and, as his sons were qualified in 1693 
to appear among the translators of Juvenal, they must have been taught some religion before 
their father's change. 

Of the person of Dryden I know not any account ; of his mind, the portrait which has 
been left by Congreve, who knew him with great familiarity, is such as adds our love of his 
maimers to our admiration of his genius. " He was," we are told, " of a nature exceedingly 
humane and compassionate, ready to forgive injuries, and capable of a sincere reconciliation 
with those who had offended him. His friendship, where he professed it, went beyond his 
professions. He was of a very easy, of very pleasing access ; but somewhat slow, and, as it 
were diffident, in his advances to others : he had that in nature which abhorred intrusion 
into any society whatever. He was therefore less known, and consequently his character 
became more liable to misapprehensions and misrepresentations : he was very modest, and 
veiy easily to be discountenanced in his approaches to his equals or superiors. As his reading 
bad been very extensive, so was he very happy in a memory tenacious of everything that he 
had read. He was not more possessed of knowledge than he was communicative of it ; but 
then his communication was by no means pedantic, or imposed upon the conversation, but 
just such, and went so far, as, by the natural turn of the conversation in which he was 
engaged, it was necessarily promoted or required. He was extremely ready and gentle in 

• An earlier nccount of Dryden's funeral than that ahove cited, though without the circumstances that preceded it, 
is given hy Edward Ward, who, in his London Spy, published in 170G, relates, that on the occasion there was a perform- 
ance of solemn music at the College ; and that at the procession, which himself saw, standing at the end of Chancery-lane, 
Fleet-street, Micro was a concert of hautboys and trumpets. The day of Dryden's interment, he says, was Monday 
the 18tta of May, which, according to Johnson, was twelve days after his decease, and shews how long his funeral was in 
uspeuse. Ward kuew not that the expenso of it was defrayed by subscription; but compliments Lord JeuY-rics for bo 
pious an undertaking. Ho also says, that the cause of Dryden's death was an inflammation in his toe, occasioned by the- 
iir b growing over the nail, which being neglected produced a mortification in his leg. — II. 

t In the Register of the Cellego of Physicians, is the following entry : " May 3, 1700. Comitiis Censorlls ordJnarUs. 
At the request of several persons of quality, that Mr. Dryden might lie curried from the College of Physicians to be Interred 
at Westminster, it was unanimously granted by the President and Censors." 

This entry is not calculated to afford uny credit to the narrative concerning Lord .lefl'erics.— R. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



his correction of the errors of any writer who thought fit to consult him, and full as ready 
and patient to admit the reprehensions of others, in respect of his own oversights or 
mistakes." 

To this account of Congreve nothing can be objected but the fondness of friendship ; 
and to have excited that fondness in such a mind is no small degree of praise. The dispo- 
sition of Dryden, however, is shown in this character rather as it exhibited itself in cursory 
conversation, than as it operated on the more important parts of life. His placability and 
his friendship indeed were solid virtues ; but courtesy and good-humour are often found with 
little real worth. Since Congreve, who knew him well, has told us no more, the rest must 
be collected as it can from other testimonies, and particularly from those notices which 
Dryden has very liberally given us of himself. 

The modesty which made him so slow to advance, and so easy to be repulsed, was 
certainly no suspicion of deficient merit, or unconsciousness of his own value : he appears to 
have known, in its whole extent, the dignity of his own character, and to have set a very 
high value on his own powers and performances. He probably did not offer his conversation, 
because he expected it to be solicited ; and he retired from a cold reception, not submissive 
but indignant, with such deference of his own greatness as made him unwilling to expose 
it to neglect or violation. 

His modesty was by no means inconsistent with ostentatiousness ; he is diligent enough 
to remind the world of his merit, and expresses with very little scruple his high opinion of 
his own powers ; but his self-commendations are read without scorn or indignation ; we 
allow his claims, and love his frankness. 

Tradition, however, has not allowed that his confidence in himself exempted him from 
jealousy of others. He is accused of envy and insidiousness ; and is particularly charged 
with inciting Creech to translate Horace, that he might lose the reputation which Lucretius 
had given him* 

Of this charge we immediately discover that it is merely conjectural ; the purpose 
was such as no man would confess ; and a crime that admits no proof, why should we 
believe 1 

He has been described as magisterially presiding over the younger writers, and assuming 
the distribution of poetical fame ; but he who excels has a right to teach, and he whose 
judgment is incontestable may without usurpation examine and decide. 

Congreve represents him as ready to advise and instruct ; but there is reason to believe 
that his communication was rather useful than entertaining. He declares of himself that he 
was saturnine, and not one of those whose sprightly sayings diverted company ; and one of 
his censurers makes him say, 

" Nor wine nor love could ever see me gay ; 
To writing bred, I knew not what to say." 

There are men whose powers operate only at leisure and in retirement, and whose 
intellectual vigour deserts them in conversation ; whom merriment confuses, and objection 
disconcerts ; whose bashfulness restrains their exertion, and suffers them not to speak till 
the time of speaking is past ; or whose attention to their own character makes them 
unwilling to utter at hazard what has not been considered, and cannot be recalled. 

Of Dryden's sluggishness in conversation it is vain to search or to guess the cause. He 
certainly wanted neither sentiments nor language ; his intellectual treasures were great 
though they were locked up from his own use. " His thoughts," when he wrote, " flowed in 

* The accusation against Dryden of having incited Creech to translate Horace, that* by his failure in that work, 
he might lose the reputation which his poetical version of Lucretius had procured him, is proved by Mr. Malone to 
be an impudent and malicious falsehood, and is traced by him to Tom Brown. 

See Mr. Malone's Life ofDryiUn, p. 506—511. -T. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



upon liiin so fast, that Ms only care was which to chuse, and which to reject." Such rapidity 
of composition naturally promises a flow of talk ; yet we must be content to believe what an 
enemy says of him, when he likewise says it of himself. But, whatever was his character 
as a companion, it appears that he lived in familiarity with the liighest persons of his time. 
It is related by Carte of the Duke of Ormond, that he used often to pass a night with 
Dryden, and those with whom Dryden consorted : who they were, Carte has not told, but 
certainly the convivial table at which Ormond sat was not surrounded with a plebeian society. 
He was indeed reproached with boasting of his familiarity with the great ; and Horace 
will support him in the opinion, that to please superiors is not the lowest kind of merit. 

The merit of pleasing must, however, be estimated by the means. Favour is not always 
gained by good actions or laudable qualities. Caresses and preferments are often bestowed 
on the auxiliaries of vice, the procurers of pleasure, or the flatterers of vanity. Dryden has 
never been charged with any personal agency unworthy of a good character : he abetted 
vice and vanity only with his pen. One of his enemies has accused him of lewdness in his 
conversation ; but, if accusation without proof be credited, who shall be innocent 1 

His works afford too many examples of dissolute licentiousness and abject adulation , 
but they were probably, Uke his merriment, artificial and constrained ; the effects of study 
and meditation, and his trade rather than his pleasure. 

Of the mind that can trade in corruption, and can deliberately pollute itself with ideal 
wickedness for the sake of spreading the contagion in society, I wish not to conceal or excuse 
the depravity. Such degradation of the dignity of genius, such abuse of superlative abilities, 
cannot be contemplated but with grief and indignation. What consolation can be had, 
Dryden has afforded, by living to repent, and to testify his repentance. 

Of dramatic immorality he did not want examples among his predecessors, or companions 
among his contenrporaries ; but, in the meanness and servility of hyperbolical adulation, I 
know not whether, since the days in which the Roman emperors were deified, he has been 
ever equalled, except by Afra Behn, in an address to Eleanor Gwyn. When once he has 
undertaken the task of praise, he no longer retains shame in himself, nor supposes it in his 
patron. As many odoriferous bodies are observed to diffuse perfumes from year to year, 
without sensible diminution of bulk or weight, he appears never to have impoverished his 
mint of flattery by his expenses, however lavish. He had all the forms of excellence, 
intellectual and moral, combined in his mind, with endless variation ; and, when he had 
scattered on the hero of the day the golden shower of wit and virtue, he had ready for him, 
whom he wished to court on the morrow, new wit and virtue with another stamp. Of this 
kind of meanness he never seems to decline the practice, or lament the necessity : he 
considers the great as entitled to encomiastic homage, and brings praise rather as a tribute 
than a gift, more delighted with the fertility of his invention, than mortified by the prostitu- 
tion of his judgment. It is indeed not certain, that on these occasions his judgment much 
rebelled against his interest. There are minds which easily sink into submission, that look 
on grandeur with undistinguishing reverence, and discover no defect where there is elevation 
of rank and affluence of riches. 

With his praises of others and of himself is always intermingled a strain of discontent 
and lamentation, a sullen growl of resentment or a querulous murmur of distress. His works 
arc undervalued, his merit is unrewarded, and " he has few thanks to pay his stars that he 
Was bom among Englishmen." To his critics he is sometimes , contemptuous, sometimes 
resentful, and sometimes submissive.* The writer who thinks his works formed for duration, 

• Ilia satire was evidently dreaded, as appears in The Cavalier's Litany, printed in 1GS2 : 

"From dining with Bethel and supping with Clayton, 
From a lash with the quill of satirical! Drydt «, 
From a high-mettled Whig that was kick'd at Low-Layton, 
Lihera uos, «tc." — T. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



mistakes his interest when he mentions his enemies. He degrades his own dignity by 
showing that he was affected by their censures, and gives lasting importance to names, 
which, left to themselves, would vanish from remembrance. Prom this principle Dryden did 
not often depart ; his complaints are for the greater part general ; he seldom pollutes his 
pages with an adverse name. He condescended indeed to a controversy with Settle, in 
which he perhaps may be considered rather as assaulting than repelling ; and since Settle is 
sunk into oblivion, his libel remains injurious only to himself. 

Among answers to critics, no poetical attacks, or altercations, are to be included ; they 
are like other poems, effusions of genius, produced as much to obtain praise as to obviate 
censure. These Dryden practised, and in these he excelled. 

Of Collier, Blackmore, and Milbourne, he has made mention in the Preface of his Fables 
To the censure of Collier, whose remarks may be rather termed admonitions than criticisms, 
he makes little reply ; being, at the age of sixty-eight, attentive to better things than the 
claps of a playhouse. He complains of Collier's rudeness, and the " horse-play of his raillery ; " 
and asserts, that " in many places he has perverted by his glosses the meaning " of what he 
censures ; but in other things he confesses that he is justly taxed ; and says with great calm- 
ness and candour, " I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts or expressions of mine that can be 
truly accused of obscenity, immorality, or profaneness, and retract them. If he be my enemy, 
let him triumph ; if he be my friend, he will be glad of my repentance." Yet as our best 
dispositions are imperfect, he left standing in the same book a reflection on Collier of great 
asperity, and indeed of more asperity than wit. 

Blackmore he represents as made his enemy by the poem of Absalom and Achitophel, 
which " he thinks a little hard upon his fanatic patrons ; " and charges him with borrowing 
the plan of his Arthur from the Preface to Juvenal, "though he had," says he, "the baseness 
not to acknowledge his benefactor, but instead of it to traduce me in a libel." 

The libel in which Blackmore traduced him was a Satire upon Wit ; in which, having 
lamented the exuberance of false wit and the deficiency of true, he proposes that all wit 
should be re-coined before it is current, and appoints masters of assay who shall reject all 
that is light or debased : — 

" "Tis true, that when the coarse and worthless dross 
Is purged away, there will be mighty loss : 
Ev'n Congreve, Southern, manly Wycherly, 
When thus refined will grievous sufferers he. 
Into the melting pot when Dryden comes, 
"What horrid stench will rise, what noisome fumes ! 
How will he shrink, when all his lewd allay 
And wicked mixture shall he purged away !" 

Thus stands the passage in the last edition ; but in the original there was an abatement 
of the censure, beginning thus : — 

" But what remains will he so pure, 'twill bear 
Th' examination of the most severe." 

Blackmore, finding the censure resented, and the civility disregarded, ungenerously 
omitted the softer part. Such variations discover a writer who consults his passions more 
than his virtue ; and it may be reasonably supposed that Dryden imputes his enmity to its 
true cause. 

Of Milbourne he wrote only in general terms, such as are always ready at the call of 
anger, whether just or not : a short extract will be sufficient. " Pie .pretends a quarrel to 
me, that I have fallen foul upon priesthood : if I have, I am only to ask pardon of good 
priests, and am afraid his share of the reparation will come to little. Let him be satisfied 
that he shall never be able to force himself upon me for an adversary ; I contemn him too 
much to enter into competition with him. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



" As for the rest of those who have written against me, they are such scoundrels that 
they deserve not the least notice to be taken of them. Blackmore and Milbourne are only 
distinguished from the crowd by being remembered to their infamy." 

Dryden indeed discovered, in many of his writings, an affected and absurd malignity to 
priests and priesthood, which naturally raised him many enemies, and which was sometimes 
as unseasonably resented as it was exerted. Trapp is angry that he calls the sacrificer in the 
Oeorgics " The Holy Butcher : " the translation is indeed ridiculous ; but Trapp's anger 
arises from his zeal, not for the author, but the priest ; as if any reproach of the follies of 
Paganism could be extended to the preachers of truth. 

Dryden's dislike of the priesthood is imputed by Langbaine, and I think by Brown,* to a 
repulse which he suffered when he solicited ordination ; but he denies, in the Preface to his 
Fables, that he ever designed to enter into the Church ; and such a denial he would not 
have hazarded, if he could have been convicted of falsehood. 

Malevolence to the clergy is seldom at a great distance from irreverence of religion, and 
Dryden affords no exception to this observation. His writings exhibit many passages, which, 
with all the allowance that can be made for characters and occasions, are such as piety would 
not have admitted, and such as may vitiate light and unprincipled minds. But there is no 
reason for supposing that he disbelieved the religion which he disobeyed. He forgot his duty 
rather than disowned it. His tendency to profaneness is the effect of levity, negligence, and 
loose conversation, with a desire of accommodating himself to the corruption of the times, by 
venturing to be wicked as far as he durst. When he professed himself a convert to Popery, 
he did not pretend to have received any new conviction of the fundamental doctrines 
of Christianity. 

The persecution of critics was not the worst of Ms vexations : he was much more disturbed 
by the importunities of want. His complaints of poverty are so frequently repeated, either 
with the dejection of weakness sinking in helpless misery, or the indignation of merit claiming 
its tribute from mankind, that it is impossible not to detest the age which coidd impose on 
such a man the necessity of such solicitations, or not to despise the man who could submit 
to such solicitations without necessity. 

Whether by the world's neglect, or his own imprudence, I am afraid that the greatest 
part of his life was passed in exigencies. Such outcries were surely never uttered but in 
severe pain. Of his supplies or his expenses, no probable estimate can now be made. 
Except the salary of the Laureat, to which King James added the office of Historiographer, 
perhaps with some additional emoluments, his whole revenue seems to have been casual ; 
and it is well known that he seldom lives frugally who lives by chance. Hope is always 
liberal ; and they that trust her promises, make little scruple of revelling to-day on the 
profits of the morrow. 

Of his plays the profit was not great ; and of the produce of his other works very little 
intelligence can be had. By discoursing with the late amiable Mr. Tonson, I could not find 
that any memorials of the transactions between his predecessor and Dryden had been 
preserved, except the following papers : — ■ 

" I do hereby promise to pay John Dryden, Esq., or order, on the 25th of March, 1 GO!), 
the sum of two hundred and fifty guineas, in consideration of ten thousand verses, which the 

* See also a Poem in Defence of the Church of England, in opposition to the Hind and Panther. Fol. Lond. 1G8S. 
" Friend Bayes ! I fear this fable, and these rimes, 
Were thy dull penance fur some former crimes, 
When thy free inuso her own brisk language spoke, 
And, unbaptized, disdain'd the Christian yoke. 

"The Spanish Fryer not thought himself revenged, 
Until thy style, as well as faith, were changed. 
Our i 'l.nreh refused thee orders ; whence 1 find 
Her call'd the Panther, that of Borne the Hind."— T. 



LIFE OP DRYDEN. 



said John Dryden, Esq., is to deliver to me Jacob Tonson, when finished, whereof seven 
thousand five hundred verses, more or less, are already in the said Jacob Tonson's possession. 
And I do hereby farther promise, and engage myself, to make up the said sum of two hundred 
and fifty guineas three hundred pounds sterling to the said John Dryden, Esq., his executors, 
administrators, or assigns, at the beginning of the second impression of the said ten 
thousand verses. 

" In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal, this 20th day ot 
March, 1698-9. "Jacob Tonson." 

" Sealed and delivered, being first duly stampt, pursuant 
to the Acts of Parliament for that purpose, in the 
presence of 

" Ben. Poktlock, 
Will. Congreve." 

"March 24, 1698. 

" Received then of Mr. Jacob Tonson the sum of two hundred sixty-eight pounds fifteen 
shillings, in pursuance of an agreement for ten thousand verses, to be delivered by me to the 
said Jacob Tonson, whereof I have already delivered to him about seven thousand five 
hundred, more or less ; he the said Jacob Tonson being obliged to make up the foresaid sum 
of two hundred sixty-eight pounds fifteen shillings three hundred pounds, at the beginning of 
the second impression of the foresaid ten thousand verses. 

" I say, received by me, 

"John Dryden." 
" Witness, Charles Dryden." 

Two hundred and fifty guineas, at 11. Is. 6d. is 2681. 15s. 

It is manifest, from the dates of this contract, that it relates to the volume of Fables, 
which contains about twelve thousand verses, and for which therefore the payment must 
have been afterwards enlarged. 

I have been told of another letter yet, remaining, in which he desires Tonson to bring him 
money, to pay for a watch which he had ordered for his son, and which the maker would not 
leave without the price. 

The inevitable consequence of poverty is dependence. Dryden had probably no recourse 
in his exigencies but to his bookseller. The particular character of Tonson I do not know ; 
but the general conduct of traders was much less liberal in those times than in our own : 
their views were narrower, and their manners grosser. To the mercantile ruggedness of that 
race, the delicacy of the poet was sometimes exposed. Lord Bolingbroke, who in his youth 
had cultivated poetry, related to Dr. King, of Oxford, that one day, when he visited Dryden, 
they heard, as they were conversing, another person entering the house. " This," said 
Dryden, " is Tonson. You will take care not to depart before he goes away ; for I have not 
completed the sheet which I promised him ; and if you leave me unprotected, I must suffer 
all the rudeness to which his resentment can prompt his tongue." 

What rewards he obtained for his poems, besides the payment of the bookseller, cannot 
be known. Mr. Derrick, who consulted some of his relations, was informed that his Fables 
obtained five hundred pounds from the Duchess of Ormond ; a present not unsuitable to the 
magnificence of that splendid family ; and he quotes Moyle, as relating that forty pounds 
were paid by a musical society for the use of Alexander's Feast. 

In those days the economy of government was yet unsettled, and the payments of the 
Exchequer were dilatory and uncertain : of this disorder there is reason to believe that the 
Laureat sometimes felt the effects ; for, in one of his Prefaces, he complains of those, who, 
being entrusted with the distribution of the Prince's bounty, suffer those that depend upon it 
to languish in penury. 

Of his petty habits, or slight amusements, tradition has retained little. Of the only two 
men whom I have found to whom he was personally known, one told me, that at the house 



LIFE OF DliYDEN. 



which he frequented, called Will's Coffee-house, the appeal upon any literary dispute was 
made to him ; and the other related, that his armed chair, which in the winter had a settled 
and prescriptive place by the fire, was in the summer placed in the balcony, and that he 
called the two places his whiter and his summer seat. Tliis is all the intelligence which his 
two survivors afforded me. 

One of his opinions will do him no honour in the present age, though in his own time, at 
least in the beginning of it, he was far from having it confined to himself. He put great 
confidence in the prognostications of judicial astrology. In the Appendix to the Life of 
Congreve is a narrative of some of his predictions wonderfully fulfilled ; but I know not the 
writer's means of information, or character of veracity. That he had the configurations of 
the horoscope in his mind, and considered them as influencing the affairs of men, he does not 
forbear to hint : — 

" The utmost malice of the stars is past. — 
Now frequent trines the happier lights among, 

And high-raised Jove, from his dark prison freed, 
Those weights took off that on his planet hung, 

Will gloriously the new-laid works succeed." 

He has elsewhere shown his attention to the planetary powers ; and in the preface to 
his Fables has endeavoured obliquely to justify his superstition by attributing the same to 
some of the ancients. The latter, added to this narrative, leaves no doubt of his notions 
or practice. 

So slight and so scanty is the knowledge which I have been able to collect concerning 
the private life and domestic manners of a man whom every English generation must 
mention with reverence as a critic and a poet. 

DRYDEN may be properly considered as the father of English criticism, as the writer 
who first taught us to determine upon principles the merit of composition. Of our former 
poets, the greatest dramatist wrote without rules, conducted through life and nature by a 
genius that rarely misled, and rarely deserted him. Of the rest, those who knew the 
laws of propriety had neglected to teach them. 

Two Arts of English Poetry were written in the days of Elizabeth by Webb and 
Puttenham, from which something might be learned, and a few hints had been given by 
Jonson and Cowley ; but Dryden's Essay on Dramatic Poetry was the first regular and 
valuable treatise on the art of writing. 

He who, having formed his opinions in the present age of English literature, turns back 
to peruse this dialogue, will not perhaps find much increase of knowledge, or much novelty 
of instruction ; but he is to remember that critical principles were then in the hands of a 
few, who had gathered them partly from the ancients, and partly from the Italians and 
French. The structure of dramatic poems was then not generally understood. Audiences 
applauded by instinct ; and poets perhaps often pleased by chance. 

A writer who obtains his full purpose loses himself in his own lustre. Of an opinion 
which is no longer doubted, the evidence ceases to be examined. Of an art universally 
practised, the first teacher is forgotten. Learning once made popular is no longer learning ; 
it has the appearance of something which we have bestowed upon ourselves, as the dew 
appears to rise from the field which it refreshes. 

To judge rightly of an author, we must transport ourselves to his time, and examine 
what were the wants of his contemporaries, and what were his means of supplying them. 
That which is easy at one time was difficult at another. Dryden at least imported his 
science, and gave his country what it wanted before ; or rather, he imported only the 
materials, and manufactured them by his own skill. 

The Dialogue on the Drama was one of his first essays of criticism, written when he was 
yet a timorous candidate for reputation, and therefore laboured with that diligence which he 



LIFE OP DRYDEN. 



might allow himself somewhat to remit, when his name gave sanction to his positions, and 
his awe of the public was abated, partly by custom, and partly by success. It will not be 
easy to find, in all the opulence of our language, a treatise so artfully variegated with 
successive representations of opposite probabilities, so enlivened with imagery, so brightened 
with illustrations. His portraits of the English dramatists are wrought with great spirit 
and diligence. The account of Shakspeare may stand as a perpetual model of encomiastic 
criticism ; exact without minuteness, and lofty without exaggeration. The praise lavished 
by Longinus, on the attestation of the heroes of Marathon, by Demosthenes, fades away 
before it. In a few lines is exhibited a character so extensive in its comprehension, and so 
curious in its limitations, that nothing can be added, diminished, or reformed : nor can the 
editors and admirers of Shakspeare, in all their emulation of reverence, boast of much more 
than of having diffused and paraphrased this epitome of excellence ; of having changed 
Dryden's gold for baser metal, of lower value, though of greater bulk. 

In this, and in all his other essays on the same subject, the criticism of Dryden is the 
criticism of a poet ; not a dull collection of theorems, nor a rude detection of faults, which 
perhaps the censor was not able to have committed ; but a gay and vigorous dissertation, 
where delight is mingled with instruction, and where the author proves his right of judgment 
by his power of performance. 

The different manner and effect with which critical knowledge may be conveyed, was 
perhaps never more clearly exemplified than in the performances of Bymer and Dryden. It 
was said of a dispute between two mathematicians, " malim cum Scaligero errare, quam cum 
Clavio recte sapere ; " that " it was more eligible to go wrong with one, than right with the 
other." A tendency of the same kind every mind must feel at the perusal of Dryden's 
prefaces and Eymer's discourses. With Dryden we are wandering in quest of Truth ; whom 
we find, if we find her at all, dressed in the graces of elegance ; and, if we miss her, the 
labour of the pursuit rewards itself: we are led only through fragance and flowers. Eymer, 
without taking a nearer, takes a rougher way ; every step is to be made through thorns and 
brambles ; and Truth, if we meet her, appears repulsive by her mien, and ungraceful by 
her habit. Dryden's criticism has the majesty of a queen; Eymer's has the ferocity of 
a tyrant. 

As he had studied with great diligence the art of Poetry, and enlarged or rectified his 
notions, by experience perpetually increasing, he had his mind stored with principles and 
observations ; he poured out his knowledge with little labour ; for of labour, notwithstanding 
the multiplicity of his productions, there is sufficient reason to suspect that he was not a 
lover. To write con amore, with fondness for the employment, with perpetual touches and 
retouches, with unwillingness to take leave of his own idea, and an unwearied pursuit of 
Unattainable perfection, was, I think, no part of his character. 

His criticism may be considered as general or occasional. In his general precepts, 
which depend upon the nature of things, and the structure of the human mind, he may 
doubtless be safely recommended to the confidence of the reader ; but his occasional and 
particular positions were sometimes interested, sometimes negligent, and sometimes capri- 
cious. It is not without reason that Trapp, speaking of the praises which he bestows on 
Palamon and Arcite, says, " Novimus judicium Drydeni de poemate quodam Ghauceri, 
pulchro sane illo, et admodum laudando, mmirum quod non modo vere epicum sit, sed 
Iliada etiam atque ^Eneada tequet, imo superet. Sed novimus eodem tempore viri illius 
maximi non semper accuratissimas esse censuras, nee ad severissimam critices normam 
exactas : illo judice id plerumque optimum est, quod nunc prse manibus habet, et in quo 
nunc occupatur." 

He is therefore by no means constant to himself. His defence and desertion of dramatic 
rhyme is generally known. Spence, in his remarks on Pope's Odyssey, produces what he 
thinks an unconquerable quotation from Dryden's preface to the ^Eneid, in favour of 
translating an epic poem into blank verse ; but he forgets that when his author attempted 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



the Iliad, some years afterwards, lie departed from his own decision, and translated into 
rhyme. 

When he has any objection to obviate, or any licence to defend, he is not very scrupulous 
about what he asserts, nor very cautious, if the present purpose be served, not to entangle 
himself in his own sophistries. But, when all arts are exhausted, like other hunted animals, 
he sometimes stands at bay ; when he cannot disown the grossness of one of his plays, he 
declares that he knows not any law that prescribes morality to a comic poet. 

His remarks on ancient or modern writers are not always to be trusted. His parallel of 
the versification of Ovid with that of Claudian has been very justly censured by Sewel.* 
His comparison of the first line of Virgil with the first of Statius is not happier. Virgil, 
he says, is soft and gentle, and would have thought Statius mad, if he had heard him 
thundering out 

" Quae superimposito moles geminata colosso." 

Statius perhaps heats himself, as he proceeds, to exaggeration somewhat hyperbolical ; 
but undoubtedly Virgil would have been too hasty, if he had condemned him to straw for 
one sounding line. Dryden wanted an instance, and the first that occurred was impressed 
into the service. 

What he wishes to say, he says at hazard ; he cited Gorbuduc, which he had never seen ; 
gives a false account of Chapman's versification ; and discovers, in the preface to his Fables, 
that he translated the first book of the Iliad without knowing what was in the second. 

It will be difficult to prove that Dryden ever made any great advances in literature. As 
having distinguished himself at Westminster under the tuition of Busby, who advanced his 
scholars to a height of knowledge very rarely attained in grammar-schools, he resided 
afterwards at Cambridge ; it is not to be supposed, that his skill in the ancient languages 
was deficient, compared with that of common students ; but his scholastic acquisitions 
seem not proportionate to his opportunities and abilities. He could not, like Milton or 
Cowley, have made his name illustrious merely by his learning. He mentions but few books, 
and those such as lie in the beaten track of regular study ; from which if ever he departs, lie 
is in danger of losing himself in unknown regions. 

In his Dialogue on the Drama, he pronounces with great confidence that the Latin 
tragedy of Medea is not Ovid's, because it is not sufficiently interesting and pathetic. He 
might have determined the question upon surer evidence ; for it is quoted by Quintilian as 
the work of Seneca ; and the only line which remains in Ovid's play, for one line is left us, 
is not there to be found. There was therefore no need of the gravity of conjecture, or the 
discussion of plot or sentiment, to find what was afready known upon higher authority than 
such discussions can ever reach. 

His literature, though not always free from ostentation, will be commonly found either 
obvious, and made his own by the art of dressing it ; or superficial, which, by what he gives, 
shows what he wanted ; or erroneous, hastily collected, and negligently scattered. 

Yet it cannot be said that his genius is ever unprovided of matter, or that his fancy 
languishes in penury of ideas. His works abound with knowledge, and sparkle with illus- 
trations. There is scarcely any science or faculty that does not supply him with occasional 
images and lucky similitudes ; every page discovers a mind very widely acquainted both 
with art and nature, and in full possession of great stores of intellectual wealth. Of him 
that knows much it is natural to suppose that he has read with diligence : yet I rather believe 
that the knowledge of Dryden was gleaned from accidental intelligence and various con- 
versation, by a quick apprehension, a judicious selection, and a happy memory ; a keen 
appetite of knowledge, and a powerful digestion ; by vigilance that permitted nothing to 

* Preface to Ovid's Metamorphoses. — Dr. J. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



pass without notice, and a habit of reflection that suffered nothing useful to be lost. A mind 
like Dryden's, always curious, always active, to which every understanding was proud to be 
associated, and of which every one solicited the regard, by an ambitious display of himself, 
had a more pleasant, perhaps a nearer way to knowledge than by the silent progress of 
solitary reading. I do not suppose that he despised books, or intentionally neglected them ; 
but that he was carried out, by the impetuosity of his genius, to more vivid and speedy 
instructors : and that his studies were rather desultory and fortuitous than constant and 
systematical. 

It must be confessed that he scarcely ever appears to want book-learning but when he 
mentions books ; and to him may be transferred the praise which he gives his master 
Charles : — 

" His conversation, wit, and parts, 
His knowledge in the noblest useful arts, 

Were such, dead authors could not give, 

But habitudes of those that live : 
"Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive ; 

He drain'd from all, and all they knew, 
His apprehensions quick, his judgment true ; 

That the most leam'd with shame confess 
His knowledge more, his reading only less." 



Of all this, however, if the proof be demanded, I will not undertake to give it : the 
atoms of probability, of which my opinion has been formed, lie scattered over all his works ; 
and by him who thinks the question worth his notice, his works must be perused with very 
close attention. 

Criticism, either didactic or defensive, occupies almost all his prose, except those pages 
which he has devoted to his patrons ; but none of his prefaces were ever thought tedious. 
They have not the formality of a settled style, in which the first half of the sentence betrays 
the other. The clauses are never balanced, nor the periods modelled : every word seems to 
drop by chance, though it falls into its proper place. Nothing is cold or languid : the whole 
is airy, animated, and vigorous ; what is little, is gay ; what is great, is splendid. He may 
be thought to mention himself too frequently ; but, while he forces himself upon our esteem, 
we cannot refuse him to stand high in his own. Every thing is excused by the play of 
images, and the sprightliness of expression. Though all is easy, nothing is feeble ; though 
all seems careless, there is nothing harsh ; and though, since his earlier works more than a 
century has passed, they have nothing yet uncouth or obsolete. 

He who writes much will not easily escape a manner, such a recurrence of particular 
modes as may be easily noted. Dryden is always another and the same ; he does not exhibit 
a second time the same elegances in the same form, nor appears to have any art other than 
that of expressing with clearness what he thinks with vigour. His style could not easily 
be imitated, either seriously or ludicrously ; for, being always equable and always varied, 
it has no prominent or discriminative characters. The beauty who is totally free from 
disproportion of parts and features cannot be ridiculed by an overcharged resemblance. 

From his prose, however, Dryden derives only his accidental and secondary praise ; the 
veneration with which his name is pronounced by every cultivator of English literature, is 
paid to him as he refined the language, improved the sentiments, and tuned the numbers of 
English Poetry. 

After about half a century of forced thoughts, and rugged metre, some advances towards 
nature and harmony had been already made by Waller and Denham ; they had shown that 
long discourses in rhyme grew more pleasing when they were broken into couplets, and that 
verse consisted not only in the number but the arrangement of syllables. 

But though they did much, who can deny that they left much to do ? Their works were 
not many, nor were their minds of very ample comprehension. More examples of more 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



modes of composition were necessary for the establishment of regularity, and the introduction 
of propriety in word and thought. 

Eveiy language of a learned nation necessarily divides itself into diction scholastic and 
popular, grave and familiar, elegant and gross : and from a nice distinction of these different 
parts ai'ises a great part of the beauty of style. But, if we except a few minds, the favourites 
of nature, to whom their own original rectitude was in the place of rules, this delicacy of 
selection was little known to our authors ; our speech lay before them in a heap of confusion ; 
and every man took for every purpose what chance might offer him. 

There was therefore before the time of Dryden no poetical diction, no system of words at 
once refined from the grossness of domestic use, and free from the harshness of terms 
appropriated to particular arts. Words too familiar, or too remote, defeat the purpose of a 
poet. From those sounds which we hear on small or on coarse occasions, we do not easily 
receive strong impressions, or delightful images ; and words to which we are nearly strangers, 
whenever they occur, draw that attention on themselves which they should transmit to 
things. 

Those happy combinations of words which distinguish poetry from prose had been rarely 
attempted : we had few elegances or flowers of speech ; the roses had not yet been plucked 
from the bramble, or different colours had not been joined to enliven one another. 

It may be doubted whether Waller and Denharu could have overborne the prejudices 
which had long prevailed, and which even then were sheltered by the protection of Cowley. 
The new versification, as it is called, may be considered as owing its establishment to 
Dryden ; from whose time it is apparent that English poetry has had no tendency to relapse 
to its former savageness. 

The affluence and comprehension of our language is very illustriously displayed in our 
poetical translations of Ancient Writers ; a work which the French seem to relinquish in 
despair, and which we were long unable to perform with dexterity. Ben Jonson thought it 
necessary to copy Horace almost word by word ; Feltham, his contemporary and adversary, 
considers it as indispensably requisite in a translation to give line for line. It is said that 
Sandys, whom Dryden calls the best versifier of the last age, has struggled hard to comprise 
every book of the English Metamorphoses in the same number of verses with the original. 
Holyday had nothing in view but to show that he understood his author, with so little regard 
to the grandeur of his diction, or the volubility of his numbers, that his metres can hardly 
be called verses ; they camiot be read without reluctance, nor will the labour always be 
rewarded by understanding them. Cowley saw that such copiers were a servile race ; he 
asserted his liberty, and spread his wings so boldly that he left his authors. It was reserved 
for Dryden to fix the limits of poetical liberty, and give us just rules and examples of 
translation. 

When languages are formed upon different principles, it is impossible that the same 
modes of expression should always be elegant in both. While they run on together, the 
closest translation may be considered as the best ; but when they divaricate, each must take 
its natural course. Where correspondence cannot be obtained, it is necessary to be content 
with something equivalent. " Translation, therefore," says Dryden, "is not so loose as 
paraphrase, nor so close as metaphrase." 

All polished languages have different styles; the concise, the diffuse, the lofty, and the 
humble. In the proper choice of style consists the resemblance which Dryden principally 
exacts from the translator. He is to exhibit his author's thoughts in such a dress of diction 
as the author would have given them, had his language been English : rugged magniticenee 
is not to be softened; hyperbolical ostentation is not to be repressed; nor sententious 
affectation to have its point blunted. A translator is to be like his author; it is Dot his 
business to excel him. 

The reasonableness of these rules seems sufficient for their vindication ; and the effects 

1 luced by observing them were so happy, that I know not whether thej were ever opposed 

d 



LIFE OP DRYDEN". 



but by Sir Edward Sherburne, a man whose learning was greater than his powers of poetry, 
and who, being better qualified to give the meaning than the spirit of Seneca, has introduced 
his version of three tragedies by a defence of close translation. The authority of Horace, 
which the new translators cited in defence of their practice, he has, by a judicious explana- 
tion, taken fairly from them ; but reason wants not Horace to support it. 

It seldom happens that all the necessary causes concur to any great effect : will is 
wanting to power, or power to will, or both are impeded by external obstructions. The 
exigencies in which Dryden was condemned to pass his life are reasonably supposed to have 
blasted his genius, to have driven out his works in a state of immaturity, and to have 
intercepted the full-blown elegance which longer growth would have supplied. 

Poverty, like other rigid powers, is sometimes too hastily accused. If the excellence of 
Dryden's works was lessened by his indigence, their number was increased ; and I know 
not how it will be proved, that if he had written less he would have written better ; 
or that, indeed, he would have undergone the toil of an author, if he had not been solicited 
by something more pressing than the love of praise. 

But, as is said by his Sebastian, 

" What had been, is unknown ; what is, appears." 

We know that Dryden's several productions were so many successive expedients for his 
support ; his plays were therefore often borrowed ; and his poems were almost all occasional. 

In an occasional performance no height of excellence can be expected from any mind, 
however fertile in itself, and however stored with acquisitions. He whose work is general 
and arbitrary has the choice of his matter, and takes that which his inclination and his 
studies have best qualified him to display and decorate. He is at liberty to delay his 
publication till he has satisfied his friends and himself, till he has reformed his first 
thoughts by subsequent examination, and polished away those faults which the precipitance 
of ardent composition is likely to leave, behind it. Virgil is related to have poured out a 
great number of lines in the morning, and to have passed the day in reducing them to fewer. 

The occasional poet is circumscribed by the narrowness of his subject. Whatever can 
happen to man has happened so often that little remains for fancy or invention. We have 
been all born ; we have most of us been married ; and so many have died before us, that our 
deaths can supply but few materials for a poet. In the fate of princes the public has an 
interest ; and what happens to them of good or evil, the poets have always considered as 
business for the Muse. But after so many inauguratory gratulations, nuptial hymns, and 
funeral dirges, he must be highly favoured by nature, or by fortune, who says anything not 
said before. Even war and conquest, however splendid, suggest no new images ; the 
triumphant chariot of a victorious monarch can be decked only with those ornaments 
that have graced his predecessors. 

Not only matter but time is wanting. The poem must not be delayed till the occasion is 
forgotten. The lucky moments of animated imagination cannot be attended ; elegances and 
illustrations cannot be multiplied by gradual accumulation ; the composition must be de- 
spatched, while conversation is yet busy, and admiration fresh ; and haste is to be made, lest 
some other event should lay hold upon mankind. 

Occasional compositions may however secure to a writer the praise both of learning and 
facility ; for they cannot be the effect of long study, and must be furnished immediately from 
the treasures of the mind. 

The death of Cromwell was the first public event which called forth Dryden's poetical 
powers. His heroic stanzas have beauties and defects ; the thoughts are vigorous, and, 
though not always proper, show a mind replete with ideas ; the numbers are smooth ; and 
the diction, if not altogether correct, is elegant and easy. 

Davenant was perhaps at this time his favourite author, though Gondibert never appears 



LIFE OF DEYDEN. 



to have been popular ; and from Davenant lie learned to please his ear with the stanza of 
four lines alternately rhymed. 

Dryden very early formed his versification ; there are in this early production no traces 
of Donne's or Jonson's ruggedness ; but he did not so soon free his mind from the ambition 
of forced conceits. In his verses on the Restoration, he says of the King's exile : — 

" He, toss'd by Fate — 
Could taste no sweets of youth's desired age, 
But found his life too true a pilgrimage." 

And afterwards, to show how virtue and wisdom are increased by adversity, he makes this 
remark : — 

'' Well might the ancient poets then confer 
On Night the honour'd name of counsellor, 
Since, struck with rays of prosperous fortune blind, 
We light alone in dark afflictions find." 

His praise of Monk's dexterity comprises suck a cluster of thoughts unallied to one 
another, as will not elsewhere be easily found : — 

'"Twas Monk, whom Providence design'd to loose 
Those real bonds false freedom did impose. 
The blessed saints that watch'd this turning scene 
Did from their stars with joyful wonder lean, 
, To see small clues draw vastest weights along, 

Not in their bulk, but in their order strong. 
Thus pencils can by one slight touch restore 
Smiles to that changed face that wept before. 
With ease such fond chimnsras we pursue, 
As fancy frames, for fancy to subdue : 
But, when ourselves to action we betake, 
It shuns the mint like gold that chemists make. 
How hard was then his task, at once to be 
What in the body natural we see 1 
Man's Architect distinctly did ordain 
The charge of muscles, nerves, and of the brain, 
Through viewless conduits spirits to dispense 
The springs of motion from the seat of sense ; 
'Twas not the hasty product of a day, 
But the well-ripen'd fruit of wise delay. 
He, like a patient angler, ere he strook, 
Would let them play awhile upon the hook. 
Our healthful food the stomach labours thus, 
At first embracing what it straight doth crush. 
Wise leeches will not vain receipts obtrude, 
While growing pains pronounce the humours crude 
Deaf to complaints, they wait upon the ill, 
Till some safe crisis authorise their skill." 

He had not yet learned, indeed he never learned well, to forbear the improper use of 
mythology. After having rewarded the heathen deities for their care, 

"With Alga who the sacred altar strows? 
To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes ; 
A bull to thee, Portunus, shall be slain; 
A ram to you, ye Tempests of the Main." 

He tells us, in the language of Religion : — 

" Prayer storm' d the skies, and ravish'd Charles from thence, 
As Heaven itself is took by violence." 

And afterwards mentions one of the most awful passages of Sacred History. 
Other conceits there are too curious to be quite omitted ; as, 

" For by example most we siun'd before, 
And, glass-like, clearness mix'd with frailty bore." 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



How far he was yet from thinking it necessary to found his sentiments on nature, appears 
from the extravagance of his fictions and hyperboles : — 

" The winds, that never moderation knew, 
Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew ; 
Or, out of breath with joy, could not enlarge 
Their etraiten'd lungs. — 
It is no longer motion cheats your view ; 
As you meet it, the land approacheth you ; 
The land returns, and in the white it wears, 
The marks of penitence, and sorrow bears." 

I know not whether this fancy, however little be its value, was not borrowed. A French 
poet read to Malherbe some verses, in which he represents Prance as moving out of its place 
to receive the king. " Though this," said Malherbe, " was in my time, I do not remember it." 

His poem on the Coronation has a more even tenor of thought. Some lines deserve to be 
quoted : — 

" You have already quench'd sedition's brand; 
And zeal, that burn'd it, only warms the land ; 
The jealous sects that durst not trust their cause, 
So far from their own will as to the laws, 
Him for their umpire and their synod take, 
And their appeal alone to Caesar make." 

Here may be found one particle of that old versification, of which, I believe, in all his 
works, there is not another : — 

" Nor is it duty, or our hope alone, 
Creates that joy, but full fruition,'' 

In the verses to the Lord Chancellor Clarendon, two years afterwards, is a conceit so 
hopeless at the first view, that few would have attempted it ; and so successfully laboured, 
that though at last it gives the reader more perplexity than pleasure, and seems hardly 
worth the study that it costs, yet it must be valued as a proof of a mind at once subtle and 
comprehensive : — 

" In open prospect nothing bounds our eye, 
Until the earth seems join'd unto the sky . 
So in this hemisphere our utmost view 
Is only bounded by our king and you : 
Our sight is limited where you are join'd, 
And beyond that no farther heaven can find 
So well your virtues do with his agree, 
That though your orbs of different greatness be, 
Yet both are for each other's use disposed, 
His to enclose, and yours to be enclosed. 
Nor could another in your room have been, 
Except an emptiness had come between." 

The comparison of the Chancellor to the Indies leaves all resemblance too far behind it :— 

" And as the Indies were not found before 
Those rich perfumes which from the happy shore 
The winds upon their balmy wings coirvey'd, 
Whose guilty sweetness first their world betray'd • 
So by your counsels we are brought to view 
A new and undiscover'd world in you." 

There is another comparison, for there is little else in the poem, of which, though perhaps 
it cannot be explained into plain prosaic meaning, the mind perceives enough to be delighted, 
and readily forgives its obscurity, for its magnificence : — 

" How strangely active are the arts of peace, 
"Whose restless motions less than wars do cease 
Peace is not freed from labour, but from noise ; 
And war more force, but not more pains employs. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



Such is the mighty swiftness of your mind, 

That, like the Earth's, it leaves our sense behind ; 

While you so smoothly turn and roll our sphere, 

That rapid motion does hut rest appear. 

For, as in Nature's swiftness, with the throng 

Of flying orbs while ours is borne along, 

All seems at rest to the deluded eye, 

Moved by the soul of the same harmony; 

So, carried on by your unwearied care, 

We rest in peace, and yet in motion share." 

To this succeed four lines, which perhaps afford Dryden's first attempt at those pene- 
trating remarks on human nature, for which he seems to have been peculiarly formed : — 

" Let envy then those crimes within you see, 
From which the happy never must be free ; 
Envy, that does with misery reside, 
The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride." 

Into this poem he seems to have collected all his powers ; and after this he did not often 
bring upon his anvil such stubborn and unmalleable thoughts ; but, as a specimen of his 
abilities to unite the most unsociable matter, he has concluded with lines of which I think 
not myself obliged to tell the meaning : — 

" Yet unimpair'd with labours, or with time, 
Your age but seems to a new youth to climb. 
Thus heavenly bodies do our time beget, 
And measure change, but share no part of it : 
And still it shall without a weight increase, 
Like this new year, whose motions never cease. 
For since the glorious course you have begun 
Is led by Charles, as that is by the sun, 
It must both weightless and immortal prove, 
Because the centre of it is above." 

In the Annus Mirabilis he returned to the quatrain, which from that time he totally 
quitted, perhaps from experience of its inconvenience, for he complains of its difficulty. This 
is one of his greatest attempts. He had subjects equal to his abilities, a great naval war, 
and the Fire of London. Battles have always been described in heroic poetry ; but a 
sea-fight and artillery had yet something of novelty. New arts are long in the world before 
poets describe them ; for they borrow every thing from their predecessors, and commonly 
derive very little from nature or from life. Boileau was the first French writer that had 
ever hazarded in verse the mention of modern war, or the effects of gunpowder. We, who 
are less afraid of novelty, had already possession of those dreadful images. "Waller had 
described a sea-fight. Milton had not yet transferred the invention of fire-arms to the 
rebellious angels. 

This poem is written with great diligence, yet does not fully answer the expectation 
raised by such subjects and such a writer. With the stanza of Davenant he has sometimes 
his vein of parenthesis, and incidental disquisition, and stops his narrative for a wise remark. 

The general fault is, that he affords more sentiment than description, and does not so 
much impress scenes upon the fancy, as deduce consequences and make comjmrisons. 

The initial stanzas have rather too much resemblance to the first lines of Waller's 
poem on the war with Spain ; perhaps such a beginning is natural, and could not be avoided 
without affectation. Both Waller and Dryden might take their hint from the poem on the 
ci\ il war of Rome, " Orbem jam totum," &c. 

Of the King collecting his navy, he says : — 

" It scorns, as every ship their sovoreign knows, 
II is awful summons they so soon obey: 
So hear the scaly herds when Proteus blows, 
And so to pasture follow through the sea." 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



It would not be hard to believe that Dryden had written the two first lines seriously, and 
that some wag had added the two latter in burlesque. Who would expect the lines that 
immediately follow, which are indeed perhaps indecently hyperbolical, but certainly in a 
mode totally different 1 

" To see this fleet upon the ocean move, 

Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies ; 

And Heaven, as if there wanted lights ahove, 

For tapers made two glaring comets rise." 

The description of the attempt at Bergen will afford a very complete specimen of the 
descriptions in this poem : — 

" And now approach'd their fleet from India, fraught 
With all the riches of the rising sun : 
And precious sand from Southern climates brought, 
The fatal regions where the war begun. 

" Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, 

Their way-laid wealth to Norway's coast they bring : 
Then first the North's cold bosom spices bore, 
And winter brooded on the Eastern spring. 

" By the rich scent we found our perfumed prey, 

Which, flank'd with rocks, did close in covert lie ; 
And round about their murdering cannon lay, 
At once to threaten and invite the eye. 

" Piercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, 

The English undertake th' unequal war : 

Seven ships alone, by which the port is barr'd, 

Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare. 

" These fight like husbands, but like lovers those : 
These fain would keep, and those more fain enjoy : 
And to such height their frantic passion grows, 
That what both love both hazard to destroy : 

" Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, 

And now their odours arm'd against them fly ; 
Some preciously by shatter' d porcelain fall, 
And some by aromatic splinters die : 

" And though, by tempests of the prize bereft, 
In heaven's inclemency some ease we find : 
Our foes we vanquished by our valour left, 
And only yielded to the seas and wind." 

In this manner is the sublime too often mingled with the ridiculous. The Dutch seek a 
shelter for a wealthy fleet : this surely needed no illustration ; yet they must fly, not like 
all the rest of mankind on the same occasion, but " like hunted castors ; " and they might 
with strict propriety be hunted, for we winded them by our noses — their perfumes betrayed 
them. The husband and the lover, though of more dignity than the castor, are images too 
domestic to mingle properly with the horrors of war. The two quatrains that follow are 
worthy of the author. 

The account of the different sensations with which the two fleets retired, when the night 
parted them, is one of the fairest flowers of English poetry : — 

" The night comes on, we eager to pursue 

The combat still, and they ashamed to leave; 
Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew, 
And doubtful moonlight did our rage deceive. 

" In th' English fleet each ship resounds with joy, 
And loud applause of their great leader's fame; 
In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy, 
And, slumbering, smile at the imagined flame. 

'• Not so the Holland fleet, who, tired and done, 
Stretch'd on their decks, like weary oxen lie ; 
Faint sweats all down their mighty members run ; 
Vast bulks, which little souls but ill supply. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



" In ilreams they fearful precipices tread, 

Or, shipwreck' d, labour to some distant shore; 
Or, in dark churches, walk among the dead ; 
They wake with horror, and dare sleep no more." 

It is a general rule in poetry, that all appropriated terms of art should be sunk in 
general expressions, because poetry is to speak an universal language. This rule is still 
stronger with regard to arts not liberal, or confined to few, and therefore far removed from 
common knowledge ; and of this kind, certainly, is technical navigation. Yet Dryden was ot 
opinion, that a sea-fight ought to be described in the nautical language ; " and certainly, " 
says he, " as those, who in a logical disputation keep to general terms, would hide a fallacy, 
so those who do it in poetical description would veil their ignorance." 

Let us then appeal to experience ; for by experience at last we learn as well what will 
please as what will profit. In the battle his terms seem to have been blown away ; but he 
deals them liberally in the dock : — 

" So here some pick out bullets from the side, 

Some drive old oakum throngh each seam and rift : 
Their left hand does the calking-iron guide, 
The rattling mallet with the right they lift. 

" With boiling pitch another near at hand, 

From friendly Sweden brought, the seams ins top s ; 
Which, well laid o'er, the salt-sea waves withstand, 
And shake them from the rising beak in drops. 

" Some the galtd ropes with dawby marling bind, 

Or cere-cloth masts with strong tarpawling coats ; 
To try new shrouds one mounts into the wind, 
And one below their ease or stiffness notes." 

I suppose there is not one term which every reader does not wish away. 

His dioression to the original and progress of navigation, with his prospect of the 
advancement which it shall receive froni the Royal Society, then newly instituted, may be 
considered as an example seldom equalled of seasonable excursion and artful return. 

One line, however, leaves me discontented ; he says, that, by the help of the philo- 
sophers, 

" Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce, 
By which remotest regions are allied." — 

Which he is constrained to explain in a note " by a more exact measure of longitude." It 
had better become Dryden's learning and genius to have laboured science into poetry, and 
have shown, by explaining longitude, that verse did not refuse the ideas of philosophy. 

His description of the Fire is painted by resolute meditation, out of a mind better formed 
to reason than to feel. The conflagration of a city, with all its tumults of concomitant 
distress, is one of the most dreadful spectacles which this woi-ld can offer to human eyes ; 
yet it seems to raise little emotion in the breast of the poet ; he watches the flame coolly 
from street to street, with now a reflection, and now a simile, till at last he meets the King, 
for whom lie makes a speech, rather tedious in a time so busy ; and then follows again the 
progress of the fire. 

There are, however, in this part some passages that deserve attention ; as in the 
beginning : — 

" The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, 
And luxury, more late, asleep wore laid : 
All was the night's; and in her silent reign 
No sound the rest of nature did invade. 

•' In this deep quiet " 

The expression " All was the night's " is taken from Seneca, who remarks on Virgil's line, 

" Omnia noctis erant, placida composta quiote," 

that he might have concluded better, 

" Omnia noctis erant.' 



xl LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



The following quatrain is vigorous and animated : — 

" The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, • 

With bold fanatiek spectres to rejoice; 
About the fire into a dance they bend, 
And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice." 

His pred ction of the improvements which shall be made in the new city is elegant and 
poetical, and with an event which poets cannot always boast has been happily verified. The 
poem concludes with a simile that might have better been omitted. 

Dryden, when he wrote this poem, seems not yet fully to have formed his versification, 
or settled his system of propriety. 

From this time he addicted himself almost wholly to the stage, " to which," says he, " my 
genius never much inclined me," merely as the most profitable market for poetry. By 
writing tragedies in rhyme, he continued to improve his diction and his numbers. According 
to the opinion of Harte, who had studied his works with great attention, he settled his 
principles of versification in 1676, when he produced the play of Aureng Zebe ; and accord- 
ing to his own account of the short time in which he wrote Tyrannic Love, and the State of 
Innocence, he soon obtained the full effect of diligence, and added facility to exactness. 

Rhyme has been so long banished from the theatre, that we know not its effects upon the 
passions of an audience ; but it has this convenience, that sentences stand more independent 
on each other, and striking passages are therefore easily selected and retained. Thus the 
description of Night in the Indian Emperor, and the rise and fall of empire in the Conquest 
of Granada, are more frequently repeated than any lines in All for Love, or Bon Sebastian. 

To search his plays for vigorous sallies and sententious elegances, or to fix the dates of 
any little pieces which he wrote by chance or by solicitation, were labour too tedious and 
minute. 

His dramatic labours did not so wholly absorb his thoughts, but that he promulgated the 
laws of translation in a preface to the English Epistles of Ovid ; one of which he translated 
himself, and another in conjunction with the Earl of Mulgrave. 

Absalom and Achitophel is a work so well known, that particular criticism is superfluous. 
If it be considered as a poem political and controversial, it will be found to comprise all the 
excellences of which the subject is susceptible ; acrimony of censure, elegance of praise, 
artful delineation of characters, variety and vigour of sentiment, happy turns of language, 
and pleasing harmony of numbers ; and all these raised to such a height as can scarcely be 
found in any other English composition. 

It is not, however, without faults ; some lines are inelegant and improper, and too 
many are irreligiously licentious. The original structure of the poem was defective ; 
allegories drawn to great length will always break ; Charles could not run continually 
parallel with David. 

The subject had likewise another inconvenience : it admitted little imagery or descrip- 
tion ; and a long poem of mere sentiments easily becomes tedious ; though all the parts are 
forcible, and every line kindles new rapture, the reader, if not relieved by the interposition 
of something that sooths the fancy, grows weary of admiration, and defers the rest. 

As an approach to the historical truth was neoessary, the action and catastrophe were 
not in the poet's power ; there is therefore an unpleasing disproportion between the 
beginning and the end. "We are alarmed by a faction formed of many sects, various in their 
principles, but agreeing in their purpose of mischief, formidable for their numbers, and 
strong by their supports ; while the King's friends are few and weak. The chiefs on either 
part are set forth to view : but when expectation is at the height, the King makes a 
speech, and — • 

" Henceforth a series of new times began." 

Who can forbear to think of an enchanted castle, with a wide moat and lofty battlements, 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. X H 



walls of marble and gates of brass, winch vanishes at once into air, when the destined knight 
blows his horn before it ? 

In the second part, written by Tate, there is a long insertion, which, for its poignancy of 
satire, exceeds any part of the former. Personal resentment, though no laudable motive to 
satire, can add great force to general principles. Selfdove is a busy prompter. 

The Medal, written upon the same principles with Ahsalom and Achitophel, but upon a 
narrower plan, gives less pleasure, though it discovers equal abilities in the writer. The 
superstructure cannot extend beyond the foundation ; a single character or incident cannot 
furnish as many ideas, as a series of events, or multiplicity of agents. This poem, therefore, 
since time has left it to itself, is not much read, nor perhaps generally understood ; yet it 
abounds with touches both of humorous and serious satire. The picture of a man whose 
propensions to mischief are such, that his best actions are but inability of wickedness, is very 
skdfully delineated and strongly coloured : — 

" Power was his aim; but, thrown from that pretence, 
The wretch turn'd loyal in his own defence 
And malice reconciled him to his prince. 
Him, in the anguish of his soul he served: 
Rewarded faster still than he deserved. 
Behold him now exalted into trust ; 
His counsels oft convenient, seldom just; 
Ev'n in the most sincere advice he gave, 
He had a grudging still to be a knave. 
The frauds he learu'd in his fanatick years, 
Made him uneasy in his lawful gears, 
At least as little honest as he could, 
And like white witches, mischievously good. 
To this first bias, longingly, he leans, 
And rather would he great by wicked means." 

The Threnodia, which, by a term I am afraid neither authorised nor analogical, he calls 
Awjustalis, is not among his happiest productions. Its first and obvious defect is the 
irregularity of its metre, to which the ears of that age, however, were accustomed. What is 
worse, it has neither tenderness nor dignity ; it is neither magnificent nor pathetic. He 
seems to look round him for images which he cannot find, and what he has he distorts by 
endeavouring to enlarge them. "He is," he says, "petrified with grief;" but the marble 
sometimes relents, and trickles in a joke. 

" The sons of art all med'cines tried, 
And every noble remedy applied ; 
With emulation each essay'd 
His utmost skill; nay, more., they pray' d ; 
Was never losing game with better conduct play'd." 

He had been a little inclined to merriment before, upon the prayers of a nation for their 
dying sovereign ; nor was he serious enough to keep Heathen fables out of his religion : — 

" With him the innumerable crowd of armed prayers 

Knock'd at the gates of heaven, and knock'd aloud; 
The first well-meaning rvde peHHoTterB 

All fur his life assail'd the throne, 
All Mould have bribed the skies by offering up their own. 
So great a throng not heaven itself could bar ; 
'Twas almost borne by force as in the giants' war. 
The pray'rs, at least, for his reprieve, were heard ; 
His death, like llezekiah's, was deferr'd." 

There is throughout the composition a desire of splendour without wealth. In the 
conclusion he seems too much pleased with the prospect of the new reign to have lamented 
his old master with much sincerity. 

II'- did not miscarry in this attempt for want of skill either in lyric or elegiac poetry. 
Hi3 poem on the death of Mrs. Killegrew is undoubtedly the noblest ode that our language <\ ex 



xlii LIFE OF DEYDEN. 



lias produced. The first part flows with a torrent of enthusiasm. " Fervet immensusque 
ruit." All the stanzas indeed are not equal. An imperial crown cannot be one continued 
diamond ; the gems must be held together by some less valuable matter. 

In his first ode for Cecilia's day, which is lost in the splendour of the second, there are 
passages which would have dignified any other poet. The first stanza is vigorous and elegant, 
though the word diapason is too technical, and the rhymes are too remote from one another. 

• From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 

This universal frame began ; 
When Nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay, 

And could not heave her head, 
The tuneful voice was heard from high, 

' Arise, ye more than dead.' 
Then cold and hot, and moist and dry, 
In order to their stations leap, 

And Music's power obey. 
Prom harmony, from heavenly harmony, 

This universal frame began. 

From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 

The diapason closing full in Man." 

The conclusion is likewise striking ; but it includes an image so awful in itself, that it can 
owe little to poetry ; and I could wish the antithesis of music untuning had found some other 
place. 

" As from the power of sacred lays 

The spheres began to move, 
And sung the great Creator's praise 

To all the bless'd above: 

" So, when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour, 
The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die, 
And Music shall untune the sky." 

Of his skill in elegy he has given a specimen in his Eleonoru, of which the following lines 
discover their author : — 

" Though all these rare endowments of the mind 
Were in a narrow space of life confined, 
The figure was with full perfection crown'd, 
Though not so large an orb, as truly round : 
As when in glory, through the public place, 
The spoils of conquer'd nations were to pass, 
And but one day for triumph was allow'd, 
The consul was constrain'd his pomp to crowd; 
And so the swift procession hurried on, 
That all, though not distinctly, might be shown ; 
So, in the straiten'd bounds of life confined, 
She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind ; 
And multitudes of virtues pass'd along, 
Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, 
Ambitious to be seen, and then make room 
For greater multitudes that were to come. 
Yet unemploy'd no minute slipp'd away ; 
Moments were precious in so short a stay. 
The haste of Heaven to have her was so great, 
That some were single acts, though each complete ; 
And every act stood ready to repeat." 

This piece, however, is not without its faults : there is so much likeness in the initial 
comparison, that there is no illustration. As a king would be lamented, Eleonora was 
lamented : — 

" As, when some great and gracious monarch dies, 
Soft whispers, first, and mournful murmurs, rise 
Among the sad attendants ; then the sound 
Soon gathers voice, and spreads the news around, 
Through town and country, till the dreadful blast 
Is blown to distant colonies at last, 






LIFE OF DRYDEN. xliii 



Who then, perhaps, were offering vows in vain, 
For his long life, and for his happy reign ; 
So slowly, by degrees, unwilling Fame 
Did matchless Eleonora's fate proclaim, 
Till public as the loss the news became." 

This is little better than to say in praise of a shrub, that it is as green as a tree ; or of a 
brook, that it waters a garden, as a river waters a country. 

Dryden confesses that he did not know the lady whom he celebrates : the praise being 
therefore inevitably general, fixes no impression upon the reader, nor excites any tendency to 
love, nor much desire of imitation. Knowledge of the subject is to the poet what durable 
materials are to the architect. 

The Beligio Laid, which borrows its title from the Religio Medici of Browne, is almost 
the only work of Dryden which can be considered as a voluntary effusion : in this, therefore, 
it might be hoped, that the full effulgence of his genius would be found. But unhappily the 
subject is rather argumentative than poetical ; he intended only a specimen of metrical 
disputation : — 

" And this unpolish'd rugged verse I chose, 
As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose." 

This, however, is a composition of great excellence in its kind, in which the familiar is 
very properly diversified with the solemn, and the grave with the humorous ; in which metre 
has neither weakened the force, nor clouded the perspicuity of argument ; nor will it be easy 
to find another example equally happy of this middle kind of writing, which, though prosaic 
in some parts, rises to high poetry in others, and neither towers to the skies, nor creeps along 
the ground. 

Of the same kind, or not far distant from it, is the Hind and Panther, the longest of all 
Dryden's original poems ; an allegory intended to comprise and to decide the controversy 
between the Bomanists and Protestants. The scheme of the work is injudicious and incom- 
modious ; for what can be more, absurd than that one beast should counsel another to rest 
her faith upon a pope and council 1 He seems well enough skilled in the usual topics of 
argument, endeavours to show the necessity of an infallible judge, and reproaches the Beformers 
with want of unity ; but is weak enough to ask, why, since we see without knowing how, we 
may not have an infallible judge without knowing where 1 

The Mind at one time is afraid to drink at the common brook, because she may be 
worried ; but, walking home with the Panther, talks by the way of the Nicene Fathers, and 
at last declares herself to be the Catholic Church. 

This absurdity was very properly ridiculed in the City Mouse and Country Mouse of 
Montague and Prior ; and in the detection and censure of the incongruity of the fiction 
e] i icily consists the value of their performance, which, whatever reputation it might obtain 
by the help of temporary passions, seems, to readers almost a century distant, not very 
forcible or animated. 

Pope, whose judgment was perhaps a little bribed by the subject, used to mention this 
poem as the most correct specimen of Dryden's versification. It was indeed written when he 
had completely formed his manner, and may be supposed to exhibit, negligence excepted, his 
deliberate and ultimate scheme of metre. 

We may therefore reasonably infer, that he did not approve the perpetual uniformity 
which confines the sense to couplets, since he has broken his lines in the initial paragraph. 

" A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, 
Fed on the lawns, and In the forest ranged ; 
Without unspotted, innocent within, 
She fear'd no danger, li>r she knew no sin. 
Yet had she oft been chased with horns and bounds, 
And Scythian shafts, and many winged wounds 
Aim'd at her heart ; was often forced to fly, 
And doom'd to death, though fated net l« die." 



xliv LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



These lines are lofty, elegant, and musical, notwithstanding the interruption of the pause, 
of which the effect is rather increase of pleasure by variety, than offence by ruggedness. 

To the first part it was his intention, he says, "to give the majestic turn of heroic poesy ;" 
and perhaps he might have executed his design not unsuccessfully, had not an opportunity of 
satire, which he cannot forbear, fallen sometimes in his way. The character of a Presby- 
terian, whose emblem is the Wolf, is not very heroically majestic : — 

" More haughty than the rest, the wolfish race 
Appear with belly gaunt and famish'd face; 
Never was so deform'd a beast of grace. 
His ragged tail betwixt his legs he wears, 
Close clapp'd for shame ; but his rough crest he rears, 
And pricks up his predestinating ears." 

His general character of the other sorts of beasts that never go to church, though sprightly 
and keen, has, however, not much of heroic poesy : — 

" These are the chief; to number o'er the rest, 
And stand like Adam, naming every beast, 
"Were weary work ; nor will the Muse describe 
A slimy-born, and sun-begotten tribe, 
"Who, far from steeples and their sacred sound, 
In fields their sullen conventicles found. 
These gross, half-animated lumps I leave; 
Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive 
But, if they think at all, 'tis sure no higher 
Than matter, put in motion, may aspire ; 
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay, 
So drossy, so divisible are they, 
As would but serve pure bodies for allay ; 
Such souls as shards produce, such beetle things 
As only buzz to heaven with evening wings ; 
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance : 
Such are the blindfold blows of ignorance. 
They know no being, and but hate a name ; 
To them the Hind and Panther are the same." 

One more instance, and that taken from the narrative part, where style was more in his 
choice, will show how steadily he kept his resolution of heroic dignity. 

" For when the herd, sufficed, did late repair 
To ferny heaths and to their forest lair, 
She made a mannerly excuse to stay, 
Proffering the Hind to wait her half the way ; 
That, since the sky was clear, an hour of talk 
Might help her to beguile the tedious walk. 
With much good-will the motion was embraced, 
To chat awhile on their adventures past ; 
Nor had the grateful Hind so soon forgot 
Her friend and fellow-sufferer in the plot. 
Yet, wondering how of late she grew estranged, 
Her forehead cloudy and her countenance changed, 
She thought this hour th' occasion would present 
To learn her secret cause of discontent, 
Which well she hoped might be with ease redress'd, 
Considering her a well-bred, civil beast, 
And more a gentlewoman than the rest. 
After some common talk what rumours ran, 
The lady of the spotted muff began." 

The second and third parts he professes to have reduced to diction more familiar and 
more suitable to dispute and conversation ; the difference is not, however, very easily 
perceived; the first has familiar, and the two others have sonorous, lines. The original 
incongruity runs through the whole ; the king is now Ccesar, and now the Lion; and the 
name Pan is given to the Supreme Being. 

But when this constitutional absurdity is forgiven, the poem must be confessed to be 
written with great smoothness of metre, a wide extent of knowledge, and an abundant 






LIFE OF DRYDEN. xlv 



multiplicity of images ; the controversy is embellished with pointed sentences, diversified 
by illustrations, and eidivened by sallies of invective. Some of the facts to which allusions 
are made are now become obscure, and perhaps there may be many satirical passages 
little understood. 

As it was by its nature a work of defiance, a composition which would naturally be 
examined with the utmost acrimony of criticism, it was probably laboured with uncommon 
attention, and there are, indeed, few negligences in the subordinate parts. The original 
impropriety, and the subsequent unpopularity of the subject a added to the ridiculousness 01 
its first elements, has sunk it into neglect ; but it may be usefully studied, as an example of 
poetical ratiocination, in which the argument suffers little i'v§ m the metre. 

In the poem on the Birth of the Prince of Wales, nothing is very remarkable but the 
exorbitant adulation, and that insensibility of the precipice on which the king was then 
standing, which the laureate apparently shared with the rest of the courtiers. A few 
months cured him of controversy, dismissed him from court, and made him again a play- 
wright and translator. 

Of Juvenal there had been a translation by Stapylton, and another by Holyday ; neither 
of them is very poetical. Stapylton is more smooth ; and Holyday's is more esteemed for 
the learning of his notes. A new version was proposed to the poets of that time, and under- 
taken by them in conjunction. The main design was conducted by Dryden, whose reputa- 
tion was such that no man was unwilling to serve the Muses under him. 

The general character of this translation will be given, when it is said to preserve the 
wit, but to want the dignity, of the original. The peculiarity of Juvenal is a mixture of 
gaiety and stateliness, of pointed sentences and declamatory grandeur. His points have not 
been neglected ; but his grandeur none of the band seemed to consider as necessary to be 
imitated, except Creech, who undertook the thirteenth satire. It is therefore perhaps possible 
to give a better representation of that great satirist, even in those parts which Dryden 
himself has translated, some passages excepted, which will never be excelled. 

With Juvenal was published Persius, translated wholly by Dryden. This work, though, 
like all other productions of Dryden, it may have shining parts, seems to have been written 
merely for wages, in an uniform mediocrity, without any eager endeavour after excellence, 
or laborious effort of the mind. 

There wanders an opinion among the readers of poetry, that one of these satires is an 
exercise of the school. Dryden says, that he once translated it at school ; but not that he 
preserved or published the juvenile performance. 

Not long afterwards he undertook perhaps the most arduous work of its kind, a 
translation of Virgil, for which he had shown how well he was qualified by his version of the 
Pollio, and two episodes, one of Nisus and Euryalus, the other of Mezentius and Lausus. 

In the comparison of Homer and Virgil, the discriminative excellence of Homer is eleva- 
tion and comprehension of thought, and that of Virgil is grace and splendour of diction. 
The beauties of Homer are therefore difficult to be lost, and those of Virgil difficult to be 
retained. The massy trunk of sentiment is safe by its solidity, but the blossoms of elocution 
easily drop away. The author, having the choice of his own images, selects those which he 
can best adorn ; the translator must, at all hazards, follow his original, and express thoughts 
which perhaps he would not have chosen. When to this primary difficulty is added the 
inconvenience of a language so much inferior in harmony to the Latin, it cannot be expected 
that they who read the Georgics and the YEneid should be much (blighted with any version. 

All these obstacles Dryden saw, and all those he determined to encounter. The expecta- 
tion of his work was undoubtedly great ; the nation considered its honour as interested in 
the event. One gave him the different editions of his author, another helped him in the 
subordinate parts. The arguments of the several books were given him by Addison. 

The hopes of the public were not disappointed. He produced, says Pope, " the most 
noble and spirited translation that I know in any language." It certainly excelled whatever 



xlvi LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



had appeared in English, and appears to have satisfied his friends, and, for the most part, 
to have silenced his enemies. Milbourne, indeed, a clergyman, attacked it ; but his outrages 
seem to be the ebullitions of a mind agitated by stronger resentment than bad poetry can 
excite, and previously resolved not to be pleased. 

His criticism extends only to the Preface, Pastorals, and Georgics ; and, as he professes 
to give his antagonist an opportunity of reprisal, he has added his own version of the first 
and fourth Pastorals, and the first Georgia. The world has forgotten his book ; but, since 
his attempt has given him a place in literary history, I will preserve a specimen of his 
criticism, by inserting his remarks on the invocation before the first Georgic, and of his 
poetry, by annexing his own version : 

Ver. 1 . " What makes a plenteous harvest, when to turn 
The fruitful soil, and when to sow the coru. 

It's unlucky, they say, to stumble at the threshold; but what has a plenteous harvest to do 
here? Virgil would not pretend to prescribe rules for that which depends not on the 
husbandman's care, but the disposition of Heaven altogether. Indeed, the plenteous crop 
depends somewhat on the good method of tillage ; and where the land's ill manur'd, the corn, 
without a miracle, can be but indifferent ; but the harvest may be good, which is its properest 
epithet, tho' the husbandman's skill were never so indifferent. The next sentence is too 
literal, and when to plough had been Virgil's meaning, and intelligible to every body ; and 
when to sow the corn, is a needless addition." 

Ver. 3. " The care of sheep, of oxen, and of kine, 

And when to geld the lambs, and sheer the swine, 

would as well have fallen under the cura bourn, qui cultus habendo sit pecori, as Mr. D.'s 
deduction of particulars." 

Ver. 5. "The birth and genius of the frugal bee 
I sing, Mfficenas, and I sing to thee. 

But where did experientia ever signify birth and genius ? or what ground was there for 
such & figure in this place ? How much more manly is Mr. Ogylby's version ? — 

' What makes rich grounds, in what celestial signs 
'Tis good to plough, and marry elms with vines : 
What best fits cattle, what with sheep agrees, 
And several arts improving frugal bees ; 
I sing, Maecenas.' 

Which four lines, tho' faulty enough, are yet much more to the purpose than Mr. D.'s six." 

Ver. 22. " From fields and mountains to my song repair. 

For patrium linquens nemus, saltusque Lyccei — Very well explained ! " 

Ver. 23, 24. " Inventor Pallas, of the fattening oil, 

Thou founder of the plough, and ploughman's toil ! 

Written as if these had been Pallas' 's invention. The ploughman's toil 's impertinent." 

Ver. 25. " The shroud-like cypress 

Why shroud-like? Is a cypress, pulled up by the roots, which the sculpture in the last 
Eclogue fills Silvanus's hand with, so very like a shroud ? Or did not Mr. D. think of that 
kind of cypress us'd often for scarves and hatbands at funerals formerly, or for widows' vails, &c. 1 
if so, 'twas a deep, good thought." 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. xlvii 



Ver. 26. " That wear 

The royal honours, and increase the year. 

What's meant by increasing the year ? Did the gods or goddesses add more months, or days. 
or hours to it ? Or how can arva tueri signify, to wear rural honours ? Is this to translate, 
or abuse an author ? The next couplet is borrowed from Ogylby, I suppose, because less to the 
purpose than ordinary." 

Ver. 33. " The patron of the world, and Rome's peculiar guard. 

Idle, and none of Virgil's, no more than the sense of the precedent couplet ; so again, he 
interpolates Virgil with that and the round circle of the year to guide poiverful of blessings, 
which thou strew'st around; a ridiculous Latinism, and an impertinent addition ; indeed the 
whole period is but one piece of absurdity and nonsense, as those who lay it with the original 
must find." 

Ver. 42, 43. " And Neptune shall resign the fasces of the sea. 
Was he consul or dictator there ? " 

"And watery virgins for thy bed shall strive 

Both absurd interpolations" 

Ver. 47, 48. " Where in the void of heaven a place is free 
Ah happy D n, were that place for thee! 

But where is that void ? Or, what does our translator mean by it ? He knows what Ovid 
says God did to prevent such a void in heaven ; perhaps this was then forgotten : but 
Virgil talks more sensibly." 

Ver. 49. "The scorpion ready to receive thy laws. 

No, he would not then have gotten out of his way so fast." 
Ver. 66. " Though Proserpine affects her silent seat. 

What made her then so angry with Ascalaphus, for preventing her return 1 She was now 
mused to Patience under the determinations of Fate, rather than fond of her residence" 

Ver. 61, 62, 63. " Pity the poet's and the ploughman's cares, 
Interest thy greatness in our moan affairs, 
And use thyself betimes to hear our prayers. 

Which is such a wretched perversion of Virgil's noble thought as Vicars would have blushed 
at ; but Mr. Ogylby makes us some amends by his better lines : — 

' O whercsoe'er thou art, from thence incline, 
And grant assistance to my bold design ! 
Pity, with me, poor husbandmen's affairs, 
And now, as if translated, hear our prayers.' 

This is sense, and to the purpose ; the other, poor mistaken stuff" 

Such were the strictures of Milbourne, who found few abettors, and of whom it may be 
reasonably imagined, that many who favoured his design were ashamed of his insolence. 

When admiration had subsided, the translation was more coolly examined, and found, 
like all others, to be sometimes erroneous, and sometimes licentious. Those who could 
find faults, thought they could avoid them ; and Dr. Brady attempted in blank verse a 



xlviii LIFE OF DEYDEN. 



translation of the iEneid, which, when dragged into the world, did not live long enough 
to cry. I have never seen it ; but that such a version there is, or has been, perhaps some old 
catalogue informed me. 

With not much better success, Trapp, when his Tragedy and his Prelections had given 
him reputation, attempted another blank version of the ^Eneid ; to which, notwithstanding 
the slight regard with which it was treated, he had afterwards perseverance enough to add 
the Eclogues and Georgics. His book may continue in existence as long as it is the 
clandestine refuge of schoolboys. 

Since the English ear has been accustomed to the mellifluence of Pope's numbers, and 
the diction of poetry has become more splendid, new attempts have been made to translate 
Virgil : and all his works have been attempted by men better qualified to contend with 
Dryden. I will not engage myself in an invidious comparison, by opposing one passage to 
another ; a work of which there would be no end, and which might be often offensive 
without use. 

It is not by comparing line with line that the merit of great works is to be estimated, 
but by their general effects and ultimate result. It is easy to note a weak line, and write 
one more vigorous in its place ; to find a happiness of expression in the original, and 
transplant it by force into the version : but what is given to the parts may be subducted 
from the whole, and the reader may be weary, though the critic may commend. Works of 
imagination excel by their allurement and delight ; by their power of attracting and 
detaining the attention. That book is good in vain, which the reader throws away. He 
only is ttie master, who keeps the mind in pleasing captivity ; whose pages are perused with 
eagerness, and in hope of new pleasure are perused again ; and whose conclusion is perceived 
with an eye of sorrow, such as the traveller casts upon departing day. 

By his proportion of this predomination I will consent that Dryden should be tried : of 
this, which, in opposition to reason, makes Ariosto the darling and the pride of Italy ; of 
this, which, in defiance of criticism, continues ShaksjJeare the sovereign of the drama. 

His last work was his Fables, in which he gave us the first example of a mode of writing 
which the Italians call rifaaimento, a renovation of ancient writers, by modernising their 
language. Thus the old poem of Boiardo has been newly-dressed by Domenichi and Berni. 
The works of Chaucer, upon which this kind of rejuvenescence has been bestowed by 
Dryden, require little criticism. The tale of the Cock seems hardly worth revival ; and the 
story of Palamon and Arcite, containing an action unsuitable to the times in which it is 
placed, can hardly be suffered to pass without censure of the hyperbolical commendation 
which Dryden has given it in the general Preface, and in a poetical Dedication, a piece 
where his original fondness of remote conceits seems to have revived. 

Of the three pieces borrowed from Boccace, Sigismunda may be defended by the celebrity 
of the story. Theodore and Honoria, though it contains not much moral, yet afforded 
opportunities of striking description. And Gymon was formerly a tale of such reputation, 
that at the revival of letters it was translated into Latin by one of the Beroalds. 

Whatever subjects employed his pen he was still improving our measures, and embellish- 
ing our language. 

In this volume are interspersed some short original poems, which, with his prologues, 
epilogues, and songs, may be comprised in Congreve's remark, that even those, if he had 
written nothing else, would have entitled him to the praise of excellence in his kind. 

One composition must however be distinguished. The ode for St. Cecilia's Bay, perhaps 
the last effort of his poetry, has been always considered as exhibiting the highest flight of 
fancy, and the exactest nicety of art. This is allowed to stand without a rival. If indeed 
there is any excellence beyond it, in some other of Dryden's works that excellence must be 
found. Compared with the ode on Killigrew, it may be pronounced perhaps superior in the 
whole, but without any single part equal to the first stanza of the other. 

It is said to have cost Dryden a fortnight's labour ; but it does not want its negligences ; 



LIFE OP DRYDEN. xlix 



some of the lines are without correspondent rhymes ; a defect which I never detected hut ■ 
after an acquaintance of many years, and which the enthusiasm of the writer might hinder 
him from perceiving. 

His last stanza has less emotion than the former ; but it is not less elegant in the diction. 
The conclusion is vicious ; the music of Timotheiis, which raised a mortal to the skies, had 
only a metaphorical power ; that of Cecilia, which drew an angel down, had a real effect : the 
crown therefore could not reasonably be divided. 

In a general survey of Dryden's labours, he appears to have a mind veiy comprehensive 
by nature, and much enriched with acquired knowledge. His compositions are the effects 
of a vigorous genius operating upon large materials. 

The power that predominated in his intellectual operations was rather strong reason than 
quick sensibility. Upon all occasions that were presented, he studied rather than felt, and 
produced sentiments not such as nature enforces, but meditation supplies. With the simple 
and elemental passions, as they spring separate in the mind, he seems not much acquainted ; 
and seldom describes them but as they are complicated by the various relations of society, 
and confused in the tumults and agitations of life. 

What he says of Love may contribute to the explanation of his character : — 

" Love various minds docs variously inspire: 
It stirs in gentle bosoms gentle fire, 
Like that of incense on the altar laid 
But raging flames tempestuous souls invade; 
A fire which every windy passion blows, 
With pride it mounts, or with revenge it glows." 

Dryden's was not one of the gentle bosoms ; Love, as it subsists in itself, with no tendency 
but to the person loved, and wishing only for correspondent kindness ; such Love as shuts 
out all other interest, the Love of the Golden Age, was too soft and subtle to put his faculties 
in motion. He hardly conceived it but in its turbulent effervescence with some other 
desires ; when it was inflamed by rivalry, or obstructed by difficulties ; when it invigorated 
ambition, or exasperated revenge. 

He is therefore, with all his variety of excellence, not often pathetic ; and had so little 
sensibility of the power of effusions purely natural, that he did not esteem them in others. 
Simplicity gave him no pleasure ; and for the first part of his life he looked on Otway with 
contempt, though at last, indeed very late, he confessed that in his play there was Nature, 
which is the chief beauty. 

We do not always know our own motives. I am not certain whether it was not rather 
the difficulty which he found in exhibiting the genuine operations of the heart, than a senile 
submission to an injudicious audience, that filled his plays with false magnificence. It was 
necessary to fix attention ; and the mind can be captivated oidy by recollection, or by 
curiosity ; by reviving natural sentiments, or impressing new appearances of things ; 
sentences were readier at his call than images ; he could more easdy fill the ear with 
splendid novelty, than awaken those ideas that slumber in the heart. 

The favourite exercise of his mind was ratiocination ; and, that argument might not be 
too soon at an end, he delighted to talk of liberty and necessity, destiny and contingence ; 
these he discusses in the language of the school with so much profundity, that the terms 
which he uses are not always understood. It is indeed learning, but learning out of place. 

When once he had engaged himself in disputation, thoughts flowed in on either side : lie was 
now no longer at a loss ; he had always objections and solutions at command ; " verbaquc pro- 
visam rem" — gave him matter for his verse, and he finds without difficulty verse for his ni.it ter. 

In Comedy, for which he professes himself not naturally qualified, the mirth which he 
excites will perhaps not be found so much to arise from any original humour, or peculiarity 
of character nicely distinguished and diligently pursued, as from incidents ami circumstances 
Irtinces and surprises; from jests of action rather than of sentiment. What he had of 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



humorous or passionate, lie seems to have had not from nature, but from other poets ; if not 
always as a plagiary at least as an imitator. 

Next to argument, his delight was in wild and daring sallies of sentiment, in the irregular 
and eccentric violence of wit. He delighted to tread upon the brink of meaning, where 
light and darkness begin to mingle ; to approach the precipice of absurdity, and hover over 
the abyss of unideal vacancy. This inclination sometimes produced nonsense, which 
he knew ; as, 

" Move swiftly, Sun, and fly a lover's pace, 
Leave weeks and months behind thee in thy race. 

Amamel flies 
To guard thee from the demons of the air; 
My flaming sword above them to display, 
All keen, and ground upon the edge of day." 

And sometimes it issued in absurdities, of which perhaps he was not conscious; — - 

" Then we upon our orb's last verge shall go, 
And see the ocean leaning on the sky ; 
From thence our rolling neighbours we shall know, 
And on the lunar world securely pry." 

These lines have no meaning ; but may we not say, in imitation of Cowley on 
another book, 

"'Tis so like sense 'twill serve the turn as well?" 

This endeavour after the grand and the new produced many sentiments either great or 
bulky, and many images either just or splendid : — 

" I am as free as Nature first made man, 
Ere the base laws of servitude began, 
When wild in woods the noble savage ran. 

" — 'Tis but because the Living death ne'er knew, 
They fear to prove it as a thing that 's new : 
Let me th' experiment before you tiy, 
I'll show you first how easy 'tis to die. 

" — There with a forest of their darts he strove, 
And stood like Capaneus defying Jove, 
With his broad sword the boldest beating down, 
While Fate grew pale lest he should win the town, 
And turn'd the iron leaves of his dark book 
To make new dooms, or mend what it mistook. 

" — I beg no pity for this mouldering clay ; 
For if you give it burial, there it takes 
Possession of your earth : 
If burnt, and scatter'd in the air, the winds 
That strew my dust diffuse my royalty, 
And spread me o'er your clime, for where one atom 
Of mine shall light, know there Sebastian reigns." 

Of these quotations the two first may be allowed to be great, the two latter only tumid. 

Of such selection there is no end. I will add only a few more passages ; of which the 
first, though it may perhaps be quite clear in prose, is not too obscure for poetry, as the 
meaning that it has is noble ;■—■ 

" No, there is a necessity in Fate, 
Why still the brave bold man is fortunate ; 
He keeps his object ever full in sight ; 
And that assurance holds him firm and right ; 
True, 'tis a narrow way that leads to bliss, 
But right before there is no precipice ; 
Fear makes men look aside, and so their footing miss." 

Of the images which the two following citations afford, the first is elegant, the second 
magnificent ; whether either be just, let the reader judge : — 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



' What precious drops are these, 

Which silently each other's track pursue, 
Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew ? " 



- Resign your castle - 



— Enter, bravo Sir; for, when you speak the word, 
The gates shall open of their own accord ; 
The genius of the place its Lord shall meet, 
And bow its towery forehead at your feet." 

These bursts of extravagance Dryden calls the " Dalilahs " of the Theatre ; and owns 
that many noisy lines of Maximin and Almanzor call out for vengeance upon him ; " but I 
knew," says he, " that they were bad enough to please, even when I wrote them." There is 
surely reason to suspect that he pleased himself as well as his audience ; and that these, like 
the harlots of other men, had his love, though not his approbation. 

He had sometimes faults of a less generous and splendid kind. He makes, like almost 
all other poets, very frequent use of mythology, and sometimes connects religion and fable too 
closely without distinction. 

He descends to display his knowledge with pedantic ostentation ; as when, in translating 
Virgil, he says, " tack to the larboard " — and " veer starboard ; *' and talks in another work, 
of " virtue spooning before the wind." — His vanity now and then betrays his ignorance : — 

" They Nature's king through Nature's optics view'd ; 
Reversed, they view'd him lessen'd to their eyes." 

He had heard of reversing a telescope, and unluckily reverses the object. 

He is sometimes unexpectedly mean. When he describes the Supreme Being as moved 
by prayer to stop the Fire of London, what is his expression ? 

" A hollow crystal pyramid he takes, 
In firmaraental waters dipp'd above, 
Of this a broad extinguisher he makes, 
And hoods the flames that to their quarry strove." 

When he describes the Last Day, and the decisive tribunal, he intermingles this image : — 

" When rattling bones together fly, 
From the four quarters of the sky." 

It was indeed never in his power to resist the temptation of a jest. In his Elegy on 
Cromwell : — 

No sooner was the Frenchman's cause embraced, 
Than the light Monsieur the grave Don outweigh' d ; 
His fortune turn'd the scale " 

He had a vanity, unworthy of his abilities, to show, as may be suspected, the rank of the 
company with whom he lived, by the use of French words, which had then crept into 
conversation ; such as fraicheur for coolness, fougue for turbulence, and a few more, none of 
which the language has incorporated or retained. They continue only where they stood 
first, perpetual warnings to future innovators. 

These are his faults of affectation ; his faults of negligence are beyond recital. Such is 
the unevenness of his compositions, that ten lines are seldom found together without some- 
thing of which the reader is ashamed. Dryden was no rigid judge of his own pages ; he 
seldom struggled after supreme excellence, but snatched in haste what was within his reach ; 
and when he could content others, was himself contented. He did not keep present to his mind 
an idea of pure perfection ; nor compare his works, such as they were, with what they might 
be made. He knew to whom he should be opposed. He had more music than Waller, more 
vigour than Denharn, and more nature than Cowley ; and from his contemporaries he \\;is 
in no danger. Standing therefore in the highest place, he had no care to rise by contending 
with himself; but, while there was no name above his own, was willing to enjoy fame on 
the easiest terms. 

< t 



lii 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



He was no lover of labour. What he thought sufficient, he did not stop to make better ; 
and allowed himself to leave many parts unfinished, in confidence that the good lines would 
overbalance the bad. What he had once written, he dismissed from his thoughts ; and I 
believe there is no example to be found of any correction or improvement made by him after 
publication. The hastiness of his productions might be the effect of necessity ; but his 
subsequent neglect could hardly have any other cause than impatience of study. 

What can be said of his versification will be little more than a dilatation of the praise 
given it by Pope :— 

" Waller was smooth ; but Dryden taught to join 
The varying verse, the full resounding line, 
The long majestic march, and energy divine." 

Some improvements had been already made in English numbers ; but the full force of 
our language was not yet felt ; the verse that was smooth was commonly feeble. If Cowley 
had sometimes a finished line, he had it by chance. Dryden knew how to choose the flowing 
and the sonorous words ; to vary the pauses, and adjust the accents ; to diversify the 
cadence, and yet preserve the smoothness of his metre. 

Of Triplets and Alexandrines, though he did not introduce the use, he established it. 
The Triplet has long subsisted among us. Dryden seems not to have traced it higher than 
to Chapman's Homer ; but it is to be found in Phaer's Virgil, written in the reign of Mary ; 
and in Hall's Satires, published five years before the death of Elizabeth. 

The Alexandrine was, I believe, first used by Spenser, for the sake of closing his stanza 
with a fuller sound. We had a longer measure of fourteen syllables, into which the ^Eneid 
was translated by Phaer, and other works of the ancients by other writers ; of which 
Chapman's Iliad was, I believe, the last. 

The two first lines of Phaer's third iEneid will exemplify this measure : — 

" When Asia's state was overthrown, and Priam's kingdom stout, 
All guiltless, by the power of gods above was rooted out." 

As these lines had their break, or coesura, always at the eighth syllable, it was thought in 
time commodious to divide them ; and quatrains of lines, alternately consisting of eight and 
six syllables, make the most soft and pleasing of our lyric measures ; as, 

" Relentless Time, destroying power, 
Which stone and brass obey, 
Who giv'st to ev'ry flying hour 
To work some new decay." 

In the Alexandrine, when its power was once felt, some poems, as Drayton's Polyolbion, 
were wholly written ; and sometimes the measures of twelve and fourteen syllables were 
interchanged with one another. Cowley was the first that inserted the Alexandrine at 
pleasure among the heroic lines of ten syllables, and from him Dryden professes to 
have adopted it. 

The Triplet and Alexandrine are not universally approved. Swift always censured them, 
and wrote some lines to ridicule them. In examining their propriety, it is to be considered 
that the essence of verse is regularity, and its ornament is variety. To write verse, is to 
dispose syllables and sounds harmonically by some known and settled rule : a rule however 
lax enough to substitute similitude for identity, to admit change without breach of order, 
and to relieve the ear without disappointing it. Thus a Latin hexameter is formed from 
dactyls and spondees differently combined ; the English heroic admits of acute or grave 
syllables variously disposed. The Latin never deviates into seven feet, or exceeds the 
number of seventeen syllables ; but the English Alexandrine breaks the lawful bounds, and 
surprises the reader with two syllables more than he expected. 

The effect of the Triplet is the same ; the ear. has been accustomed to expect a new 
rhyme in every couplet ; but is on a sudden surprised with three rhymes together, to which 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. liii 



the reader could not accommodate his voice, did he not obtain notice of the change from the 
braces of the margins. Surely there is something unskilful in the necessity of such 
mechanical direction. 

Considering the metrical art simply as a science, and consequently excluding all casualty 
we must allow that Triplets and Alexandrines, inserted by caprice, are interruptions of that 
constancy to which science aspires. And though the variety which they produce may very 
justly be desired, yet, to make poetry exact, there ought to be some stated mode of 
admitting them. 

But till some such regulation can be formed, I wish them still to be retained in their 
present state. They are sometimes convenient to the poet. Fenton was of opinion, that 
Dryden was too liberal, and Pope too sparing, in their use. 

The l-hymes of Diyden are commonly just, and he valued himself for his readiness in 
finding them ; but he is sometimes open to objection. 

It is the common practice of our poets to end the second hue with a weak or grave 
syllable : — 

" Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly, 
Fill'd with ideas of fair Italy." 

Dryden sometimes puts the weak rhyme in the first : — 

" Laugh all the powers that favour tyranny, 
And all the standing army of the sky." 

Sometimes he concludes a period or paragraph with the first line of a couplet, which 
though the French seem to do it without irregularity, always displeases in English poetry. 

The Alexandrine, though much his favourite, is not always very diligently fabricated by 
him. It invariably requires a break at the sixth syllable ; a rule which the modern French 
poets never violate, but which Dryden sometimes neglected : — 

" And with paternal thunder vindicates his throne." 

Of Dryden's works it was said by Pope, that he " could select from them better specimens 
of every mode of poetry than any other English writer could supply." Perhaps no nation 
ever produced a writer that enriched his language with such a variety of models. To him 
we owe the improvement, perhaps the completion of our metre, the refinement of our 
language, and much of the correctness of our sentiments. By him we were taught " sapere 
et fari," to think naturally and express forcibly. Though Davies has reasoned in rhyme 
before him, it may be perhaps maintained that he was the first who joined argument with 
poetry. He showed us the true bounds ot a translator's liberty. What was said of Eome, 
adorned by Augustus, may be applied by an easy metaphor to English poetry embellished 
by Dryden, "lateritiam invenit, lnanaoream reliquit." He found it brick, and he left 
it marble. 

The invocation before the Georgics is here inserted from Mr Milbourne's version, that 
according to his own proposal,* his verses may be compared with those which he censures. 

" What makes the richest tilth, beneath what signs • 

To plouyh, and when to match your elms and vines; 
What caro with flocks, and what with herds agrees, 
And all the management of frugal bees; 
I sing, Maecenas ! Ye immensely clear, 
Vast orbs of light, which guide the rolling year: 
Bacchus, and mother Ceres, if by you 
Wo fatt'ning corn for hungry mast pursue, 
If, taught by you, wo find the cluster press'd, 
And thin cold streams with sprightly Juice refresh'd ; 

• It is laughable enough to read John Dunton's appreciation of Milbourne's poetical talents : " Most other perfoi 
are so far from matching his, they deservo not to bo mention'd. 1 lis translating are fine, and true ; his preaching 
sublime, and rational ; and he 's a first-rate poet I " — Dunton'e Life and Errors, &c, p. 462. T. 



liv 



LIFE OF DEYDEN. 



Ye fawns, the present numens of the field, 

Wood nymplis and favms, your kind assistance yield ; 

Your gifts I sing : and thou, at whose fear'd stroke 

From rending earth the fiery courser broke, 

Great Neptune, O assist my artful song ! 

And thou to whom the woods and groves belong, 

Whose snowy heifers on her flow'ry plains 

In mighty herds the Oman Isle maintains ! 

Pan, happy shepherd, if thy cares divine, 

E'er to improve thy Mwnalus incline, 

Leave thy Lycozan wood and native grove, 

And with thy lucky smiles our work approve ; 

Be Pallas too, sweet oil's inventor, kind; 

And he who first the crooked plough design'd, 

Sylvanus, god of all the woods, appear, 

Whose hands a new-drawn tender cypress bear! 

Ye gods and goddesses, who e'er with love 

Would guard our pastures and onr fields improve ; 

Ye, who new plants from unknown lands supply, 

And with condensing clouds obscure the sky, 

And drop them softly thence in fruitful showers ; 

Assist my enterprise ye gentle powers 1 

And thou, great Csesar I though we know not yet 
Among what gods thou 'It fix thy lofty seat ; 
Whether thou 'It be the kind tutelar god 
Of thy own Pome, or with thy awful nod 
Guide the vast world, while thy great hand shall bear 
The fruits and seasons of the turning year, 
And thy bright brows thy mother's myrtles wear ; 
Whether thou 'It all the boundless ocean sway, 
And seamen only to thyself shall pray ; 
Thule, the fairest island, kneel to thee, 
And, that thou may'st her son by marriage be, 
Tethys will for the happy purchase yield 
To "make a dowry of her wat'ry field : 
Whether thou 'It add to Heaven a brighter sign, 
And o'er the summer months serenely shine ; 
Where between Cancer and TSrigone, 
There yet remains a spacious room for thee ; 
Where the hot Scorpion, too, his arm declines, 
And more to thee than half his arch resigns ; 
Whate'er thou 'It be ; for sure the realms below 
No just pretence to thy command can show : 
No such ambition sways thy vast desires, 
Though Greece her own Elysian Fields admires. 
And now, at last, contented Proserpine 
Can all her mother's earnest prayers decline. 
Whate'er thou 'It be, O guide our gentle course ; 
And with thy smiles our bold attempts enforce ; 
With me th' unknowing rustics 1 wants relieve, 
And, though on earth, our sacred vows receive ! " 

Mr. Dryden, having received from Eymer his Remarhs on the Tragedies of the last Age, 
wrote observations on the blank leaves; which, having been in the possession of Mr. Garrick, 
are by his favour communicated to the public, that no particle of Dryden may be lost. 

" That we may less wonder why pity and terror are not now the only springs on which 
our tragedies move, and that Shakspeare may be more excused, Eapin confesses that the 
French tragedies now all run on the tendre ; and gives the reason, because love is the passion 
which most predominates in our souls, and that therefore the passions represented become 
insipid, unless they are conformable to the thoughts of the audience. But it is to be 
concluded, that this passion works not now amongst the French so strongly as the other two 
did amongst the ancients. Amongst us, who have a stronger genius for writing, the 
operations from the writing are much stronger ; for the raising of Shakspeare's passions is 
more from the excellency of the words and thoughts, than the justness of the occasion ; and, 
if he has been able to pick single occasions, he has never founded the whole reasonably : yet, 
by the genius of poetry in writing, he has succeeded. 

"Eapin attributes more to the dictio, that is, to the words and discourse of a tragedy, than 
Aristotle has done, who places them in the last rank of beauties ; perhaps only last in order, 
because they are the last product of the design, of the disposition or connection of its parts ; 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. h 



of the characters, of the manners of those characters, and of the thoughts proceeding from 
those manners. Eapin's words are remarkable : "lis not the admirable intrigue, the 
surprising events, and extraordinary incidents, that make the beauty of a tragedy : 'tis the 
discourses, when they are natural and passionate : so are Shakspeare's. 
" The parts of a poem, tragic or heroic, are, 
"1. The fable itself. 

" 2. The order or manner of its contrivance, in relation of the parts to the whole. 
" 3. The manners, or decency, of the characters, in speaking or acting what is proper for 
them, and proper to be shown by the poet. 

" 4. The thoughts which express the manners 
" 5. The words which express those thoughts. 

"In the last of these Homer excels Virgil ; Virgil all the other ancient poets ; and 
Shakspeare all modern poets. 

" For the second of these, the order : the meaning is, that a fable ought to have a 
beginning, middle, and an end, all just and natural ; so that that part, e. g. which is in the 
middle, could not naturally be the beginning or end, and so of the rest : all depend on one 
another, like the links of a curious chain. If terror and pity are only to be raised, certainly 
this author follows Aristotle's rules, and Sophocles' and Euripides' example ; but joy may 
be raised too, and that doubly, either by seeing a wicked man punished, or a good man at 
last fortunate ; or perhaps indignation, to see wickedness prosperous and goodness depressed : 
both these may be profitable to the end of a tragedy, reformation of manners ; but the last 
improperly, only as it begets pity in the audience ; though Aristotle, I confess, places 
tragedies of this kind in the second form. 

" He who undertakes to answer this excellent critique of Mr. Eymer, in behalf of our 
English poets against the Greek, ought to do it in this manner : either by yielding to him 
the greatest part of what he contends for, which consists in this, that the /j.v6os > {. e. the design 
and conduct of it, is more conducing in the Greeks to those ends of tragedy, which Aristotle 
and he propose, namely, to cause terror and pity ; yet the granting this does not set the 
Greeks above the English poets. 

" But the answerer ought to prove two things : first, that the fable is not the greatest 
master-piece of a tragedy, though it be the foundation of it. 

" Secondly, that other ends as suitable to the nature of tragedy may be found in the 
English, which were not in the Greek. 

" Aristotle places the fable first ; not quoad dignitatem, sed quoad fundamentum : for a 
fable never so movingly contrived to those ends of his, pity and terror, will operate nothing 
on our affections, except the characters, manners, thoughts, and words, are suitable. 

" So that it remains for Mr. Eymer to prove, that in all those, or the greatest part of them, 
we are inferior to Sophocles and Euripides ; and this he has offered at, in some measure ; 
but, I think, a little partially to the ancients. 

" For the fable itself, 'tis in the English more adorned with episodes, and larger than in the 
Greek poets ; consequently more diverting. For, if the action be but one, and that plain, 
without any counterturn of design or episode, i. e. underplot, how can it be so pleasing as the 
English, which have both underplot and a turned design, which keeps the audience in expecta- 
tion of the catastrophe ? whereas in the Greek poets we see through the whole design at first. 
" For the characters, they are neither so many nor so various in Sophocles and Euripides 
as in Shakspeare and Fletcher ; only they aro more adapted to those ends of tragedy which 
Aristotle commends to us, pity and terror. 

"The manners flow from the characters, and consequently must partake of their advantages 
and disadvantages. 

" The thoughts and words, which are the fourth and fifth beauties of tragedy, are certainly 
more noble and more poetical in the English than in the Greek, which must be proved by 
comparing them somewhat more equitably than Mr. Eymer has done. 



Ivi 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



" After all, we need not yield that the English way is less conducing to move pity and 
terror, because they often show virtue oppressed and vice punished ; where they do not both, 
or either, they are not to be defended. 

" And if we should grant that the Greeks performed this better, perhaps it may admit of 
dispute, whether pity and terror are either the prime, or at least the only ends of tragedy, 

" 'Tis not enough that Aristotle had said so ; for Aristotle drew his models of tragedy 
from Sophocles and Euripides ; and if he had seen ours, might have changed his mind. And 
chiefly we have to say, (what I hinted on pity and terror, in the last paragraph save 
one,) that the punishment of vice and reward of virtue are the most adequate ends of 
tragedy, because most conducing to good example of life. Now, pity is not so easily raised 
for a criminal (and the ancient tragedy always represents its chief person such) as it is for an 
innocent man ; and the suffering of innocence and punishment of the offender is of the 
nature of English tragedy : contrarily, in the Greek, innocence is unhappy often, and the 
offender escapes. Then we are not touched with the sufferings of any sort of men so much 
as of lovers ; and this was almost unknown to the ancients : so that they neither 
administered poetical justice, of which Mr. Eymer boasts, so well as we ; neither knew they 
the best common-place of pity, which is love. 

" He therefore unjustly blames us for not building on what the ancients left us ; for it seems, 
upon consideration of the premises, that we have wholly finished what they began. 

" My judgment on this piece is this : that it is extremely learned, but that the author 
of it is better read in the Greek than in the English poets ; that all writers ought to study 
this critique, as the best account I have ever seen of the ancients ; that the model of 
tragedy he has here given is excellent and extremely correct ; but that it is not the only 
model of all tragedy, because it is too much circumscribed in plot, characters, &c, and, lastly, 
that we may be taught here justly to admire and imitate the ancients, without giving them 
the preference with this author, in prejudice to our own country. 

" Want of method in this excellent treatise makes the thoughts of the author sometimes 
obscure. 

" His meaning, that pity and terror are to be moved, is, that they are to be moved as 
the means conducing to the ends of tragedy, which are pleasure and instruction. 

" And these two ends may be thus distinguished. The chief end of the poet is to please ; 
for his immediate reputation depends on it. 

" The great end of the poem is to instruct, which is performed by making pleasure the 
vehicle of that instruction ; for poesy is an art, and all arts are made to profit. Rapin. 

" The pity, which the poet is to labour for, is for the criminal, not for those or him whom he 
has murdered, or who have been the occasion of the tragedy. The terror is likewise in the 
punishment of the same criminal ; who, if he be represented too great an offender, will not 
be pitied ; if altogether innocent, his punishment will be unjust. 

" Another obscurity is, where he says, Sophocles perfected tragedy by introducing the 
third actor : that is, he meant three kinds of action : one company singing, or speaking ; 
another playing on the music ; a third dancing. ' 

" To make a true judgment in this competition betwixt the Greek poets and the English, 
in tragedy : 

" Consider, first, how Aristotle has defined a tragedy. Secondly, what he assigns the end 
of it to be. Thirdly, what he thinks the beauties of it. Fourthly, the means to attain the 
end proposed. 

" Compare the Greek and English tragic poets justly, and without partiality, according 
to those rules. 

" Then, secondly, consider whether Aristotle has made a just definition of tragedy ; of 
its parts, of its ends, and of its beauties ; and whether he, having not seen any others but 
those of Sophocles, Euripides, &c, had or truly could determine what all the excellencies of 
tragedy are, and wherein they consist. 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. lvii 



"Next, show in what ancient tragedy was deficient: for example, in the narrowness of 
its plots, and fewness of persons ; and try whether that be not a fault in the Greek poets ; 
and whether their excellency was so great, when the variety was visibly so little ; or whether 
what they did was not very easy to do. 

" Then make a judgment on what the English have added to their beauties : as, for 
example, not only more plot, but also new passions ; as, namely, that of love, scarcely touched 
on by the ancients, except in this one example of Phaedra, cited by Mr. Rymer ; and in that 
how short they were of Fletcher ! 

"Prove also that love, being an heroic passion, is fit for tragedy, which cannot be 
denied, because of the example alleged of Phaedra ; and how far Shakspeare has outdone 
them in friendship, &c. 

" To return to the beginning of this enquiry ; consider if pity and terror be enough for 
tragedy to move : and I believe, upon a true definition of tragedy, it will be found that its 
work extends farther, and that it is to reform manners, by a delightful representation of 
human life in great persons, by way of dialogue. If this be true, then not only pity and 
teiTor are to be moved, as the only means to bring us to virtue, but generally love to virtue, 
and hatred to vice ; by showing the rewards of one, and punishments of the other ; at least, 
by rendering virtue always amiable, though it be shown unfortunate ; and vice detestable, 
though it be shown triumphant. 

" If, then, the encouragement of virtue and discouragement of vice be the proper ends of 
poetry in tragedy, pity and terror, though good means, are not the only. For all the 
passions, in their turns, are to be set in a ferment ; as joy, anger, love, fear, are to be used as 
the poet's common-places ; and a general concernment for the principal actors is to be raised, 
by making them appear such in their characters, their words, and actions, as will interest 
the audience in their fortunes. 

" And if, after all, in a larger sense, pity comprehends this concernment for the good, and 
terror includes detestation for the bad, then let us consider whether the English have not 
answered this end of tragedy as well as the ancients, or perhaps better. 

" And here Mr. Ilymer's objections against these plays are to be impartially weighed, that 
we may see whether they are of weight enough to turn the balance against our countrymen. 

" 'Tis evident those plays, which he arraigns, have moved both those passions in a high 
degree upon the stage. 

" To give the glory of this away from the poet, and to place it upon the actors, seems 
unjust. 

" One reason is, because whatever actors they have found, the event has been the same ; 
that is, the same passions have been always moved ; which shows that there is something of 
force and merit in the plays themselves, conducing to the design of raising these two passions : 
and suppose them ever to have been excellently acted, yet action only adds grace, vigour, and 
more life upon the stage ; but cannot give it wholly where it is not first. But, secondly, 
I dare appeal to those who have never seen them acted, if they have not found these two 
passions moved within them ; and if the general voice will carry it, Mr. Eymer's prejudice 
will take off his single testimony. 

"This, being matter of fact, is reasonably to be established by this appeal ; as, if one man 
says it is night, when the rest of the world conclude it to be day, there needs no farther 
argument against him, that it is so. 

"If he urge, that the general taste is depraved, his arguments to prove this can at best 
but evince that our poets took not the best way to raise those passions; but experience 
proves against him, that those means which they have used, have been successful, and have 
produced them. 

"And one reason of that success is, in my opinion, (his: that Shakspeare and Fletcher 
have written to the genius of the age and nation in which they lived ; for though nature, as 
he objects, is the same in all places, and reason too the same ; yet the climate, the age, the 



lviii LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



disposition of the people, to whom a poet writes, may be so different, that what pleased the 
Greeks would not satisfy an English audience. 

" And if they proceed upon a foundation of truer reason to please the Athenians, than 
Shakspeare and Fletcher to please the English, it only shows that the Athenians were a 
more judicious people ; but the poet's business is cei-tainly to please the audience. 

" "Whether our English audience have been pleased hitherto with acorns, as he calls it, or 
with bread, is the next question ; that is, whether the means which Shakspeare and Fletcher 
have used, in their plays, to raise those passions before named, be better applied to the ends 
by the Greek poets than by them. And perhaps we shall not grant him this wholly : let it 
be yielded that a writer is not to run down with the stream, or to please the people by their 
usual methods, but rather to reform their judgments, it still remains to prove that our 
theatre needs this total reformation. 

" The faults, which he has found in their design are rather wittily aggravated in many 
places than reasonably urged ; and as much may be returned on the Greeks by one who were 
as witty as himself. 

" They destroy not, if they are granted, the foundation of the fabric ; only take away 
from the beauty of the symmetry ; for example, the faults in the character of the king, in 
King and No-king, are not, as he calls them, such as render him detestable, but only imper- 
fections which accompany human nature, and are for the most part excused by the violence 
of his love ; so that they destroy not our pity or concernment for him : this answer may be 
applied to most of his objections of that kind. * 

" And Eollo committing many murders, when he is answerable but for one, is too severely 
arraigned by him ; for, it adds to our horror and detestation of the criminal ; and poetic 
justice is not neglected neither ; for we stab him in our minds for every offence which he 
commits ; and the point, which the poet is to gain on the audience, is not so much in the 
death of an offender as the raising an horror of his crimes. 

" That the criminal should neither be wholly guilty, nor wholly innocent, but so partici- 
pating of both as to move both pity and terror, is certainly a good rule, but not perpetually 
to be observed ; for that were to make all tragedies too much alike ; which objection he 
foresaw, but has not fully answered. 

" To conclude, therefore ; if the plays of the ancients are more correctly plotted, ours 
are more beautifully written. And, if we can raise passions as high on worse foundations, 
it shows our genius in tragedy ia greater ; for in all other parts of it the English have 
manifestly excelled them." 

The original of the following letter is preserved in the Library at Lambeth,* and was 
kindly imparted to the public by the Eev. Dr. Vyse : t 

Copy of cm Original Letter from John Dryden, Esq. to his Sons in Italy, from a MS. im the 
Lambeth Library, marked No. 933, p. 56. 



" Al illustrissimo Sig re 
" Carlo Dryden Camariere 

" Franca per Mantoua. "d'Honore A.S.S. "In Roma. 

" Dear Sons, " Sept. the Zrd, ow style. 

" Being now at Sir William Bowyer's in the country, I cannot write at large, because I 
find myself somewhat indisposed with a cold, and am thick of hearing, rather worse than 

* In the same library is a manuscript copy of Dryden's Mao-Flecnoe, which has been collated for the present edition 
of his poems. T. 

| "With this incomparable production, as Mr. Malone has justly remarked, Johnson's exquisite parallel of Dryden 'and 
Pope, in the life of the latter poet, should be read; in which "the superiority of genius, that power which constitutes a 



LIFE OF DRYDEN. lix 



I -was in town. I am glad to find, by your letter of July 26th, your style, that you 
are both in health ; but wonder you should think me so negligent as to forget to 
give you an account of the ship in which your parcel is to come. I have written 
to you two or three letters concerning it, which I have sent by safe hands, as I told 

poet; that quality without -which judgment is cold and knowledge is inert; that energy which collects, combines, 
amplifies, and animates;" is, "with some hesitation," attributed to Dryden. 

" He professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised 
through his whole life with unvaried liberality ; and perhaps his character may receive some illustration, if he be compared 
with his master. 

" Integrity of understanding and nicety of discernment were not allotted in a less proportion to Dryden than to Pope. 
The rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently shown by the dismission of his poetical prejudices, and the rejection of 
unnatural thoughts and rugged numbers. But Dryden never desired to apply all the judgment that he had. He wrote, 
and professed to write, merely for the people ; and when he pleased others, he contented himself. He spent no time in 
struggles to rouse latent powers ; he never attempted to make that better which was already good, nor often to mend what he 
must have known to be faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very little consideration; when occasion or necessity called 
upon him, he poured out what the present moment happened to supply, and, when once it had passed the press, ejected it 
from his mind ; for, when he had no pecuniary interest, he had no further solicitude. 

" Pope was not content to satisfy ; he desired to excel, and therefore always endeavoured to do his best ; he did not court 
the candour, but dared the judgment of his reader, and, expecting no indulgence from others, he showed none to himself. 
He examined lines and words with minute and punctilious observation, and retouched every part with indefatigable 
diligence, till he had left nothing to be forgiven. 

" For this reason he kept bis pieces very long in his hands, while he considered and reconsidered them. The only poems 
which can be supposed to have been written with such regard to the times as might hasten their publication, were the 
satires of 'Thirty-eight;' of which Dodsley told me that they were brought to him by the author, that they might be 
fairly copied. 'Almost every line,' he said, 'was then written twice over; I gave him a clean transcript, whicli he sent 
some time afterwards to me for the press, with almost every line written twice over a second time.' 

" His declaration, that his care for his works ceased at their publication, was not strictly true. His parental attention 
never abandoned them : what lie found amiss in the first edition, he silently corrected in those that followed. He appears 
to have revised the ' Iliad,' and freed it from some of its imperfections ; and the ' Essay on Criticism ' received many 
improvements after its first appearance. It will seldom be found that he altered without adding clearness, elegance, or 
vigour. Pope had perhaps the judgment of Dryden ; but Dryden certainly wanted the diligence of Pope. 

" In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed to Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and who 
before he became an author had been allowed more time for study, with better means of information. His mind has a 
larger range, and he collects his images and illustrations from a more extensive circumference of science. Dryden knew 
more of man in bis general nature, and Pope in his local manners. The notions of Dryden were formed by comprehensive 
speculation, and those of Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in the knowledge of Dryden, and more 
certainty in that of Pope. 

" Poetry was not the sole praise of cither ; for both excelled likewise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his prose from 
his predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied ; that of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden observes 
the motions of his own mind ; Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement 
and rapid ; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a natural field, rising into inequalities, and 
diversified by the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is a velvet lawn, shaven by the scythe, and levelled 
by the roller. 

"Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet; that quality without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is 
inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates; the superiority must, with some hesitation, be 
a [lowed to Dryden. It is not to bo inferred, that of this poetical vigour Pope had only a little, because Dryden had more ; 
for every other writer since Milton must give place to Pope ; and even of Dryden it must be said, that, if he has brighter 
paragraphs, he has not better poems. Dryden's performances were always hasty, either excited by some external 
occasion, or extorted by domestic necessity ; ho composed without consideration, and published without correction. "What 
his mind could supply at call, or gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he gave. The dilatory 
caution of Pope enabled him to condense his sentiment*, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might 
produce, or chance might supply. If the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. 
If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and constant. Diyden often surpasses 

ctation, and Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight. 

" This parallel will, I hope, when it is well considered, be found just; and if the reader should suspect me, as I 
suspect myself, of some partial fondness for the memory of Dryden, let him not too hastily condemn me ; for meditation 
and enquiry may, perhaps, show him the reasonableness of my determination." 

To this fine parallel may be added, from a work of great merit, entitled, the Progress of Satire, the following acute 
estimate of Dryden's satirical powers. 

" Nearly at the same period (with Boileau) after some momentary gleams, and strong flashes in the horizon, Satire 
in England. When I name Dryden, I comprehend every varied excellence of our poetry. In harmony, strength, 

1 lulation, rhythm, energy, he first displayed the full power of the English language. My business with him, at present, 

I aly as a Satirist. 'I will lie brief: I speak to the intelligent. He was the first poet who brought to perfection what I 
would term, ' the Allegory of Satire.' Fables, indeed, and apologues, and romances, have always been the most ancient 
modes of reproof and censure. It was the peculiar happiness of Dryden, to give an eternal sense and interest to subjects 
which are transitory. He placed his sccno on the ground of actual history. The reader of every age has an interest in 
the delineation of characters and names which have been familiar to him from his earliest years. He is already prepared 
hi "I a predilection for the subject. This accommodation of ancient characters to existing persons, has a peculiar 
force in tin' age to which it Is addressed; and posterity reads with delight, a poem founded on pristine story, and Illustrated 

by the records of iiioilorn times. Drydeli's power of satire lias been -.1 locally acknowledged ill his M ac- I'l.-enoe ; bill bis 

' lerpicco is that wonderful and unequalled performance, Absalom and Achitophel. He presents to us an heroic subject. 
In heroic numbers a well-constructed allegory, and a forcible appeal to our best feelings and passions, tie paints the 
honors of anarchy, sedition, rebellion, and democracy, with the pencil of Dante, or of Michael Angelo; and he Rives the 



lx LIFE OF DRYDEN. 



you, and doubt not but you have them before this can arrive to you. Being out of 
town, 1 have forgotten the ship's name, which your mother will enquire, and put it 
into her letter, which is joined with mine. But the master's name I remember : he is 
called Mr. Balph Thorp ; the ship is bound to Leghorn, consigned to Mr. Peter and 
Mr. Thomas Ball, merchants. I am of your opinion, that by Tonson's means almost all 
our letters have miscarried for this last year. But, however, he has missed of his 
design in the Dedication, though he had prepared the book for it : for, in every figure ot 
.ZEneas he has caused him to be drawn like King William, with a hooked nose. After my 
return to town, I intend to alter a play of Sir Robert Howard's written long since, and 
lately put into my hands ; 'tis called The Conquest of China ly the Tartars. It will cost me 
six weeks study, with the probable benefit of an hundred pounds. In the meantime I am 
writing a song for St. Cecilia's Feast, who, you know, is the patroness of music. This is 
troublesome, and no way beneficial ; but I could not deny the Stewards of the Feast, who 
came in a body to me to desire that kindness, one of them being Mr. Bridgeman, whose 
parents are your mother's friends. I hope to send you thirty guineas between Michaelmas 
and Christmas, of which I will give you an account when I come to town. I remember the 
council you give me in your letter ; but dissembling, though lawful in some cases, is not my 
talent ; yet, for your sake, I will struggle with the plain openness of my nature, and keep 
in my just resentments against that degenerate order. In the mean time, I flatter not 
myself with any manner of hopes, but do my duty, and suffer for God's sake ; being assured, 
before hand, never to be rewarded, though the times should alter. Towards the latter end 
of this month, September, Charles will begin to recover his perfect health, according to his 
nativity which, casting it myself, I am sure is true, and all things hitherto have happened 
accordingly to the very time that I predicted them ; I hope at the same time to recover 
more health, according to my age. Remember me to poor Harry, whose prayers I earnestly 
desire. My Virgil succeeds in the world beyond its desert or my expectation. You know 
the profits might have been more ; but neither my conscience nor my honour would suffer 
me to take them : but I never can repent of my constancy, since I am thoroughly persuaded 
of the justice of the cause for which I suffer. It has pleased God to raise up many friends 
to me amongst my enemies, though they who ought to have been my friends are negligent of 
me. I am called to dinner, and cannot go on with this letter, which I desire you to excuse : 
and am 

" Your most affectionate father, 



" JOHN DRYDEK" 



speeches of his heroes, with the strength, propriety, and correctness of Virgil. It is Satire in its highest form ; but it is 
Satire addressed to the few. It is not adapted to the general effect of this species of poetry. In my opinion, Dryden has 
not the style and manner of Horace, or Juvenal, or Persins, or Boileau. Pope called him ' unlMppi/,' from the looseness 
of the age in which he lived. He has enthusiasm, majesty, severity, gravity, strength of conception, and boldness of 
imagery. But sprightliness, gaiety, and easy badinar/e, an occasional playfulness, so necessary to the general effect of 
satirical poetiy, were all wanting to him. Perhaps his genius was too sublime. He could not, or he would not, descend 
to the minutiae which are often required, the anecdotes, and the passing traits of the time. His satire had an original 
character. It was the strain of Archilochus, sounding from the lyre of Alcseus." T. 



UPON 



THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS.* 



Most noble Hastings immaturely die, 
The honour of his ancient family, 

_ * There is some fancy in this Poem, hut many of the 
lines are very bad, and the images too gross, both in design 
and expression, to have escaped our author in his riper 
years. However, he was not quite eighteen when he 
wrote it; and, by reprinting it, the reader may trace the 
progress of that genius which afterwards arrived at such 
Sublimity. The nobleman herein lamented, was styled 
Henry Lord Hastings, son to Ferdinand, Earl of Hunting- 
don, lie died before his father, in 1649, being then in his 
twentieth year. He had, from nature and education, a 
most amiable disposition, a strong judgment, and so 
refined a taste, that, according to Collins's Peerage, not 
less than ninety-eight elegies were composed on his death. 
Deukick. 

Derrick should have added, that Collins expressly men- 
tions these elegies as printed in " Lachrymal Musarum, the 
Tears of the Muses, expressed in elegies written by divers 
persons of nobility and worth, upon the death of the most 
hopeful Henry, Lord Hastings, eldest [only] son of the 
Right Honourable Ferdinando, Earl of Huntingdon, heir- 
general of the high-born Prince George, Duke of Clarence, 
brother to King Edward IV." [Collected and set forth by 
R. B.J But as the Lachrymal Musarum contains only thirty- 
six elegies, it is clear that the figures 98 in Collins are 
erroneous, and a mere error of the press. Malone. 

On examining the Lachryma Musarum, it should seem 
thai Mr. Collins was led into an error concerning the 
number of elegies on the death of Lord Hastings, bj 
glancing his eye on the Table of Contents, in which the 
legy has a reference to p. 98; which he hastily sup- 
posed was the number of elegies in the book. 

Ver. 1. Must noble Hastings] It is a mortifying circum- 
stance I" be compelled to begin these notes with a censure 
of the very first piece of our admired poet. But it Is Im- 

Eossiblen.it to be hurt by the false, unnatural thoughts, 
y the forced and far-sought conceits, by the rugged and 

inhnr nious numbers, and the perpetual aim and desire 

to be witty, with which this Elegy so much abounds, that 
we wonder he could ever rise so high after so unpromising 
a beginning. One well-known sentence characterises his 
works; " Ubi bene nemo melius, ubi mule nemo pejus." 
The person he lamented was Henry Lord Hastings, son to 
Ferdinand, Earl of Huntingdon, who died before his father, 
1648. He was ancestor of the last Karl of Huntingdon, to 
whom Dr. Akcnside addressed an Ode, of a very different 
cist from the verses before us, full of true Grecian spirit 
and sentiments, and in a style of peculiar force and energy. 
This nobleman will bo long lamented by all his friends 
and acquaintance, of whom I had the honour to bo one, 
tor the elegance of his manners, his pleasing affability 
his extensive knowledge of men and things, the variety 
Igour of bis wit and conversation, enlivened by many 

"" s 'acts and anecdotes, his accurate taste in all parts of 

polite literature, and his universal candour and benevolence. 

>' harncter of Aspasia, written hv Congrevc, In the 

Tatler No. 72 is meant for Lady E. Hastings. She ira 



Beauty and learning thus together meet, 
To bring a winding for a wedding sheet 1 
Must virtue prove death's harbinger 1 must she, * 
With him expiring, feel mortality ] 
Is death, sin's wages, grace's now ] shall art 
Make us more learned, only to depart ? 
If merit be disease ; if virtue death ; 
To be good, not to be ; who 'd then bequeath 10 
Himself to discipline 1 who 'd not esteem 
Labour a crime ? study self-murther deem ] 
Our noble youth now have pretence to be 
Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully. 
Rare linguist, whose worth speaks itself, whose 
praise, 15 

Though not his own, all tongues besides do raise : 

daughter of Theophilus Hastings, seventh Earl of Hun- 
tingdon. Her father came to the honours and estate of 
that family in 1G55. So that three poets, Dryden, Con- 
greve, and Akenside, celebrated the Hastings: Dr. Joseph 
Warton. 

Ver. 4. a winding for a wedding sheet ?] In this 

line, as also in verse 93, the poet alludes to the melan- 
choly circumstance of Lord Hastings's death having taken 
place on the day preceding that which, previously to his 
illness, had been appointed for the celebration of his 
marriage. The lady to whom he was betrothed was the 
daughter of a very celebrated physician, Sir Theodore 
Ma y{ in.', whose skill was iii vain exerted to save his in- 
tended son-in-law from that malignant disorder, the small- 
pox. "Pridie sponsalium (proh Hymemee !) funcre luit 
immature," says his epitaph. See also the following 
verses of Andrew Marvel, in the collection already 
quoted:— 

" The gods themselves cannot their joy conceal, 
But draw their veils, and their pure beams reveal ; 
Only they drooping Hymenals note, 
Who, for sad purple, tears his saffron coat, 
And trails his torches th'row the starry hall, 
Reversed, for his darling's funeral. 
And yEsculapius, who, ashamed and stern, 
Himself at once condeinnetb and Mayern ; 
Like some sad chyinist, who, prepared to reap 
His golden harvest, sees his glasses leap; 
For how Immortal must their rare have stood, 
Had Mayern once been inix'd with Hastings' blood 

But what could he, good man, although he mix'd 
All herbs, and them a thousand ways infused. " &0. 
The elegy in which those verses occur, Is by far the best 
in the collection, if we except that of our author. Malone. 
Ver. 15. Bare Unguis!,] On this topic Sir Aston Cokoyne, 
in his elegy on Lord Hastings, thus expatiates : — 
" His few, but Well-Spent years, had lnaster'd nil 
The liberal arts ami Ids sweet tongue could fall 



2 



THE DEATH OP LORD HASTINGS. 



Than whom great Alexander may seem less ; 
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages. 
In his mouth nations spake ; his tongue might be 
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy. 20 

His native soil was the four parts o' the earth ; 
All Europe was too narrow for his birth. 
A young apostle ; and, with reverence may 
I speak 't, inspired with gift of tongues, as they. 
Nature gave him, a child, what men in vain 25 
Oft strive, by art though further'd, to obtain. 
His body was an orb, his sublime soul 
Did move on virtue's and on learning's pole : 
Whose regular motions better to our view, 
Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did shew. 
Graces and virtues, languages and arts, 31 

Beauty and learning, fill'd up all the parts. 
Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear 
Scatter'd in others ; all, as in their sphere, 
Were fix'd, conglobate in his soul ; and thence 35 
Shone through his body, with sweet influence ; 
Letting their glories so on each limb fall, 
The whole frame render'd was celestial. 
Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make, 
If thou this hero's altitude canst take : 40 



Into the ancient dialects; dispense 

Sacred Judea's amplest eloquence ; 

The Latine idiome elegantly true, 

And Greek as rich as Athens ever knew : 

The Italian and the French do both confess 

Him perfect in their modern languages." 

Lachrymal Musarum, &c, 1650. 
All these attainments were made at an early age ; for 
Lord Hastings died in his nineteenth (not, as Derrick has 
it, his twentieth) year, on the 23rd of June, 1649, after an 
illness of only seven days' duration. Malonb. 

Ver. 17. Titan whom great Alexander may seem less; 
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages^] 
Yet from his letter to his master Aristotle, recorded by 
Plutarch and Aulus G-ellius, we are led to conclude that the 
love of conquest was but the second ambition in Alexander's 
soul. The letter, as translated by Addison in his Guardian, 
No. Ill, is as follows : — 

" Alexander to Aristotle greeting, — 

" You have not done well to publish your books of select 
knowledge ; for what is there now in which I can surpass 
others, if those things which I have been instructed in are 
communicated to everybody 1 For my own part, I declare 
to you, I would rather excel others in knowledge than 
power. Farewell. - ' 

A living author, who excels in clear and vigorous com- 
position, will, I trust, forgive me. if I transcribe a passage 
in defence of the hero of Macedun, from a letter addressed 
by him to the late Dr. Joseph Warton. " In truth I am 
happy in knowing that you think as well of the Mace- 
donian as I do. I am no favourer of paradoxes, nor would 
I write a Richard III. up into a good character; but surely 
it is time that the world should learn to distinguish 
between the conquests of an intelligent being and the rava- 
ges of a Tartar, between an Alexander and a Zingis, a 
Timour or a Buonaparte. Alexander was a builder, and 
these only demolishers. How small is the proportion of 
the former to the latter, in the history of the world I " Eev. 
John Wakton. 

Ver. 27. his sublime sout] Dr. Newton has 

placed the accent on the first syllable of sublime in Mil- 
ton's Mask of Comus, as the accent may seem to be in the 
present instance, ver. 785. 

" The silblime notion and high mystery — " 

The word in Milton's and Dryden's lines may, however, 
be read more gracefully without it. Eev. H. J. Todd. 

Ver. 35. Were fix'd, conglobate in his soul;'] This word is 
used in the second book of Lucretius, ver. 153, in the 
same sense. 

" Sed complexa meant inter se conque globata." 

John "Wakton. 

Ver. 36. sweet influence /] Canst thou bind the 

sweet influences of the Pleiades ? Job xxxviii, 31. John 
Warton. 



But that transcends thy skill ; thrice happy all, 

Could we but prove thus astronomical. 

Lived Tycho now, struck with this ray, which 

shone 
More bright i' the morn, than others beam at noon, 
He 'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here 45 

What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere. 
Replenish'd then with such rare gifts as these, 
Where was room left for such a foul disease ? 
The nation's sin hath drawn that veil, which 

shrouds 
Our day-spring in so sad benighting clouds. 60 
Heaven would no longer trust its pledge ; but thus 
Eecall'd it ; rapt its Ganymede from us. 
Was there no milder way but the small-pox, 
The very filthiness of Pandora's box ? 
So many spots, like nseves on Venus' soil, M 

One jewel set off with so many a foil ; 
Blisters with pride swell' d, which through 's flesh 

did sprout 
Like rose-buds, stuck i' the lily skin about. 



Ver. 53. the small-pox,] An obvious occasion is 

here offered of paying a small tribute to Dr. Jenner, whose 
able researches have so essentially contributed to check 
the ravages of this dreadful disease, the small-pox. To 
him, therefore, we may apply the words of the poet : 
" O ! qui secundo natus Apolline 
Incumbis arti Pseonise, studens 
Arcana Naturae, gravemque 
More novo prohibere morbum, 

Jennere, laudes an sileam tuas ? 

Hie ssepe mecum dum meditor gemens, 
Inter meorum funera, queis diu 
Vixi superstes, quot veneno 
Fceta gravi, maculisque tetris, 
Primis in sevi viribus abstulit 
Infesta febris, lingua valet parum 

Narrare, quid debes supremo 
Quanta Deo tihi danda laus est, 
Furore quod non ante domabili 
Tot dira Pestis qua? peperit mala, 
In gentis humanse levamen, 

Te medico superata cessit. 

Te mater ambit filiolo cavens 
Ut tuto ab atra corpore sit lue ; 
Innupta te virgo, decentes 
Sint memori sine labe malse." 

See the late Christopher A nstey's "Ad Ed vardum Jen- 
ner, M.D. Carmen Alcaicum." John Wakton. 

Ver. 58. Lite rose-buds, stuck i' the lily skin about.'] " Of 
his school performances," (says the great Johnson, in his 
Life of Dryden,) " has appeared only a poem on the death 
of Lord Hastings, composed with great ambition of such 
conceits as, notwithstanding the reformation begun by 
Waller and Denham, the example of Cowley still kept in 
reputation. Lord Hastings died of the small-pox, and his 
poet has made of the pustules, first, rose-buds, and then 
gems ; at last exalts them into stars ; and says, 

' No comet need foretel his change drew on, 
Whose corpse might seem a constellation.' " 

Perhaps it may appear at first sight surprising, that Dr. 
Busby should patiently bear such thoughts as pervade the 
whole of this poem on Lord Hastings ; but our surprise 
ceases when we read the following judicious observation 
of Quintilian, which could not escape the penetration of 
that great master, who consequently showed the indulgence 
here recommended to the exuberant imagination of a 
youthful poet. 

" Ne illud quidem quod admonemus indignum est, in- 
genia puerorum nimia interim emendationis severitate 
deficere. Nam et desperant, et dolent, et novissime ode- 
runt: et, quod maxime nocet, dum omnia timent, nihil 
conantur. Quod etiam rusticis notum est, qui frondibus 
teneris non putant adhibendam esse falcem, quia reformi- 
dare ferrum videntur, et cicatricem nondum pati posse. 
Jucundus ergo turn maxime debet esse prseceptor, ut quae 
alioqui natura sunt aspera, molli manu leniantur : laudare 
aliqua, ferre qusedam, mutare etiam, reddita cur id fiat 
ratione; illuminare interponendo aliquidsui."— Quintilian, 
Inst. Orat. lib. ii. John Wakton. 



TO JOHN HODDESDON. 



Each little pimple had a tear in it, 

To wail the fault its rising did commit : co 

Which, rebel like, with its own lord at strife, 

Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life. 

Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, 

The cabinet of a richer soul within ? 

No comet need foretel his change drew on, M 

Whose corpse might seem a constellation. 

! had he died of old, how great a strife 

Had been, who from his death should draw their 

' life? 
Who should, by one rich draught, become what- 

e'er 
Seneca, Cato, Numa, Caesar, were ? 70 

Learn'd, virtuous, pious, great ; and have by this 
An universal metempsychosis. 
Must all these aged fires in one funeral 
Expire ? all die in one so young, so small 1 
Who, had he lived his life out, his great fame ' s 
Had swoll'n 'bove any Greek or Roman name. 
But hasty winter, with one blast, hath brought 
The hopes of autumn, summer, spring, to nought. 
Thus fades the oak i' the sprig, i' the blade the 

corn ; 
Thus without young, this Phoenix dies, new born. 
Must then old three-legg'd grey-beards with their 

gout, 81 

Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three ages out 1 
Time's offals, only fit for the hospital ! 
Or to hang antiquaries' rooms withal ! 
Must drunkards, lechers, spent with sinning, live 
With such helps as broths, possets, physic give I 86 
None live, but such as should die ] shall we 

meet 
With none but ghostly fathers in the street 1 
Grief makes me rail ; sorrow will force its way ; 
And showers of tears tempestuous sighs best lay. 



The tongue may fail ; but overflowing eyes 91 

Will weep out lasting streams of elegies. 

But thou, virgin-widow, left alone, 
Now thy beloved, heaven-ravish 'd spouse is gone, 
Whose skilful sire in vain strove to apply ui 

Med'cines, when thy balm was no remedy, 
With greater than Platonic love, wed 
His soul, though not his body, to thy bed : 
Let that make thee a mother ; bring thou forth 
The ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth ; l0 ° 
Transcribe the original in new copies ; give 
Hastings o' the better part : so shall h,e live 
In 's nobler half ; and the great grandsire be 
Of an heroic divine progeny : 
An issue, which to eternity shall last, 10i> 

Yet but the irradiations which he cast. 
Erect no mausoleums : for his best 
Monument is his spouse's marble breast.* 

Ver. 92. streams of elegies.] In a very scarce little 

volume, entitled Lachnjmm Musarum, London, printed by 
T. N., 1650, communicated to me by Mr. Reed, of Staple 
Inn, are thirty-six Elegies, in Greek, Latin, and English, 
on the death of this nobleman. Of these, twenty-six are 
in English, two in Greek, and eight in Latin. The con- 
cluding copies are this by Dryden, and the Latin copies 
by Cyril Wyche, Edward Campion, Thomas Adams, Ralph 
Montague, all Westminster scholars. The Greek copies 
are signed Joannes Harmarus, Oxoniensis, <piA,W=9s, and 
C. W. M. Muerens posuit. Most of these are written with 
the same false taste which pervades the poem now before 
us. J. Waetos. 

Ver. 93. But thou, virgin-widow,'] So in another elegy 
on Lord Hastings, by "Jo. Benyon, Hosp. Lincoln." 
" Thy love writes maid, yet is half widow too." 

Malone. 

* The verses on Lord Hastings in the " Lachrymal Mu- 
sanvm," are subscribed " Johannes Dryden. Schola? Westm. 
alumnus." — It appears, from a note of the editors , that 
they were sent at a late period in the year (1649), after a 
great part of the' book was printed off, and when it was 
just ready for publication. Malone. 



TO HIS EBIEND THE AUTHOR, JOHN HODDESDON, 



ON HIS DIVINE EPIGRAMS.' 



Thou hast inspired me with thy soul, and I 
Who ne'er before could ken of Poetry, 
Am grown so good proficient, I can lend 
A line in commendation of my friend. 
Yet 'tis but of the second hand ; if ought 
There be in this, 'tis from thy fancy brought. 
Good thief, who dar'st, Prometheus-like, aspire, 
And fill thy poems with celestial fire : 



* Mr. Hoddesdon's poetical effusions were published in 
8vo, 1650, under the title of " Sion and Parnassus ; or, Epi- 
grams on several texts of the Old and New Testament." 
To this book is prefixed the author's engraved portrait, 
"yKtat. 18." by which it appears that he and Dryden were 
nearly of the same age. Malone. 

ThcBe commendatory verses, which are subscribed 
" J. Dryden, of Trin. C," are here printed from the origi- 
nal edition, which was obligingly communicated by Mr. 
Malone. John Warton. 



Enliven'd by these sparks divine, their rays 
Add a bright lustre to thy crown of bays. 
Young eaglet, who thy nest thus soon forsook, 
So lofty and divine a course hast took 
As all admire, before the down begin 
To peep, as yet, upon thy smoother chin ; 
And, making heaven thy aim, hast had the grace 
To look the sun of righteousness i' th' face. 
What may we hope, if thou go'st on thus fast, 
Scriptures at first ; enthusiasms at last ! 
Thou hast commenced, betimes, a saint; go on, 
Mingling diviner streams with Helicon ; 
That they who view what Epigrams here be, 
May learn to make like, in just praise of thee. 
Reader, I've done, nor longer will withhold 
Thy greedy eyes ; looking on this pure gold 
Thou 'It know adulterate copper, which, like this, 
Will only serve to be a foil to his. 



THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 



HEEOIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OP OLIVER CROMWELL. 

WRITTEN AFTEE HIS FUNERAL.* 



And now 'tis time ; for their officious haste, 
Who would before have borne him to the sky, 

Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, 
Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly. 



Though our best notes are treason to his fame, 5 
Join'd with the loud applause of public voice ; 

Since Heaven, what praise we offer to his name, 
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice. 



Though in his praise no arts can liberal be, 

Since they, whose muses have the highest 
flown, 10 

Add not to his immortal memory, 

But do an act of friendship to their own : 



Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too, 
Such monuments as we can build to raise ; 

Lest all the world prevent what we should do, 15 
And claim a title in him by their praise.' 

* " The death of Cromwell was the first public event 
which called forth Dryden's poetical powers. His heroic 
stanzas have beauties and defects ; the thoughts are vigo- 
rous, and though not always proper, shew a mind replete 
with ideas; the numbers are smooth, and the diction, if 
not altogether correct, is elegant and easy. 

" Davenant seems at this time to have been his favourite 
author, though Gondibert never appears to have been 
popular ; and from Davenant he learned to please his ear 
with the stanza of four lines alternately rhymed." John- 
eon's Life of Dryden. John Warton. 

Ver. 1. And now 'tis time ;] "We are not to wonder that 
Dryden, after this panegyric on Cromwell, should live to be 
appointed poet laureat to Charles II., any more than that 
Dr. Sprat, alter a similar panegyric, should live to write the 
History of the Rye-house Plot, and become Bishop of 
Rochester. Men were dazzled with the uncommon talents 
of the Protector, " who wanted nothing to raise him to 
heroic excellence, hut virtue ;" they were struck with his 
intrepidity, — his industry, — his insight into all characters, 
— his secrecy in his projects, and his successes, beyond all 
hope and expectation, in the course of human affairs. The 
most manly and nervous of all Waller's poems, are the 
Stanzas to Cromwell, which are far superior to the poem on 
his death, (though that excels this of Dryden,) and on the 
War with Spain. 'Tis observable that Milton never 
addrest any poem to Cromwell; but only one admirable 
sonnet, in which, not like a mean flatterer, he assumes the 
tone of an adviser, and cautions him against the avarice 
and the encroachments of the Presbyterian clergy, whom 
he calls " hireling wolves." The University of Oxford, 
notwithstanding its ancient loyalty, sent him a volume of 
Latin verses, on his making peace with the Dutch; in 
which collection are to be found the names of Crew, Mew, 
Godolphin, South, Locke, and Busby. Dr. J. Warton. 

"Ver. 3. Like eager Romans, &c] It was usual to conceal 
an eagle on the top of the funeral pile, destined to receive 
the dead body of the Roman imperator. When the pile 
was set on fire, the bird was set at liberty, and mounting 
into the air, was supposed by the common people to carry 
with it to heaven the soul of the deceased. Derrick. 



How shall I then begin, or where conclude, 

To draw a fame so truly circular 1 
For in a round what order can be showed, 

Where all the parts so equal perfect are? 26 

n. 
His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone ; 

For he was great, ere fortune made him so : 
And wars, like mists that rise against the sun, 

Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. 

VII. 

No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn, M 

But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring ; 

Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born, 
With the too early thoughts of being king. 

VIII. ' 

Fortune (that easy mistress to the young, 

But to her ancient servants coy and hard) M 

Him at that age her favourites rank'd among, 
When she her best-loved Pompey did discard. 

IX. 

He, private, mark'd the fault of others' sway, 
And set as sea-marks for himself to shun : 3t 

Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray 
By acts their age too late would wish undone. 

x. 

And yet dominion was not his design ; 

We owe that blessing, not to him, but Heaven, 
Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join ; 

Rewards, that less to him than us were given. 



Ver. 17. How shall I then begin, or where conclude,] He 
probably had in his mind the following passage of Theocri- 
tus, in his panegyric on Ptolemy, ver. 9. 

ISatv ES 7ttoK(j^lv^e r v otvy,e v\y,T0t&Q$ tvfiaiv, 

T/ sr^oiTov xa.T'x.Xi^u ; John Warton. 

Ver. 20. Where all the parts so equal perfect aref] In- 
stead of equally perfect. Such slight inaccuracies Dryden's 
fervid genius little regarded. John Warton. 
Ver. 23. And wars, like mists that rise against the sun. 
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.] 
A sublime thought, which reminds us of the passage in 
Milton ; although he applies the same appearance of 
nature, the sun rising through a mist, in a different 
manner. 

" As when the sun, new risen, 
Looks through the horizontal misty air, 
Shorn of his beams." Par. Lost, bk. i. 1. 595. 

" But herein will I imitate the sun, 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world ; 
That when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him." 
Shale. Henry IV. Act 1. Sc.2. John Warton. 

Ver. 36. By acts their age too late would wish undone.'] 
Infectum volet esse, dolor quod suaserit et mens. Hor. 1 , 
Ep. ii. 1.60. John Warton. 



THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 



Our former chiefs, like sticklers of the war, 4i 
First sought to inflame the parties, then to poise: 

The quarrel loved, but did the cause abhor ; 
And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise. 



War, our consumption, was their gainful trade : * 
We inward bled, whilst they prolong'd our pain ; 

He fought to end our fighting, and essayed 

To staunch the blood by breathing of the vein. 



Swift and resistless through the land he past, 
Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue, 

And made to battles such heroic haste, ol 

As if on wings of victory he flew. 

XIV. ' 

He fought secure of fortune as of fume : 

Still, by new maps, the island might be shown, 

Of conquests, which he strew'd where'er he came. 
Thick as the galaxy with stars is sown. 66 

XV. 

Hispalms, though under weightstheydidnot stand, 
Still thrived ; no winter could his laurels fade : 

Hen ven in his portrait show'd a workman's hand, 
And drew it perfect, yet without a shade. M 

% XVI. 

Peace was the prize of all his toil and care, 
Which war had bauish'd, and did now restore : 

Bologna's walls thus mounted in the air, 
To seat themselves more surely than before. 

XVII. 

Her safety rescued Ireland to him owes ; 6S 

And treacherous Scotland to no interest true, 
Yet blest that fate which did his arms dispose 

Her land to civilise, as to subdue, 
xvm. 
Nor was he like those stars which only shine, 

When to pale mariners they storms portend : 
He had his calmer influence, and his mien 71 

Lid love and majesty together blend. 

XIX. 

'Tis true, his countenance did imprint an awe ; 

And naturally all souls to his did bow, 
As wands of divination downward draw, " 3 

And point to beds where sovereign gold doth 
grow. 



Ver. 48. To staunch the Wood by breathing of the n ;,,.} 
The loyalists supposed that by this line Dryden meant to 
allude toCromwcll's murder of his Sovereign. Thus in "The 
Laureat," or "Jack Squabb's History in a little drawn, 
Down to his evening, from his early dawn," vcr. 21 — 25. 
" Nay, had cur Charles, by heaven's severe decree, 
Bi I found, and murther'd in the royal tree, 
Even thou hadst praised the fact; his lather slain, 
Thou call'st but gently breathing of a vein.'' 

M AI.ONK. 

Vcr. M. galaxy with otars is sown.] Lucretius, 

lib. ii. ver. 44. 

" Lumine consent arva." Jons Warton. 

Ver. 63. Bologna's walls thus mounted in the air, 
To scat themselves /">>>■ 
Tt is said that at the siege of Bologna, in 1612, a mine 
up that part of the wall of the church ofSancto Maria 
del Baracano, on which stood a miraculous image of the 
■ I Virgin. Though it was carried so high, that both 
armies could «ee one another through the breach, yet it fell 
exactly Into its place, so that it was impossible to rice- 
where it had been separated. Derrick. 



When past all offerings to Feretrian Jove, 

He Mars deposed, and arms to gowns mado 
yield ; 

Successful councils did him soon approve 

As fit for close intrigues, as open field. K0 



To suppliant Holland he vouchsafed a peace, 
Our once bold rival of the British main, 

Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease, 
And buy our friendship with her idol, gain. 

XXII. 

Fame of the asserted sea through Europe blown, 

Made France and Spain ambitious of his 

love ; *' 

Each knew that side must conquer he would own ; 
And for him fiercely, as for empire, strove. 

xxni. 

No sooner was the Frenchman's cause embraced, 

Than the light Monsieur the grave Don out- 

weigh'd : IJ0 

His fortune turn'd the scale where'er 'twas cast ; 

Though Indian mines were in the other laid. 



When absent, yet we conquer'd in his right : 
For though some meaner artist's skill were 
shown 



Ver. 86. Made France and Spain ambitious of his love ;] 
The 9th of March, 1661, died at Vineennes, Cardinal 
Mazarin, at upwards of fifty years of age. Cardinal 
Richelieu lived nearly the same number of years. They 
had governed France successively as prime ministers, 
each of them nearly eighteen years, with much the same 
kind of authority that the Grand Viziers exercise among 
the Turks. Both were ambitious ; Mazarin was more 
timid, more designing, more subtle, pliant, and unsteady; 
Richelieu was more resolute, more warm, had greater 
parts, was more obstinate, and more fixed and determined. 
Mazarin's genius for business was more limited : he was 
better acquainted with the foibles of mankind, and knew 
well how to keep them in suspense. Richelieu, with more 
extensive talents, was better versed in business, and main- 
tained his power by awing some, and amusing others with 
hopes. Mazarin had a greater knack at speeching, and 
was more happily formed to please the ladies : Richelieu 
would much sooner gain the confidence of a man ; and he 
persuaded more by deeds than words. It is said that 
on March 17, 1653, Monsieur Bourdeaux, the ambassador 
extraordinary, sent by Mazarin from the King of France to 
Cromwell, made his public entry, ami on the way had his 
audience at the Banqueting-house, Whitehall ; when he 
extolled the virtues of his Highness, begs bis friendship, 
and says that the Divine Providence, after so many calami- 
ties, could not deal more favourably with these nations, or 
cause them to forget their miseries, with greater satis- 
faction, than by submitting them to so just a government. 
Cromwell gained an entire ascendant even over the artful 
Mazarin. In the treaty the Protector's name was inserted 
before that of the King. Thurloe, vol. iii. p. 103. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

Ver. 91. JTis fortune] Cromwell, it is said, appeared pre- 
cisely at a time when he could succeed. Under Elizabeth 
he would have been hanged; under Charles II. ridiculed, 
lie appeared when England was disgusted with Kings, 
and his son Richard when they were equally disgusted 
with Protectors. Some men owe their fame and eminence 
to the circumstances of the age in which they happened to - 
live; to the taste of their particular times; to the axl-» 
gencies of the state ; to the enemies they found to comba^ ■ 
and to other favourable circumstances anil events. But • 
the following great men would have been great in all ages, I 
and in all countries: — Homer, Hippocrates, Epamlnol 
Philip, Aristotle, Archimedes, Scipio, Virgil. Horace, 
Cts H Hannibal, Uango-Copae, Conrocius, Mahomet li., 
Cervantes, Cortes, Kepler, Copernicus, Bacon, Newton, 
Marlborough, Moliere, Fontenelle, Turenne, Machl&vel, 
Milton, Montecucoli, Dante, and Columbus. Dr. J. 
Warton. 



THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL. 



In mingling colours, or in placing light ; 
Yet still the fair designment was his own. 

xxv. 
For from all tempers ho could service draw ; 

The worth of each, with its alloy, he knew, 
And, as the confident of Nature, saw 

How she complexions did divide and brew. 



Or he their single virtues did survey, ' 
By intuition, in his own large breast, 

Where all the rich ideas of them lay, 

That were the rule and measure to the rest. 



When such heroic virtue heaven sets out, 1Cb 

The stars, like commons, sullenly obey; 

Because it drains them when it comes about, 
And therefore is a tax they seldom pay. 

xxviii. 
From this high spring our foreign conquests flow, 
Which yet more glorious triumphs do por- 
tend; 110 
Since their commencement to his arms they owe, 
If springs as high as fountains may ascend. 

XXIX. 

He made us freemen of the continent, 

Whom Nature did like captives treat before ; 

To nobler preys the English lion sent, 1I5 

And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar. 

xxx. 
That old unquestion'd pirate of the land, 

Proud Rome, with dread the fate of Dunkirk 
heard; 
And trembling wish'd behind more Alps to stand, 
Although an Alexander were her guard. 12 ° 

XXXI. 

By his command we boldly cross'd the line, 
And bravely fought where southern stars arise; 



Ver. 96. designment] He has borrowed this word 

from Spenser, F. Q. n. xi. 10. 

" 'Gainst which the second troupe dessignment makes : " 
That is, plot. Dryden, however, nses it simply for design 
or plan. It shouid he added, that dessignment is the read- 
ing of Spenser's second edition ; as the first reads, without 
perspicuity, assignment. Todd. 

Ver. 113. He made us freemen] We may be said to have 
been made freemen of the continent by the taking of Dun- 
kirk, which was wrested from the Spaniards by the united 
forces of France and England, and delivered up to the 
latter in the beginning of 1658. Deeeick. 

Ver. 120. Although an Alexander] At this time Alex- 
ander VII. sat in the papal chair. Deeeick. 



We traced the far-fetch'd gold unto the mine, 
And that which bribed our fathers made our 
prize. 

XXXII. 

Such was our prince ; yet own'd a soul above 125 
The highest acts it could produce to show : 

Thus poor mechanic arts in public move, 
Whilst the deep secrets beyond practice go. 



Nor died he when his ebbing fame went less, 
But when fresh laurels courted him to live : 

He seem'd but to prevent some new success, 
As if above what triumphs earth could give. 



His latest victories still thickest came, 
As near the centre motion doth increase ; 

Till he, press'd down by his own weighty name, 
Did, like the vestal, under, spoils decease. 13 ' 



But first the ocean as a tribute sent 

The giant prince of all her watery herd ; 

And the isle, when her protecting genius went, 
Upon his obsequies loud sighs conferr'd. w0 

xxxvi. 
No civil broils have since his death arose, 

But faction now by habit does obey ; 
And wars have that respect for his repose, 

As winds for halcyons, when they breed at sea. 



His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest, 

His name a great example stands, to show 

How strangely high endeavours may be blest, 
Where piety and valour jointly go. 



Ver. 135. Till he, press'd down oy Ms own weighty name,] 
Not unlike Livy, who, describing the progress of the city 
of Rome, says, " Quse ab exiguis perfecta initiis, eo cre- 
verit ut jam magnitudine laboret sua." John Waeton. 

Ver. 145. His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest,] Our 
poet's prophetical capacity here failed, for we read in the 
accurate memoirs of the Protectorate-House of Cromwell, 
by Mark Noble, F.S.A. — " He was elected Protector De- 
cember 12 , 1653, and inaugurated again, with more state, 
June 20, 1657 ; and died peaceably in his bed (worn out by 
excessive fatigue of mind and body, by grief in domestic 
misfortunes, and his load of debts), at his palace at White- 
hall, upon his auspicious September 3, 1658; and was 
buried with more than regal pomp, in the sepulchre of our 
monarchs ; from whence, at the Restoration, his body was 
dragged to, and exposed upon, the gallows at Tyburn, the 
trunk thrown into a hole beneath it, and his head set upon 
a pole at Westminster-hall." — Noble's Memoirs, vol. i. 
p. 145. John Waeton. 



ASTKiEA REDUX. 



ASTR.EA REDUX. 



A POEM ON THE IIAPPY RESTORATION AND BETUKN OE HIS SACRED MAJESTY CHARLES II. 1660. 



Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna. — Viro. 

The last great age foretold by sacred rhymes 
Kenews its finish' d course; Saturuian times 
Koll round again. 



Now with a general peace the world was blest, 
While ours, a world divided from the rest, 
A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far 
Than arms, a sullen interval of war : 
Thus when black clouds draw down the labouring 
skies, 6 

Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies, 
An horrid stillness first invades the ear, 
And in that silence we the tempest fear. 
The ambitious Swede, like restless billows toss'd, 
On this hand gaining what on that he lost, 10 

Though in his life he blood and ruin breathed, 
To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeath'd. 
And Heaven, that seem'd regardless of our fate, 
For France and Spain did miracles create; 
Such mortal quarrels to compose in peace, 15 

As nature bred, and interest did increase. 
We sigh'd to hear the fair Iberian bride 
Must grow a lily to the lily's side, 
Whilst our cross stars denied us Charles his bed, 
Whom our first flames and virgin love did wed. 
For his long absence Church and State did groan ; 
Madness the pulpit, faction seized the throne : M 



Ver. 1. Now with a general"] Waller, as well as Dryden, 
altered his sentiments, and changed his notes, on the 
ration; and when the Kin;; hinted to him the infe- 
riority of his second poem to the former, answered, " Poets, 
sir, succeed better in fiction than in truth." What notice 
Charles took of Drydcn's Astraea we are ignorant. Dr. J. 
\V LKTON. 

Ver. 7. An horrid silence first invads the ear,] See 
Thomson's impending storm In Summer, v. 1116. 

" A boding silence reigns, 

Dread through the dun expanse ; save the dull sound 
That from the mountain, previous to the storm, 
Kolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood, 
And shakes the forest-leaf without a breath." 

John Wabton. 
Ibid. An horrid stillness first invades the ear, 

And in that sili nee we the tempest fear.] This dis- 
tich w:is laid hold of by the wits of the times, and among 
others by Capt. Alexander Kadclifl", in his News from llell, 
who ridicules it thus : 

"Laureat, who was both learn'd and florid, 
Was damn'd long since for silence horrid: 
Nor had there been such clutter made, 
Hut that this silence did invade: 
Invade/ and so't might well — that 's clear: 

But what did it invade 1 an ear." Derrick. 

Ver. 19. 

edition. Todd. 



denied us Charles his bed,] Origiual 



Ver. '-"2. Madness the pulpit,'] From the numerous ser- 
mons preached before the Parliament, particularly from 
1640 to 1050, a variety of curious examples might be 



Experienced age in deep despair was lost, 
To see the rebel thrive, the loyal cross'd : 
Youth, that with joys had unacquainted been, *» 
Envied gray hairs that once good days had seen : 
We thought our sires, not with their own content, 
Had, ere we came to age, our portion spent. 
Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt, 
Who ruin'd crowns would coronets exempt. M 
For when, by their designing leaders taught 
To strike at power which for themselves they 

sought, 
The vulgar, gull'd into rebellion, arm'd ; 
Then' blood to action by the prize was warm'd. 
The sacred purple then and scarlet gown, ai 

Like sanguine dye, to elephants was shown. 
Thus, when the bold Typhosus scaled the sky, 
And forced great Jove from his own heaven to fly, 
("What king, what crown from treason's reach is free. 
If Jove and Heaven can violated be ?) w 

The lesser gods, that shared his prosperous state, 
All suffer'd in the exiled Thunderer's fate. 
The rabble now such freedom did enjoy, 
As winds at sea, that use it to destroy : 
Blind as the Cyclop, and as wild as he, ib 

They own'd a lawless savage liberty, 
Like that our painted ancestors so prized, 
Ere empire's arts their breasts had civilised. 
How great were then our Charles hiswoes, who thus 
Was forced to suffer for himself and us ! **> 

He, toss'd by fate, and hurried up and down, 
Heir to his father's Borrows, with his crown, 

adduced to prove the justness of Dryden's assertion. And 
who can wonder at this assertion, when he is told that noti- 
fications of the following kind were affixed on walls and 
door-posts : " On such a day such a brewer's clerk exereit'. U : 
such a taylor expoundeth; such a waterman teacheth/ 11 
See the Preface to r'catley's Dippers Dipt, 4to, 1617. For 
a minute account of the ravings and rantings of many of 
the preachers before the Parliament, the reader is referred 
to a collection of extracts from their discourses, entitled 
■■■■'. printed soon after the Restoration of 
King Charles 1 1. Todd. 

Ver. 46. Tftey own'd a lawless] "Perhaps," says' Swift, 
vol. x. p. 188, "in my own thoughts, I prefer a well-insti- 
tuted common-wealth before a monarchy; and I know 
several others of the same opinion. Now, if on this pre- 
tence I Bhonld insist on liberty of conscience, term conven- 
ticles of republicans, and print books, preferring thai serf 

of government, and condemning what is established, the 
magistrate would with great justice hang me and my 
disciples." Dr. J. Waiiton. 

Ver. 49. How great wen then our Charles his woes,] 
Original edition, and rightly so printed for the sake of the 
metre. Todd. 



8 



ASTR.EA REDUX. 



Could taste no sweets of youth's desired age ; 
But found his life too true a pilgrimage. 
Unconquer'd yet in that forlorn estate, 5a 

His manly courage overcame his fate. 
His wounds he took, like Romans, on his breast, 
Which, by his virtue, were with laurels dress'd. 
As souls reach heaven while yet in bodies pent, 
So did he live above his banishment. M 

That sun, which we beheld with cozen'd eyes 
Within the water, moved along the skies. 
How easy 'tis, when destiny proves kind, 
With full-spread sails to run before the wind ! 
But those that 'gainst stiff gales laveering go, 65 
Must be at once resolved, and skilful too. 
He would not, like soft Otho, hope prevent, 
But stay'd and suffer'd fortune to repent. 
These virtues Galba in a stranger sought, 
And Piso to adopted empire brought. 7 " 

How shall I then my doubtful thoughts express, 
That must his sufferings both regret and bless 1 
For when his early valour Heaven bad cross'd ; 
And all at Worcester but the honour lost ; 
Forced into exile from his rightful throne, 75 

He made all countries where he came his own; 
And, viewing monarchs' secret arts of sway, 
A royal factor for his kingdoms lay. 
Thus banish'd David spent abroad his time, 
When to be God's anointed was his crime ; ^ 

And, when restored, made his proud neighbours 

rue 
Those choice remarks he from his travels drew. 
Nor is he only by affliction shown 
To conquer others' realms, but rule his own : 
Recovering hardly what he lost before, 8i 

His right endears it much ; his purchase more. 



Ver. 57. His toounds he toolc, Wee Romans, on his breast,] 
My reader will not be displeased with the following cita- 
tion from iElian's Various History, lib. 12, cap. 21. " The 
matrons of Lacedaemon, when they received the news that 
their sons were slain in battle, w r ere accustomed to go forth 
to inspect their wounds, both before and behind; and when 
they found the greater number was before, they conducted 
the bodies of their children to the monuments of their 
ancestors with great solemnity, and a kind of stem pride 
in their countenances ; but if they perceived any wounds 
behind, weeping and blushing for shame, they departed 
with the utmost secrecy, leaving the dead bodies to be 
interred in the common sepulchre, or earned them away by 
stealth to be privately buried at home." 

To which we may add these spirited lines of Tyrtaaus, so 
peculiarly applicable at this important juncture. 

Autos 5' ev rr%o/j,oc.xottri mew tpikov oXitri Oupov, 

Ao~tu te y.a.i Xotous y,at rrarle^ iuxXucrcts' 
XloXXa hta, irrlnvoio xoti octrcrioo; OfAQaXoltrervs, 

K«; hiu. due'/ixa<; creoo-Qiv t\r i \ixfx.ivo;. 
Toy 5' oXotyveov-rat fj.lv cfAas viol Tihl yleovrts, 

A^yaXloj ol rrodu nounx Kl7iv$L zrttXts. 

" Now fall'n, the noblest of the van, he dies ! 
His city by the beauteous death renown'd ; 
His low-bent father marking, where he lies, 
The shield, the breast-plate, backt by many a wound. 

The young, the old, alike commingling tears, 

His country's heavy grief bedews the grave ; 
And all his race in verdant lustre wears 
Fame's richest wreath, transmitted from the brave." 
Polwhele's Translation. 

J„OHN Wakton. 
Ver. 78. A royal factor for his kingdoms lay.] Origina 
edition, their kingdoms." Todd. 

Ver. 86. Mis right endears] " It is remarkable," says 
Algarotti, "that no great people is governed by families 
that have been originally natives. China is governed by 
Tartars ; the Euphrates, the Nile, Orontes, Greece, Epirus, 
by Turks. It is not an English race that governs England ; 
it is a German family that has succeeded a Dutch prince 



Inured to suffer ere he came to reign, 

No rash procedure will his actions stain : 

To business ripen'd by digestive thought, 

His future rule is into method brought : " 

As they who first proportion understand, 

With easy practice reach a master's hand. 

Well might the ancient poets then confer 

On Night the honour'd name of Counsellor, ** 

Since struck with rays of prosperous fortune blind, 

We light alone in dark afflictions find. 

In such adversities to sceptres train'd, 

The name of Great his famous grandsire gain'd ; 

Who yet a king alone in name and right, 

With hunger, cold, and angry Jove did fight ; 10 ° 

Shock'd by a Covenanting League's vast powers, 

As holy and as catholic as ours : 

Till fortune's fruitless spite had made it known, 

Her blows not shook but riveted his throne. 

Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, 105 

No action leave to busy chronicles : 
Such, whose supine felicity but makes 
In story chasms, in epoches mistakes ; 
O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down, 
Till with his silent sickle they are mown. "° 

Such is not Charles his too too active age, 
Which, govern'd by the wild distemper' d rage 
Of some black star infecting all the skies, 
Made him at his own cost like Adam wise. 
Tremble ye nations, who secure before, 115 

Laugh'd at those arms that 'gainst ourselves we 

bore ; 
Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail, 
Our lion now will foreign foes assail. 
With alga who the sacred altar strews 1 
To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes : 12 ° 



he succeeded a Scotch family, which had succeeded a 
family of Anjou, which had succeeded a Norman family, 
which had driven away a Saxon family." Dr. J. Warton. 
Ver. 101. Shock'd by a Covenanting League] Original 
edition. Todd. 

Ver. 108. in epoches mistakes;] Original edition. 

Todd. 
Ver. 111. Charles his too too active age,] Original 
edition. Derrick prints 

" Such is not Charles' too too active age." 
See also before, ver. 49. Too too active age, was an 
ancient formulary. So in H. Parrot's Springes for Wood- 
cocks, 12mo. London, 1613, Epigram 133 ,lib. 1. 

" 'tis knowne her iesting's too too evill." 

And even in prose, as in Penri's Exhortation vnto the 
Gouernours, &c. of Wales, 1588, p. 51. "The case is too too 
manifest." Too too for exceeding is also used in the Lan- 
cashire dialect. I venture to add part of P. Fletcher's 
well-drawn character of Lasciviousness personified, Purp. 
Isl. edit. 1633, p. 90, 

" Broad were his jests, wilde his uncivil sport ; 
His fashion too too fond, and loosly light: 
A long love-lock on his left shoulder plight, 
Like to a woman's hair, well shew'd a woman's sprits." 

Todd. 

Ver. 115. who secure before,] Original edition. 

Todd. 
Ver. 117. Boused by the lash of his own stubborn tail,] 
An Homeric simile. John Warton. 
Ver. 119. With alga who the sacred altars strews? 

To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes : 
A bull to thee, Portunus, shall be slain, 
A lamb to you, ye tempests of the main :] 
He had not yet learned, indeed he never learned well, 
to forbear the improper use of mythology. After having 
thus rewarded the heathen deities for their care, he tells us 
in the language of religion, 

" Prayer storm'd the skies, and ravish'd Charles from thence, 
As heaven itself is took by violence." Johnson. 






ASTILEA REDUX. 



A bull to thee, Portunus, shall be slain, 
A lamb to you, ye tempests of the main : 
For those loud storms that did against him roar, 
Have cast his shipwreck'd vessel on the shore. 
Yet as wise artists mix their colour so, '-' 

That by degrees they from each other go : 
Black steals unheeded from the neighb 'ring white, 
Without, offending the well-cozen'd sight : 
So on us stole our blessed change ; while we 
The effect did fool, but scarce the manner see. 13 ° 
Frosts that constrain the ground, and birth deny 
To flowers that in its womb expecting lie, 
Do seldom their usurping power withdraw, 
But raging floods pursue their hasty thaw. 
Our thaw was mild, the cold not chased away, 135 
But lost in kindly heat of lengthen' d day. 
Heaven would no bargain for its blessings drive, 
But what we could not pay for, freely give. 
The Prince of Peace would like himself confer 
A gift unhoped, without the price of war : 14 ° 

Yet, as he knew his blessing's worth, took care 
That we should know it by repeated prayer ; 
Which storrn'd the skies, and ravish'd Charles 

from thence, 
As heaven itself is took by violence. 
Booth's forward valour only served to show, 1+5 
lie durst that duty pay we all did owe : 
The attempt was fair ; but heaven's prefix'd hour 
Not come : so liko the watchful traveller 
That by the moon's mistaken light did rise, 
Lay down again, and closed his weary eyes. 15 ° 
'Twas Monk, whom Providence design'd to loose 
Those real bonds false freedom did impose. 



Ver. 145. Booth's forward valour, &c] In 1659, Sir George 
Booth assembled a considerable body of men for the king's 
service in Cheshire, and possessed himself of Chester, Chick 
Castle, and several other places, being joined by the Earl of 
Derby, Lord Kilmurray, Sir Thomas Middleton, Major- 
General IJgerton, with other loyal gentlemen, who encoun- 
tering with Lambert, general of the parliament's forces, 
were entirely routed at Winnington Bridge, near North- 
w icli, in Cheshire, and most of tiie principal people made 
prisoners. Derrick. 

Ver. 151. "Twas Monk, &c.] General George Monk had 
the command of the parliament's army in Scotland at the 
death of Cromwell, whose son Richard he caused to be 
proclaimed Protector, in compliance with their order. He 
Bhortly afterwards marched with his forces towards London, 
where he managed matters so well as to bring about the 
■ lion of the king, without the least bloodshed; for 

wbicl I service he honoured him with the order of the 

Barter, created him Duke of Albemarle, &c.&c, on account 
i>f his being descended on the mother's side from Richard 
Beauchamp, Earl of Albemarle and Warwick. 

In 1666 he was united with the Duke of York, in command 
tleet that was sent against the Dutch. A dropsy 

' 'I him out of the world on the 3rd day of January, 1679, 
aged seventy-one years. His air was majestic, bis counte 
Dance grave; he was equal in his proceedings; solid, and 
Intrepid in his conduct. He kept the army under strict 

41 clpl and set a noble example of virtue to his soldiers, 

b lug an enemy to drunkenness, blasphemy, and inconti- 
nence. Dkbrick. 

The Indefatigable perseverance, the impenetrable secrecy, 
tin' art of seizing the proper moment for action, enabled 

Monck to bring al i the important event of the Restoration. 

He would nut trust bis own brother with his design, when 

Bii R. Qrenvill me to consult him on the subject. Not 

thai any abilities alone could possibly have given him 
Success, If the whole nation, tired and disgusted with the 

lities 1 the tyrannies of their rulers, bad been 

! icl nd united In a wish to recal tin- heir to 

the orown; so that Monck In reality, according to Mr. 
Walpole, only furnished a hand to the heart of the nation. 
5Tet this general must have been a man of greater talents 
than are usually supposed. Alter bis death, a thin folio 

volume was published, entitled, " Observations on Military 

and Political Affairs," written by the Most Honourable 



The blessed saints that watch'd this turning scene, 
Did fi'om their stars with joyful wonder lean, 
To see small clues draw vastest weights along, •** 
Not in their bulk but in their order strong. 
Thus pencils can by one slight touch restore 
Smiles to that changed face that wept before. 
With ease such fond chinweras we pursue, 
As fancy frames for fancy to subdue : lc0 

But when ourselves to action we betake, 
It shuns the mint like gold that chemists make. 
How hard was then his task ! at once to be 
What in the body natural we see ! 
Man's architect distinctly did ordain 1M 

The charge of muscles, nerves, and of the brain, 
Through viewless conduits spirits to dispense ; 
The springs of motion from the seat of sense. 
'Twas not the hasty product of a day, 
But the well-ripen'd fruit of wise delay. '"° 

He, like a patient angler, ere he strook, 
Would let him play a while upon the hook. 
Our healthful food the stomach labours thus, 
At first embracing what it straight doth crush. 
Wise leeches will not vain receipts obtrude, W 
While growing pains pronounce the humours 

crude : 
Deaf to complaints they wait upon the ill, 
Till some safe crisis authorise then- skill. 
Nor could his acts too close a vizard wear, 
To 'scape their eyes whom guilt had taught to 

fear, 180 

And guard with caution that polluted nest, 
Whence Legion twice before was dispossess'd : 
Once sacred house ; which when they enter'd in, 
They thought the place could sanctify a sin ; 
Like those that vainly hoped kind Heaven would 

wink, ls5 

While to excess on martyrs' tombs they drink. 
And as devouter Turks first warn their souls 
To part, before they taste forbidden bowls : 
So these, when their black crimes they went about, 
First timely charm'd their useless conscience out. 
Religion's name against itself was made ; m 

The shadow served the substance to invade : 
Like zealous missions, they did care pretend 
Of souls in show, but made the gold their end. 
Th' incensed powers beheld with scorn from high 
An heaven so far distant from the sky, 19S 

Which durst, with horses' hoofs that beat the 

ground, 
And martiiil brass, bolie the thunder's sound. 
Twas hence at length just vengeance thought it fit 
To speed their ruin by their impious wit. wo 

George Duke of Albemarle. He married a blacksmith's 
daughter, a woman of strong sense, who governed her bus- 
band as Sarah Duchess of Marlborough did the Duke, and 
who is said to have been instrumental in promoting tin 
Restoration. Dr. Johnson says, this passage down to verso 
178, contains a cluster of thoughts unallied to each other, 
not to be elsewhere easily found. Dr. J. VYarton. 

Ver. 186. While to excess on martyrs' tombs, &c] This 
passage seems to allude to the extravagancies that are often 
i Muitted by the vulgar Roman Catholics upon their pil- 
grimaging to the tombs of saints, where, after having per- 
formed the stated devotions, they too often launch into the 

most blameable excesses, as if they imagined they had now 
fully expiated their former offences, and were at liberty to 
begin a new reckoning. Derrick. 

Ver. 187. And asdi venter Turk.-, 4c] The Khoran having 
prohibited the use of wine, when a Turk has a mind to 
indulge himself with the juice of the grape, he warns bis 
soul to retire to some safe corner of his body, where it m.iy 
be secured from the contamination, and consequently not 
liable to the punlshmi lit- Dl BBII K, 



10 



ASTRiEA REDUX. 



Thus Sforza, cursed with a too fertile brain, 
Lost by his wiles the power his wit did gain. 
Henceforth their fougue must spend at lesser rate, 
Than in its flames to wrap a nation's fate. 
Suffer'd to live, they are like Helots set, ^ 

A virtuous shame within us to beget. 
For by example most we sinn'd before, 
And glass-like clearness mix'd with frailty bore. 
But since reform'd by what we did amiss, 
We by our sufferings learn to prize our bliss : 210 
Like early lovers, whose unpractised hearts 
Were long the may-game of malicious arts, 
When once they find their jealousies were vain, 
With double heat renew their fires again. 
'Twas this produced the joy that hurried o'er 2I5 
Such swarms of English to the neighb'ring shore, 
To fetch that prize, by which Batavia made 
So rich amends for our impoverish'd trade. 
Oh had you seen from Schevelin's barren shore, 
(Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,) 
Afflicted Holland to bis farewell bring 22 ° 

True sorrow, Holland to regret a king ! 
While waiting him his royal fleet did ride, 
And willing winds to their low'rd sails denied. 
The wav'ring streamers, flags, and standart out, 225 
The merry seamen's rude but cheerful shout ; 
And last the cannons' voice that shook the skies, 
And, as it fares in sudden ecstasies, 
At once bereft us both of ears and eyes. 
The ISTaseby, now no longer England's shame, 230 
But better to be lost in Charles his name, 
(Like some unequal bride in nobler sheets) 
Receives her lord : the joyful London meets 
The princely York, himself alone a freight ; 
The Swift-sure groans beneath great Gloster's 
weight : 235 

Secure as when the halcyon breeds, with these, 
He that was born to drown might cross the seas. 
Heaven could not own a Providence and take 
The wealth three nations ventured at a stake. 
The same indulgence Charles his voyage bless'd, 
Which in his right had miracles confess' d. 241 

The winds that never moderation knew, 
Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew : 

Ver. 205. they are like Helots, &c] The Spartans, to 

deter their youth from intemperance, exposed their slaves, 
whom they called Helots, intoxicated with liquor, as public 
objects of derision. They were called Helots from Helos, a 
Laconian town, which being taken by the Spartans, they 
made all the inhabitants prisoners of war, and reduced them 
to the condition of slaves. Derrick. 

Yer. 207. For by exam-pie most we sinn'd before, 

And glass-like clearness mix'd with frailty bore.] 
This is another conceit too curious to be omitted without 
censure. Johnson, Life of Dryden. 

John Warton. 
Ver. 215.] To Dryden's flattery to Charles II. restored, 
we may apply the words of Tacitus :— " Laetantis, ut ferme 
ad nova imperia, ut gratiam viresque apud novum princi- 
pem pararet."— Tacit, iii. Johjj Warton. 

Ver. 224. And willing winds to their low'rd sails denied.] 
Original edition. Todd. 

Ver. 225. flags, and standart out,] Original edition. 

Todd. 

Ver. 231. Charles his name,] Original edition. 

Todd. 
Ver. 235. The Swift-sure groans beneath great Gloster's 
weight :] From Virgil: 

■ " simul accipit alveo 

Ingentem JEne&m, gemuit sub pondere cymba 
Sutilis."— jEneid. vi. 412. John "Warton. 

Ver. 242. The winds that never moderation knew, 

Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew: 
Or, out of breath with joy, could not enlarge 
Their straiten 'd lungs, or conscious of their charge?^ 



Or, out of breath with joy, could not enlarge 
Their straiten'd lungs, or conscious of their 
charge. 24S 

The British Amphitrite, smooth and clear, 
In richer azure never did appear ; 
Proud her returning Prince to entertain 
With the submitted fasces of the main. 

And welcome now, great monarch, to your own ; 
Behold th' approaching clifts of Albion : 2SI 

It is no longer motion cheats your view, 
As you meet it, the land approacheth you. 
The land returns, and, in the white it wears, 
The marks of penitence and sorrow bears. 253 

But you, whose goodness your descent doth show, 
Your heavenly parentage and earthly too ; 

How far he was yet from thinking ii necessary to found 
his sentiments on nature, appears from the extravagance of 
his fictions and hyperboles. — Johnson. John Warton. 

Ver. 244. Or, out of breath] Can Dryden have written so 
contemptible a line ? Dr. J. "Warton. 

Ver. 246. The British Amphitrite, smooth and clear. 
In richer azure never did appear ,'] 
Here he has his eye on his favourite Virgil, iEneid. 
lib. viii. line 86. 
" Thybris ea fluvium, quam longa est, nocte tumentem 

Lenin, et tacita reflnens Ha substitit unda, 

Mitis ut in morem stagni placidasque paludis 

Sterneret sequor aquis, remo ut luctamen abesset." 

John Warton. 

Ver. 250. A nd welcome now,] " Charles might have been 
restored on any terms, or under any limitations. Instead 
of this, he came in almostwithout conditions. He obtained 
the most unlimited confidence, before he had taken one step 
to deserve it; and he lived to acquire as absolute an 
authority as his unhappy father had ever possessed — he 
lived to govern wi'hout Parliaments. To point out par- 
ticularly what might have been, or ought to have been 
done on this occasion, might be an invidious task, and 
would far exceed the limits of this discourse. But most 
certainly our ancestors should not have been content with 
less than was actually obtained in a later period ; should 
have attempted, at least, to prevent a return of the calami- 
ties they had suffered ; and to form an establishment, which 
might secure them in the most effectual manner, both from 
tyranny and faction. By neglecting to obtain this security, 
the men who placed Charles on the throne, exposed both 
church and state to the utmost danger. The returning 
monarch, void of every religious and every moral principle, 
was ready to sacrifice the ate of Europe to the caprice or 
the cunning of a mistress ; and studied to subvert the liber- 
ties of his people, not from any reputable principle of am- 
bition or honour, but that he might, without difficulty, and 
without opposition, employ the hands and purses of his lov- 
ing subjects in ministering to his royal pleasures. It was 
not indeed long before his subjects were awakened from 
their dream of happiness, but it had like to have been too 
late. Never was the whole machinei'y of opposition put in 
motion with more art and address, and (to say the truth) 
with less restraint from principles of justice and honour. 
Yet all this was found too little. Charles, though obliged to 
give way for a time, was able at last to surmount the 
utmost efforts of his enemies; and had either his life been 
prolonged, or had his successor trodden in the same steps, 
the liberties of Britain were no more." 

No apology shall be made for the length of this passage, 
so pregnant with solid sense and knowledge of the true con- 
stitution of Great Britain, which is taken from the discourses 
of a man far above the narrow views of any party; of an 
enlarged mind and manly spirit, enriched with a variety of 
solid learning, which he always imparted in a style pure 
and energetic. Need I name Dr. Balguy? Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 252. It is no longer motion cheats your view, 
As you meet it, the land approacheth you. 
The land returns, and, in the white it wears, 
The marks of penitence and sorrow bears.] 

"I know not whether this fancy, however little be its 
value, was not borrowed. A French poet read to Malherbe 
some verses, in which he represents France as rising out of 
its place to receive the King. ' Though this,' said Malherbe, 
' was in my time, I do not remember it.' " — Johnson. 

John Warton, 



ASTR.EA REDUX. 



11 



By that same mildness, which your father's crown 
Before did ravish, shall secure your own. 
Not tied to rules of policy, you find, 26 ° 

Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind. 
Thus, when the Almighty would to Moses give 
A sight of all he could behold and live ; 
A voice before his entry did proclaim 
Long-suffering, goodness, mercy, in his name. 26s 
Your power to justice doth submit your cause, 
Your goodness only is above the laws ; 
Whose rigid letter, while pronounced by you, 
Is softer made. So winds that tempests brew, 
When through Arabian groves they take their 
flight, wo 

Made wanton with rich odours, lose their spite. 
And as those lees, that trouble it, refine 
The agitated soul of generous wine : 
So tears of joy, for your returning, spilt, 
Work out, and expiate our former guilt. 27 ° 

Methinks I see those crowds on Dover's strand, 
Who, in their haste to welcome you to land, 
Choked up the beach with their still growing store, 
And made a wilder torrent on the shore : 
While, spurr'd with eager thoughts of past de- 
light, - 80 
Those, who had seen you, court a second sight ; 
Preventing still your steps, and making haste 
To meet you often, whereso'er you pass'd. 



Ver. 281. Those, who had seen yon,'] Among the many 
characters drawn of this prince, that given ns by the Duke 
of Buckingham, who knew him well, seems to be drawn with 
accuracy and spirit, with a few sprinklings of partiality. 

" His understanding was quick and lively in little things, 
and sometimes would soar high enough in great ones, but 
unable to keep it up with any long attention or application. 
Witty in all sorts of conversation, and telling a story so 
well, that not out of flattery, but for the pleasure of hearing 
it, we used to seem ignorant of what he had repeated to us 
ten times before, as a good comedy will bear the being seen 
often. Of a wonderful mixture, losing all his time, and, till 
of late, setting his whole heart on the fair sex ; yet neither 
angry with rivals, nor in the least nice as to the being 
beloved ; and while he sacrificed all tilings to his mistresses, 
he would use to grudge and be uneasy at their losing a little 
of it again at play, though never so necessary for their 
diversion; nor would he venture five pounds at tennis to 
bho e servants, who might obtain as many thousands, either 
In i' re he came thither, or as soon as he left off. Not false 
to bis word, but full of dissimulation, and very adroit at it; 

10 man easier to be imposed on, for his great dexterity 
was in cozening himself, by gaining a little one way, while 
it cost him ten times us much another; and by caressing 
per cms most who had deluded him the oftenest, and 
yel H»' quickest in the world at spying such a ridicule in 
another, familiar, easy, and good-natured, but for great 
offences severe and inflexible; also in one week's absence 
quite forgetting those servants to whose faces he could 
[y deny anything. In t lie midst of all his remissness, 
bo Industrious and indefatigable on some particular occa- 
Blons, that no man would either toil longer, or be able to 
manage it better. He was so liberal as to ruin his affairs 
by it; for want in a King of England turns things just 
upside down, and exposes a prince to his people's mercy. 
It did yet worse in him, for it forced him also to depend on 
his great neighbour of France. He had so natural an aver- 
sion to all formality, that with as much wit as most kings 
e\ ar had, and with as majestic a mien, yet he could not on 

ledltation act the part of a King for a moment, either 
at Parliament or Council, either in words or gestures, which 
en i id him into the other extreme, more inconvenient of 
the two, of letting all distinction and ceremony fall to the 
ground as useless and foppish. His temper, both of body 
and mind, was admirable ; which made him an easy gene- 
rous lover, a civil obliging husband, a friendly brother, an 
indulgent father, and a good-natured master. If he had 

lireli as Solicit nllS II 1ml it improving the facilities Of his ill ill:!, 

as he was in the management of his bodily health, though, 
alas! thei.no proved unable to make his life long, the other 
had uot failed to have made it famous." Dr. J . Wakton. 



How shall I speak of that triumphant day, 
When you renew'd th' expiring pomp of May ! 285 
(A month that owns an interest in your name : 
You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.) 
That star that at your birth shone out so bright, 
It stain'd the duller sun's meridian light, 
Did once again its potent fires renew, s9 ° 

Guiding our eyes to find and worship you. 

And now Time's whiter series is begun, 
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run : 
Those clouds, that overcast your morn, shall fly, 
Dispell'd to farthest corners of the sky. i9S 

Our nation with united interest blest, 
Not now content to poize, shall sway the rest. 
Abroad your empire shall no limits know, 
But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow. 
Your much-loved fleet shall, with a wide command, 
Besiege the petty monarchs of the land : 3U1 

And as old Time his offspring swallow'd down, 
Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown. 
Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine free, 
Our merchants shall no more adventurers be : 305 
Nor in the farthest east those dangers fear, 
Which humble Holland must dissemble here. 
Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes ; 
For what the powerful takes not he bestows : 
And France, that did an exile's presence fear, 310 
May justly apprehend you still too near. 

At home the hateful names of parties cease, 
And factious souls are wearied into peace. 
The discontented now are only they, 
Whose crimes before did your just cause betray : 
Of those your edicts some reclaim from sins, ■ J1G 
But most your life and blest example wins. 
Oh happy prince, whom Heaven hath taught the 

way 
By paying vows to have more vows to pay ! 
Oh happy age ! Oh times like those alone, 32 ° 
By fate reserved for great Augustus' throne ! 
When the joint growth of arms and art foreshow 
The world a monarch, and that monarch you. 



Ver. 316. from sins,] Original edition. In Derrick's 

edition, from sin. Todd. 

Ver. 317. example wins.] Original edition. In Der- 
rick's edition, ■ example win. Todd. 

Ver. 320. Oh happy age .'] But these days of felicity and 
joy lasted not long. Discontents arose, and many writers 
against the Court appeared. Among the rest was a man of 
a great fund of wit and learning, of a severe and sarcastic 
turn, and of irreproachable life and conversation. This 
man was Andrew Marvel, who wrote equally well in prose 
and in verse. Swift has done justice to his Kehearsal 
transposed, from which in truth Swift borrowed largely. 
His satires in verse were numerous, particularly, To the 
King, Nostradamus s Prophecy, Clarendon's House-Warming, 
Ttoyal Jlesotutions, Dialogue between two Horses, Oceana and 
Britannia. Though he certainly cannot, as a poet, be in 
general compared with Dryden, particularly in point of 
numbers, which are harsh and rough, yet in all these pieces, 
strong thinking, and strong painting, and capital strokes of 
satire, appear. The story of his refusing a pension, offered 
him in a polite manner by Lord Dauby, who waited on him 
in person, is well known. If he was grossly abused by 
Parker in his Latin commentaries, yet amends "ere made 
him by an elegant compliment in his Ode to Tttdppendi ney. 
Indeed it was honour enough to Marvel to be joint Latin 
Secretary with Milton, and to be bis confidential friend. 
Marvel certainly wrote those fine six Latin lines addressed 
to Christina, Queen of Sweden, printed iu the second volume 
of Milton. Da. .1 . \V ABTON. 

I think that Milton, and not Marvel, wrote the verses to 
Christina. Nor am l lingular in this opinion. See the 
note on the lines in the sixth volume of the edition of 
Milton, published in 1801, and in the seventh of that in 
1809. Todd. 



12 



TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY. 






TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY. 

A PANEGYRIC ON HIS CORONATION. 

In that wild deluge where the world was drown'd, 
When life and sin one common tomb had found, 
The first small prospect of a rising hill 
With various notes of joy the ark did fill : 
Yet when that flood in its own depths was drown'd, 
It left behind it false and slippery ground ; 6 

And the more solemn pomp was still deferr'd, 
Till new-born nature in fresh looks appear'd. 
Thus, royal sir, to see you landed here, 
Was cause enough of triumph for a year : ,0 

Nor would your care those glorious joys repeat, 
Till they at once might be secure and great : 
Till your kind beams, by their continued stay, 
Had warm'd the ground, and call'd the damps 
away. u 

Such vapours, while your powerful influence dries, 
Then soonest vanish when they highest rise. 
Had greater haste these sacred rites prepared, 
Some guilty months had in your triumphs shared : 
But this untainted year is all your own ; 
Your glories may without our crimes be shown, 
We had not yet exhausted all our store, 21 

When you refresh'd our joys by adding more : 
As heaven, of old, dispensed celestial dew, 
You gave us manna, and still give us new. 

Now our sad ruins are removed from sight, *" 
The season too comes fraught with new delight : 
Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop, 
Nor do his wings with sickly feathers droop : 
Soft western winds waft o'er the gaudy spring, 
And open'd scenes of flowers and blossoms bring, 
To grace this happy day, while you appear, - 31 
Not king of us alone, but of the year. 
All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart : 
Of your own pomp yourself the greatest part : 
Loud shouts the nation's happiness proclaim, M 
And heaven this day is feasted with your name. 
Your cavalcade the fair spectators view, 
From their high standings, yet look up to you, 
From your brave train each singles out a prey, 
And longs to date a conquest from your day. *° 
Now charged with blessings while you seek repose, 
Officious slumbers haste your eyes to close ; 



Ver. 1. In that wild deluge where the world was drown'd,'] 
His poem on the Coronation has a more uniform tenor 
of thought, says the great Johnson. It is in truth an 
uninterrupted series of flattery. 

Fluinina turn lactis, turn flumina nectaris ibant. 

John Warton. 

Ver. 34. Thomas, Lord Fairfax, wrote a copy of verses 
on the horse upon which Charles II. rode at his Coronation, 
bred and presented by him to the King, notwithstanding 
Fairfax's former conduct. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 41. Now charged with blessings while you seek repose, 
&c] " As many odoriferous bodies are observed to diffuse 
perfumes from year to year, without sensible diminu- 
tion of their bulk or weight; he appears never to have 
impoverished his mint of flattery by his expenses, however 
lavish. He had all the forms of excellence, intellectual 
and moral, combined in his mind, with endless variation ; 
and when he had scattered on the hero of the day the golden 
shower of wit and virtue, he had ready for him, whom he 
wished to court on the morrow, new wit and virtue of 
another stamp. Of this kind of meanness he never seems 
to decline the practice, or lament the necessity : he con- 
siders the great as entitled to encomiastic homage, and 
brings praise rather as a tribute than a gift,— more de- 



And glorious dreams stand ready to restore 

The pleasing shapes of all you saw before. 

Next to the sacred temple you are led, * 

Where waits a crown for your more sacred head : 

How justly from the Church that crown is due, 

Preserved from ruin, and restored by you ! 

The grateful choir their harmony employ, 

Not to make greater, but more solemn joy. m 

Wrapt soft and warm your name is sent on high, 

As flames do on the wings of incense fly : 

Music herself is lost, in vain she brings 

Her choicest notes to praise the best of kings : 

Her melting strains in you a tomb have found, 65 

And lie like bees in their own sweetness drown'd. 

He that brought peace, all discord could atone, 

His name is music of itself alone. 

Now, while the sacred oil anoints your head, M 

And fragrant scents, begun from you, are spread 

Through thelarge dome; the people's joyful sound, 

Sent back, is still preserved in hallow'd ground ; 

Which, in one blessing mix'd, descends on you ; 

As heighten'd spirits fall in richer dew. 

Not that our wishes do increase your store, 65 

Full of yourself, you can admit no more; 

We add not to your glory, but employ 

Our time, like angels, in expressing joy. 

Nor is it duty, or our hopes alone, 

Create that joy, but full fruition : 7° 

We know those blessings, which we must possess, 

And judge of future by past happiness. 

No promise can oblige a prince so much 

Still to be good, as long to have been such. 

A noble emulation heats your breast, 75 

And your own fame now robs you of your rest. 

Good actions still must be maintain'd with good, 

As bodies nourish'd with resembling food. 

You have already quench'd sedition's brand ; 

And zeal, which burnt it, only warms the land. 80 

The jealous sects, that dare not trust their cause, 

So far from their own will as to the laws, 

You for their umpire and their synod take, 

And their appeal alone to Caesar make. 

Kind Heaven so rare a temper did provide, 85 

That guilt, repenting, might in it confide. 

Among our crimes oblivion may be set ; 

But 'tis our king's perfection to forget. 

Virtues unknown to these rough northern climes 

From milder heavens you bring without their 

crimes. M 

Your calmness does no after-storms provide, 
Nor seeming patience mortal anger hide. 
When empire first from families did spring, 
Then every father govern'd as a king : 
But you, that are a sovereign prince, allay m 

Imperial power with your paternal sway. 
From those great cares when ease your soul 

unbends, 
Your pleasures are design'd to noble ends : 
Born to command the mistress of the seas, 
Your thoughts themselves in that blue empire 

please. 10 ° 



lighted with the fertility of his invention than mortified 
by the prostitution of his judgment" — Johnson's Life of 
Dryden. John Warton. 

Ver. 81. The jealous sects,] It is finely and acutely 
observed by Des Cartes, in Dissertations de Metliodo, that 
the Spartan commonwealth nourished so eminently not so 
much because it was governed by a body of laws, that were 
good in themselves, but because "ab uno tantum legisla- 
tore conditse, sibi omnes consentiebant, atque in eundem 
scopnm colllmabant." Dr. J. Warton. 



TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE. 



Hither in summer evenings yon repair 

To taste the fraicheur of the purer air : 

Undaunted here you ride, when winter raves, 

With Csesar's heart that rose above the waves. 

More I could sing, but fear my numbers stays ; 105 

No loyal subject dares that courage praise. 

In stately frigates most delight you find, 

Where well-drawn battles fire your martial mind. 

What to your cares we owe, is learnt from hence, 

When even your pleasures serve for our defence. 

Beyond your court flows in th' admitted tide, ' ' ' 

Where in new depths the wondering fishes glide : 

Here in a royal bed the waters sleep ; 

When, fired at sea, within this bay they creep. 

Here the mistrustful fowl no harm' suspects, 116 

So safe are all things which our king protects. 

From your loved Thames a blessing yet is due, 

Second alone to that it brought in you ; 

A queen, near whose chaste womb, ordain'd by 

fate, 
The souls of kings unborn for bodies wait. 120 
It was your love before made discord cease : 
Your love is destined to your country's peace. 
Both Indies, rivals in your bed, provide 
With gold or jewels to adorn your bride. 
This to a mighty king presents rich ore, 12S 

While that with incense does a god implore. 
Two kingdoms wait your doom, and, as you choose, 
This must receive a crown, or that must lose. 
Thus, from your royal oak, like Jove's of old, 
Are answers sought, and destinies foretold : 13 ° 
Propitious oracles are begg'd with vows, 
And crowns that grow upon the sacred boughs. 
Your subjects, while you weigh the nation's fate, 
Suspend to both their doubtful love or hate : 
Choose only, sir, that so they may possess, 13i> 
With their own peace their children's happiness. 



Ver. 102. To taste the fraicheur of the purer air :] 
" Dryden had a vanity unworthy of his abilities ; to shew, 
a8 may be suspected, the rank of the company with whom 
he lived, by the use of French words, which had then crept 
into conversation ; such as fraicheur for coolness, fougue for 
turbulence, and a few more, none of which the language has 
Incorporated or retained. They continue only where they 
stood first, perpetual warnings to future innovators." 
— Johnson's Life of Dryden. John Warton. 

Ver. 104. With Caesar's heart that rose, &c] Caisar, 
when in some danger on board ship, observing the mariners 
affrighted, bade them remember they carried Caisar and his 
fortune. Derrick. 

Ver. 136. their children's] What effect this 

poem might have on the public mind we know not ; but the 
effect of another poem, the incomparable Jlmlibras, was 
deep, universal, and lasting. This work is original in our 
language, though the idea is evidently taken from Don 
Quixote. The wit of Butler is inexhaustible, and more 
new images are brought together than are to be found in 
any language. A want of events and action is the only 
blemish to be discerned. No writer has displayed such a 
to ml of various learning, nor applied it with such dexterity. 
The. measure, though blamed by Dryden, is exactly suited 
to the subject. It will remain an eternal disgrace to 
Charles II. not to have rewarded amply this singular 
genius, so useful to bis cause and government. The 
Satire Menippie, published in France, 1597, had a similar 
effect in that country. The president Senault, one of the 
most curious and accurate of all their writers, informs us, 

p.:t-N-<, 4to, that Le lloi, can I' Rouen, was the sole, author 

of tlie ctholicon. Passerat and Jlupin composed the verse 
part ; M. Gillot composed the harangue of the Cardinal 
Legate; P. i'ithou that of M.d'Aubrui; and Rapin Hint of 
the Archbishop of Lyons. " Perhaps," says llemwlt, " the 
Satire Menippie was not of less use to Henry IV. than the 
battle of Ivri. Ridicule has more force than we can well 
imagine." Dr.J. Warton. 



THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE.* 

PRESENTED ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1662. 



Mr Lord, 

While flattering crowds officiously appear, 
To give themselves, not you, an happy year ; 
And by the greatness of their presents prove 
How much they hope, but not how well they 
love; 



* Edward Earl of Clarendon, to whom this poem is 
addressed, having followed the fortune of the King, was 
appointed Secretary of State at Bruges, and constituted 
Lord High Chancellor of England on the demise of Sir 
Richard Lane. He was confirmed in this last post at the 
Restoration, when he was also chosen Chancellor of the 
University of Oxford, in the room of the Duke of Somer- 
set, and created Baron Hindon, Viscount Cornbury, and 
Earl of Clarendon. He was too honest for a court; his 
plain dealing and integrity ruined him. The King, aban- 
doned to pleasure, was impatient of admonition, and Hyde 
was not sparing of it: this paved the way for his disgrace. 
He was prosecuted with great acrimony by the Earl ot 
Bristol, who impeached him in the House of Peers. 
Finding his party too weak to support him, he retired to 
Rouen, where he died in 1674. He is said to have been 
concerned in selling Dunkirk to the French. He was an 
able lawyer, a great statesman, and an elegant writer. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 1. While flattering crowds'] Few pieces of biography 
are so interesting as the life of Lord Clarendon, written by 
himself, and published from his original manuscripts by 
the University of Oxford. In which is given, with open- 
ness and frankness, an account of his early habits and 
studies, and intimacy with the greatest men of that age, 
whose characters he has drawn with a masterly hand. He 
soon became eminent both at the bar and in Parliament ; 
and entering into the King's service at the commencement 
of the civil wars, soon rose to such a degree in his favour 
and friendship, that the King entrusted him to draw up 
several very important state papers, published in the 
King's own name, and supposed to be his own productions. 
He followed Charles II. into exile, shared all his fortunes, 
and continued his faithful adviser till the Restoration. 
Burnet, who did not love him, says he used to give his 
advice in too magisterial a manner; and it is certain that 
Charles II. had always for him more veneration than 
affection. As he never degraded himself by flattering the 
Duchess of Portsmouth, and showed a marked contempt of 
the debauched parasites that surrounded his master, they 
employed every possible method of wit and ridicule to 
depreciate him in the eyes of his master, who, when Buck- 
ingham imitated the gait and air, and solemn step of the 
Chancellor, had the weakness to join in the laugh. But 
what chiefly alienated the King's regard for him, and in 
truth provoked a deep indignation, was, that Clarendon 
engaged the Duke of Richmond to marry the beautiful .Mrs. 
Stuart, with whom the King was violently in love. So 
that when the Sectarists, the Catholics, and even some 
disappointed Royalists, all joined in enmity to Clarendon, 
and laid to his charge all the misfortunes that had befallen 
the kingdom— the bad payment of the seamen, the sale of 
Dunkirk, the disgrace at Chatham, and an unsuccessful 
war— the King, with matchless ingratitude, gave up into 
the hands of his enemies his old, able, and faithful coun- 
sellor, who was immediately impeached by both Houses of 
Parliament He therefore thought proper to retire to 
France, where he lived privately for six years, and wrote 
his History of the Civil Wars; a work which, notwithstand- 
ing some (perhaps pardonable) partialities, will for ever be 
read with attention and applause; and is in truth com- 
posed with a dignity, majesty, and strength of style, rarely 
to be found in modern history. The praises of twenty 
such poets as Dryden could not have conferred such lasting 
honour on Lord Clarendon as those words of the virtuous 
Earl of Southampton, at the Council Board : " This man," 
said he, " is a true Protestant, and an honest Englishman 
and while he enjoys power, we are seeure of out laws, 
liberties, and religion. I dread the OOMOCJienoOB. ot' his 
removal." Dr. . I. Warton. 



14 



TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR HYDE. 



The Muses, who your early courtship boast, 5 
Though nowyour flames are with their beauty lost, 
Yet watch their time, that, if you have forgot 
They were your mistresses, the world may not : 
Decajf'd by time and wars, they only prove 
Their former beauty by your former love ; 10 

And now present, as ancient ladies do, 
That, courted long, at length are forced to woo. 
For still they look on you with such kind eyes, 
As those that see the Church's sovereign rise ; I4 
From their own order chose, in whose high state, 
They think themselves the second choice of fate. 
"When our great monarch into exile went, 
Wit and religion suffer'd banishment. 
Thus once, when Troy was wrapp'd in fire and 
smoke, 19 

The helpless gods their burning shrines forsook ; 
They with the vanquish'd prince and party go, 
And leave their temples empty to the foe. 
At length the Muses stand, restored again 
To that great charge which nature did ordain ; 
And their loved Druids seem revived by fate, ^ 
While you dispense the laws, and guide the state. 
The nation's soul, our monarch, does dispense, 
Through you, to us his vital influence ; 
You are the channel, where those spirits flow, 
And work them higher, as to us they go. M 

In open prospect nothing bounds our eye, 
Until the earth seems join'd unto the sky : 
So in this hemisphere our utmost view 
Is only bounded by our king and you : 
Our sight is limited where you are join'd, & 

And beyond that no farther heaven can find. 
So well your virtues do with his agree, 
That, though your orbs of different greatness be, 
Yet both are for each other's use disposed, 
His to inclose, and yours to be inclosed. 40 

Nor could another in your room have been, ' 
Except an emptiness had come between. 
Well may he then to you his cares impart, 
And share his burden where he shares his heart. 
In you his sleep still wakes ; his pleasures find ^ 
Their share of business in your labouring mind. 
So when the weary sun his place resigns, 
He leaves his light, and by reflection shines. 

Justice, that sits and frowns where public laws 
Exclude soft mercy from a private cause, i0 



Ver. 20. The helpless gods'] I will here offer part of Mer- 
rick's observation on a passage in his translation of Try- 
phiodorus, p. 102. — " "We learn from ^Lschylus ('Efrra tir; 
®r,(S. v. 223.) that it was a common opinion among the 
ancients that the tutelary gods of every city withdrew 
from it when it was going to he taken. The scholiast on 
iEschylus farther informs us, that Sophocles wrote a play 
called 'Zou.v'/i'pbeoi, in which the gods of the Trojans were 
introduced retiring from the city, and carrying their 
images with them. What Tryphiodorus feigns of Apollo's 
quitting Troy, just before its destruction, is related by 
Virgil concerning the other deities of the Trojans, JEn. ii. 
351. 

' Excessere omnes, adytis arisque relictis, 

Di, quibus imperium hoc steterat.' 
And Petronius Arbiter says, 

' Peritura Troja perdidit primum deos.' 
Nor is this fiction to be found in the poets only, but is 
likewise preserved in some of the ancient historians." 
See the whole note. Todd. 

Ver. 48. He leaves his light, and by reflection shines.'] The 
Game sentiment is repeated in the Annus Mirabilis, St. 253. 
"His beams he to his royal brother lent, 

And so shone still in his reflective light." 

Todd. 



In your tribunal most herself does please ; 
There only smiles because she lives at ease ; 
And, like young David, finds her strength the more, 
When disencumber'd from those arms she wore. 
Heaven would our royal master should exceed M 
Most in that virtue, which we most did need ; 
And his mild father (who too late did find 
All mercy vain but what with power was join'd) 
His fatal goodness left to fitter times', 
Not to increase, but to absolve, our crimes : m 
But when the heir of this vast treasure knew 
How large a legacy was left to you, 
(Too great for any subject to retain) 
He wisely tied it to the crown again : • w 

Yet, passing through your hands, it gathers more, 
As streams, through mines, bear tincture of their 

ore. 
While empiric politicians use deceit, 
Hide what they give, and cure but by a cheat ; 
You boldly show that skill which they pretend, 
And work by means as noble as your end ; '° 

Which should you veil, we might unwind the clue, 
As men do nature, till we came to you. 
And as the Indies were not found, before 
Those rich perfumes, which, from the happy shore, 
The winds upon their balmy wings convey d, 75 
Whose guilty sweetness first their world betray'd ; 
So by your counsels we are brought to view 
A rich and undiscover'd world in you. 
By you our monarch does that fame assure, 
Which kings must have, or cannot live secure : w 
For prosperous princes gain their subjects' heart, 
Who love that praise in which themselves have part. 
By you he fits those subjects to obey, 
As heaven's eternal monarch does convey 
His power unseen, and man, to his designs * 

By his bright ministers the stars, inclines. 
Our setting sun, from his declining seat, 
Shot beams of kindness on you, not of heat : 
And, when his love was bounded in a few, 
That were unhappy that they might be true, " 
Made you the favourite of his last sad times, 
That is a sufferer in his subjects' crimes : 
Thus those first favours you received, were sent, 
Like heaven's rewards in earthly punishment. 
Yet fortune, conscious of your destiny, 95 

E'en then took care to lay you softly by ; 
And wrapp'd your fate among her precious things, 
Kept fresh to be unfolded with your king's. 
Shown all at once you dazzled so our eyes, 
As new-born Pallas did the gods surprise : 10 ° 
When, springing forth from Jove's new closing 

wound, 
She struck the warlike spear into the ground ; 
Which sprouting leaves did suddenly inclose, 
And peaceful olives shaded as they rose. 



Ver. 66. As streams, through mines, bear tincture of their 
ore.] So Milton of the river Tamar in Cornwall. Epi- 
taph. Damon. 

" fusca metallis 

Tamara." John Wabton. 

Ver. 67. While empiric] Our knowledge in politics, says 
Hume, is even yet imperfect; we know not to what de- 
grees human virtue or vice may be carried. Even Ma- 
chiavel is an imperfect and mistaken politician. Modern 
monarchies, he adds, are grown mild and improved ; but 
this is owing to manners, and to the progress of sense and 
philosophy. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 87. Our setting sun,] Charles I. employed him in 
writing some of his declarations. Dr. J. Waeton. 



SATIRE ON THE DUTCH. 



15 



How strangely active are the arts of peace, 105 
Whose restless motions less than war's do cease ! 
Peace is not freed from labour but from noise ; 
And war more force, but not more pains employs : 
Such is the mighty swiftness of your mind, 
That, like the earth, it leaves our sense behind, no 
While you so smoothly turn and roll our sphere, 
That rapid motion does but rest appear. 
For, as in nature's swiftness, with the throng 
Of flying orbs while ours is borne along, 
All seems at rest to the deluded eye, 115 

Moved by the soul of the same harmony, 
So, carried on by your unwearied care, 
We rest in peace and yet in motion share. 
Let envy then those crimes within you see, 
From which the happy never must be free; l:o 
Envy, that does with misery reside, 
The joy and the revenge of ruin'd pride. 
Think it not hard, if at so cheap a rate 
You can secure the constancy of fate, 
Whose kindness sent what does their malice seem, 
By lesser ills the greater to redeem. 1S6 

Nor can we this weak shower a tempest call, 
But drops of heat, that in the sunshine fall. 
You have ah'eady wearied fortune so, 
She cannot farther be your friend or foe ; 130 

But sits all breathless, and admires to feel 
A fate so weighty, that it stops our wheel. 
In all things else above our humble fate, 
Your equal mind yet swells not into state, 
But, like some mountain in those happy isles, 13S 
Where in perpetual spring young nature smiles, 
Your - greatness shows : no horror to affright, 
But trees for shade, and flowers to court the sight : 
Sometimes the hill submits itself a while 
In small descents, which do its height beguile ; 14 ° 
And sometimes mounts, but so as billows play, 
Whose rise not hinders but makes short our way. 
Your brow which does no fear of thunder know, 
Sees rolling tempests vainly beat below ; 
And, like Olympus' top, th' impression wears l4s 
Of love and friendship writ in former years. 
Yet, unimpair'd with labours, or with time, 
Your age but seems to a new youth to climb. 
Thus heavenly bodies do our time beget, 
And measure change, but share no part of it. 150 



Ver. 109. Such is the mighty] " In this comparison," Dr. 
Johnson says, "the mind perceives enough to be de- 
<). and readily forgives its obscurity for its magnifi- 
cence." I own I tliink its obscurity so gross that it cannot 
be forgiven, and its magnificence lost by its no-meaning. 
Dr. .1. WABTOK. 

Ver. 119. l.'t envy then] Great ministers, in all ages 
and countries, have ever been attacked by satirical wits. 
Above one hundred and fifty-nine severe invectives were 
written against Cardinal Mazarin, many of them by 
Bcarron and Sandricourt, which have been collected and 
call. ii I the Mazaranides. Dr. J. WABTON. 

Ver. 130. S"ni- inn th liill submits itself a while 
In small descents,] 

" qua se subducere colles 

Incipiunt, mollicjuc jugum demittore clivo." 

Virgil, Bel. ix. 8. 
johm Wartok. 
Ver. 1 13. Yrmr brmo, which lines no fear nf thunder know, 
Sees rolling tempests vainly beat heloto f] 
1 cannot readily turn cither to the passage or author of 
the following reflection: — "Great men ought not to listen 
to, or even hear, the mean cries of envy. Atlas, who sup- 
ports i in' heavens, hears not from his height the roaring 
and beating of the waves of the sea at his feet." JOHN 
Wart^w. 

Ver. 1 1'.). Thus h, am "'.</] Dr. Johnson is of opinion that 
"in this poem he seems to have collected all his powers." 



And still it shall without a weight increase, 
Like this new-year, whose motions never cease. 
For since the glorious course you have begun 
Is led by Charles, as that is by the sun, 
It must both weightless and immortal prove, Ui 
Because the centre of it is above. 



SATIRE ON THE DUTCH. 



WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1662.* 



As needy gallants, in the scrivener's hands, 
Court the rich knaves that gripe their mortgaged 

lands ; 
The first fat buck of all the season's sent, 
And keeper takes no fee in compliment ; 
The dotage of some Englishmen is such, 5 

To fawn on those, who ruin them, the Dutch. 
They shall have all, rather than make a war 
With those, who of the same religion are. 
The Straits, the Guiney-trade, the herrings too ; 
Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. 10 
Some are resolved not to find out the cheat, 
But, cuckold-like, love them that do the feat. 
What injuries soe'er upon us fall, 
Yet still the same religion answers alL 
Religion wheedled us to civil war, •* 

Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would 

spare. 
Be gull'd no longer; for you '11 find it true, 
They have no more religion, faith ! than you. 
Interest 's the god they worship in their state, 
And we, I take it, have not much of that. ^ 

Well monarchies may own religion's name, 
But states are atheists in their very frame. 
They share a sin ; and such proportions fall, 
That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. 
Think on their rapine, falsehood, cruelty, a 

And that what once they were, they still would be. 
To one well-born the affront is worse and more, 
When he 's abused and baffled by a boor. 
With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do ; 
They 've both ill nature and ill manners too. M 
Well may they boast themselves an ancient 

nation ; 
For they were bred ere manners were in fashion : 
And their new commonwealth has set them free 
Only from honour and civility. 
Venetians do not more uncouthly ride, 3S 

Than did their lubber state mankind bestride. 
Their sway became them with as ill a mien, 
As their own paunches swell above their chin. 
Yet is their empire no true growth but humour, 
And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour. 

I should lament if this were true. But then he adds. " lie 
has concluded with lines of which I tliink not myselt 
obliged to tell the meaning." Dr. J. Warton. 

* This poem is no more than a prologue, a little altered, 
prefixed to our authors tragedy of Amboyna. DkbRIOK. 

Ver. 36. Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,] Hones 
are almost useless in Venice from its situation, there being 
canals in every street, so that it cannot be thought the 
Venetians are expert joekies : besides, " To ride as badly 
as a grandee of Venice," is become a proverb all over 
Italy. Derrick. 



16 



TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS. 



As Cato, fruits of Afric did display; 
Let us before our eyes their Indies lay : 
All loyal English will like him conclude ; 
Let Caesar live, and Carthage be subdued. 



TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 
THE DUCHESS.* 

On the Memorable Victory gained by the Duke over the Hollanders, 
June 3, 1665, and on her Journey afterwards into the North. 



Madam, 
When for our sakes, your hero you resign'd 
To swelling seas, and every faithless wind ; 
When you released his courage, and set free 
A valour fatal to the enemy ; 
You lodged your country^ cares within your 

breast, c 

(The mansion where soft love should only rest :) 
And, ere our foes abroad were overcome, 
The noblest conquest you had gain'd at home. 
Ah, what concerns did both your souls divide ! 
Your honour gave us what your love denied : 10 
And 'twas for him much easier to subdue 
Those foes he fought with, than to part from you. 
That glorious day, which two such navies saw, 
As each unmatch'd might to the world give law. 
Neptune, yet doubtful whom he should obey, 15 
Held to them both the trident of the sea : 
The winds were hush'd, the waves in ranks were 

cast, 
As awfully as when God's people past : 
Those, yet uncertain on whose sails to blow, 19 
These, where the wealth of nations ought to' flow. 
Then with the duke your highness ruled the day : 
While all the brave did his command obey, 
The fair and pious under you did pray. 
How powerful are chaste vows ! the wind and 

tide 
You bribed to combat on the English side. 26 



Ver. 41. As Cato, &c.] Compare the Annus Mirdbilis 
start. 173. 

" As once old Cato in the Roman fight, 
The tempting fruits of Afric did unfold." 

Todd. 

Ver. 44. and Carthage] The very words and allu- 
sion by Lord Shaftesbury in his famous speech against 
the Dutch. 

* The lady to whom our author addresses this poem was 
daughter to the great Earl of Clarendon. The Duke of 
York had been some time married to her before the affair 
was known either to the King his brother, or to her 
father. She died in March, 1671, leaving issue one son, 
named Edgar, and three daughters, Katherine, Mary, and 
Ann. The two latter lived to sit on the British throne ; 
the two former survived their mother but a short time. 
Bishop Burnet tells us, that she was a woman of know- 



Thus to your much-loved lord you did convey 
An unknown succour, sent the nearest way. 
New vigour to his wearied arms you brought, 
(So Moses was upheld while Israel fought) 
While, from afar, we heard the cannon play, ^ 
Like distant thunder on a shiny day. 
For absent friends we were ashamed to fear. 
When we consider'd what you ventured there. 
Ships, men, and arms, our country might restore, 
But such a leader could supply no more. x 

With generous thoughts of conquest he did 

burn, 
Yet fought not more to vanquish than return. 
Fortune and victory he did pursue, 
To bring them as his slaves to wait on you. 
Thus beauty ravish'd the rewards of fame, ** 

And the fair triumph'd when the brave o'er- 

came. 
Then, as you meant to spread another way, 
By land your conquests, far as his by sea, 
Leaving our southern clime, you march'd along 
The stubborn North, ten thousand Cupids strong. 
Like commons the nobility resort, ' ** 

In crowding heaps, to fill your moving court : 
To welcome your approach the vulgar run, 
Like some new envoy from the distant sun, 
And country beauties by their lovers go, 50 

Blessing themselves, and wondering at the show. 
So when the new-bom Phoenix first is seen, 
Her feather'd subjects all adore their queen, 
And while she makes her progress through the 

East, 
From every grove her numerous tram's increased : 
Each poet of the air her glory sings, 66 

And round him the pleased audience clap their 



ledge and penetration, friendly and generous, but severe 
in her resentments. Deeeick. 

Ver. 26. your much-loved lord] James, notwith- 
standing, had many mistresses. Lady Dorchester, says 
Lord Orford, vol. iv. p. 319, 4to, said wittily, she wondered 
for what James II. chose his mistresses. " We are none of 
us handsome, and if we had wit, he has not enough to 
discover it." And once meeting the Duchess of Ports- 
mouth arid Lady Orkney, the favourite of King William, 
at the drawing-room of George I., she exclaimed, " Good 
God ! wlio would have thought that we three whores should 
have met together here ! " Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 56. her glory sings,] The Duchess of York, 

says Burnet, was an extraordinary woman. She had great 
knowledge, and a lively sense of things, but took state 
on her rather too much. She wrote well, and had begun 
the Duke's Life, of which she showed me a volume. She 
was bred to great strictness in religion, practised secret 
confession, and Morley was her confessor. Dr. Joseph 
Waeton. 

Ver. 57 And round Mm the 'pleased audience clap their 
wings,] Hence Pope, Pastoral i. ver. 16. 

" And all th' aerial audience clap their wings." 
This escaped the observation of the acute Mr. Wakefield, 
to whom, as my reader will perceive, I owe many obli- 
gations, and who seldom suffers a parallel passage to 
escape him. John Waeton. 



'ANNUS MIRABILIS. 17 

ANNUS MIEABILIS; THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666. 

AN HISTORICAL POEM. 



THE METROPOLIS OF GREAT BRITAIN, 

THE MOST RENOWNED AND LATE FLOURISHING CITY OF LONDON 

IN ITS REPRESENTATIVES THE LORD MAYOR AND COURT OP ALDERMEN, THE SHERIFFS, 
AND COMMON COUNCIL OF IT.* 



As perhaps I am the first who ever presented a work of this nature to the metropolis of any nation, so 
it is likewise consonant to justice, that he who was to give the first example of such a dedication should 
begin it with that city which has set a pattern to all others of true loyalty, invincible courage, and 
unshaken constancy. Other cities have been praised for the same virtues, but I am much deceived if 
any have so dearly purchased their reputation ; their fame has been won them by cheaper trials than 
an expensive, though necessary war, a consuming pestilence, and a more consuming fire. To submit 
yourselves with that humility to the judgments of Heaven, and at the same time to raise yourselves 
with that vigour above all human enemies; to be combated at once from above and from below; to 
be struck down and to triumph : I know not whether such trials have been ever paralleled in any 
nation : the resolution and successes of them never can be. Never had prince or people more mutual 
reason to love each other, if suffering for each other can endear affection. You have come together a 
pair of matchless lovers, through many difficulties ; he, through a long exile, various traverses of 
fortuno, and the interposition of many rivals, who violently ravished and withheld you from him ; 
and certainly you have had your share in sufferings. But Providence has cast upon you want of trade, 
that you might appear bountiful to your country's necessities ; and the rest of your afflictions are not 
more the effects of God's displeasure (frequent examples of them having been in the reign of the most 
excellent princes) than occasions for the manifesting of your Christian and civil virtues. To you, 
therefore, this year of wonders is justly dedicated, because you have made it so. You, who are to 
stand a wonder to all years and ages, and who have built yourselves an immortal monument on your 
ow ii ruins. You aro now a Phoenix in her ashes, and, as far as humanity can approach, a great emblem 
of the suffering Deity ; but Heaven never made so much piety and virtue to leave it miserable. I 
have heard, indeed, of some virtuous persons who have ended unfortunately, but never of auy virtuous 
nation. Providence is engaged too deeply when the cause becomes so general ; and I cannot imagine 
it has resolved the ruin of that people at home which it has blessed abroad with such successes. I am 
therefore to conclude that your sufferings are at an end ; and that one part of my poem has not been 
more an history of your destruction than the other a prophecy of your restoration ; the accomplish- 
ment of which happiness, as it is the wish of all true Englishmen, so is it by none more passionately 
desired than by 

The greatest of your admirers, 

And most humble of your Servants, 

JOHN DRYDEN. 

• This dedication has hcon left out in all editions of the poem but tho first. To me there appears in it an honest 
ned warmth and a love for the Kini;, which compensates for any thing that may havo dropped from onr author's 

pen in ills verses on Cromwell's death. However, we submit this opinion, under correction, to the judicious reader. 

Derrick. o 



18 ANNUS MIEABILIS. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE ENSUING POEM, 



A LETTER TO THE HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 



Sir, 

I am so many ways obliged to you, and so little able to return your favours, that, like those who 
owe too much, I can only live by getting farther into your debt. You have not only been careful of my 
fortune, which was the effect of your nobleness, but you have been solicitous of my reputation, which 
is that of your kindness. It is not long since I gave you the trouble of perusing a play for me, and 
now, instead of an acknowledgment, I have given you a greater, in the correction of a poem. But 
since you are to bear this persecution, I will at least give you the encouragement of a martyr ; you 
could never suffer in a nobler cause. For I have chosen the most heroic subject which any poet could 
desire : I have taken upon me to describe the motives, the beginning, progress, and successes of a 
most just and necessary war : in it, the care, management, and prudence of our king ; the conduct 
and valour of a royal admiral, and of two incomparable generals ; the invincible courage of our 
captains and seamen ; and three glorious victories, the result of all. After this, I have in the Fire 
the most deplorable, but withal the greatest, argument that can be imagined : the destruction being 
so swift, so sudden, so vast, and miserable, as nothing can parallel in story. The former part of this 
poem relating to the war, is but a due expiation for my not serving my king and country in it. All 
gentlemen are almost obliged to it ; and I know no reason we should give that advantage to the 
commonalty of England, to be foremost in brave actions, which the noblesse of France would never 
suffer in their peasants. I should not have written this but to a person who has been ever forward 
to appear in all employments, whither his honour and generosity have called him. The latter part 
of my poem, which describes the Fire, I owe, first to the piety and fatherly affection of our monarch 
to his suffering subjects ; and, in the second place, to the courage, loyalty, and magnanimity of the 
city ; both which were so conspicuous, that I have wanted words to celebrate them as they deserve. 
I have called my poem historical, not epic, though both the actions and actors are as much heroic as 
any poem can contain. But since the action is not properly one, nor that accomplished in the last 
successes, I have judged it too bold a title for a few stanzas, which are little more in number than a 
single Iliad, or the longest of the ^Eneids. For this reason (I mean not of length, but broken action, 
tied too severely to the laws of history) I am apt to agree with those who rank Lucan rather among 
historians in verse, than epic poets : in whose room, if I am not deceived, Silius Italicus, though a 
worse writer, may more justly be admitted. I have chosen to write my poem in quatrains, or 
stanzas of four in alternate rhyme, because I have ever judged them more noble, and of greater 
dignity, both for the sound and number, than any other verse in use amongst us ; in which I am sure 
I have your approbation.* The learned languages have certainly a great advantage of us, in not being 
tied to the slavery of any rhyme ; and were less constrained in the quantity of every syllable, which 
they might vary with spondees or dactyls, besides so many other helps of grammatical figures, for 
the lengthening or abbreviation of them, than the modern are in the close of that one syllable, which 
often confines, and more often corrupts, the sense of all the rest. But in this necessity of our rhymes, 
I have always found the couplet verse most easy, though not so proper for this occasion : for there 
the work is sooner at an end, every two lines concluding the labour of the poet ; but in quatrains he 

* Dryden certainly soon changed his opinion, since he never after practised the manner of versification he 
has here praised ; hut we shall find it always his way to assure us, that his present mode of writing is best. Conscious 
of his own importance, he soared above control ; and when he composed a poem, he set it up as a standard of imitation, 
deducing from it rules of criticism, the practice of which he endeavoured to enforce, till either through interest or fancy 
he was induced to change his opinion. Derrick. 



LETTER TO THE HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 19 

is to carry it farther on, and not only so, but to bear along in his head the troublesome sense of four 
lines together. For those who write correctly in this kind, must needs acknowledge, that the last line 
of the stanza is to be considered in the composition of the first. Neither can we give ourselves the 
liberty of making any part of a verse for the sake of rhyme, or concluding with a word which is not 
current English, or using the variety of female rhymes ; all which our fathers practised : and for the 
female rhymes, they are still in use amongst other nations; with the Italian in every lino, with tlie 
Spaniard promiscuously, with the French alternately ; as those who have read the Alarique, the 
Pucelle, or any of their later poems, will agree with mo. And besides this, they write in Alexandrines, 
or verses of six feet ; such as amongst us is the old translation of Homer by Chapman ; all which, by 
lengthening of their chain, makes the sphere of their activity the larger. I have dwelt too long upon 
the choice of my stanza, which you may remember is much better defended in the preface to 
Gondibert ; and therefore I will haston to acquaint you with my endeavours in the writing. In 
general I will only say, I have never yet seen the description of any naval fight in the proper terms 
which are used at sea ; and if there be any such, in another language, as that of Lucan in the third of 
his Pharsalia, yet I could not avail myself of it in the English ; the terms of art in every tongue 
bearing more of the idiom of it than any other words. We hear indeed among our poets, of the 
thundering of guns, the smoke, the disorder, and the slaughter ; but all these are common notions. 
And certainly, as those who, in a logical dispute, keep in general terms, would hide a fallacy, so those, 
who do it in any poetical description, would veil their ignorance. 

Dcscriptas servare vices operumque colores, 
Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, Poeta salutor? 

For my own part, if I had little knowledge of the sea, yet I have thought it no shame to learn ; and 
if I have made some few mistakes, 'tis only, as you can bear me witness, because I have wanted 
opportunity to correct them ; the whole poem being first written, and now sent you from a place, 
where I have not so much as the converse of any seaman. Yet though the trouble I had in writing 
it was great, it was more than recompensed by the pleasure. I found myself so warm in celebrating 
the praises of military men, two such especially as the Prince and General, that it is no wonder if 
they inspired me with thoughts above my ordinary level. And I am well satisfied, that, as they are 
incomparably the best subject I ever had, excepting only the Royal Family, so also, that this I have 
written of them is much better than what I have performed on any other. I have been forced to 
help out other arguments ; but this has been bountiful to me : they have been low and barren of 
praise, and I have exalted them, and made them fruitful ; but here — Omnia sponte sua redditjustissima 
tellus. I have had a large, a fair, and a pleasant field ; so fertile, that, without my cultivating, it has 
given me two harvests in a summer, and in both oppressed the reaper. All other greatness in subjects 
ia only counterfeit ; it will not endure the test of danger ; the greatness of arms is only real ; other 
greatness burdens a nation with its weight, this supports it with its strength. And as it is the 
happiness of the age, so it is the peculiar goodness of the best of kings, that we may praise his 
subjects without offending him. Doubtless it proceeds from a just confidence of his own virtue, 
which the lustre of no other can be so great as to darken in him ; for the good or the valiant are 
never safely praised under a bad or a degenerate prince. But to return from this digression to a 
farther account of my poem ; I must crave leave to tell you, that as I have endeavoured to adorn it 
with noble thoughts, so much more to express those thoughts with elocution. The composition of 
all poems is, or ought to be, of wit ; and wit in the poet, or wit-writing (if you will give me leave to 
use a school distinction) is no other than the faculty of imagination in the writer, which, like a nimble 
spaniel, beats over and ranges through the field of memoiy, till it springs the quarry it hunted after ; 
or, without metaphor, which searches over all the memory for the species or ideas of those things 
which it designs to represent. Wit written is that which is well defined, the happy result of thought, 
or product of imagination. But to proceed from wit, in the general notion of it, to the proper wit of 
an heroic or historical poem, I judge it chiefly to consist in the delightful imaging of persons, actions, 
passions, or things. 'Tis not the jerk or sting of an epigram, nor the seeming contradiction of a poor 
antithesis, (the delight of iin ill-judging audience in a play of rhyme) nor the ginglo of a more poor 
Paronomasia ; neither is it so much the morality of a grave sentence, affected by Lucan, but more 
sparingly used by Virgil ; but it is some lively and apt description, dressed in such colours of speech, 
that it sets before your eyes the absent object, as perfectly and more delightfully than nature. So 



20 ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



then the first happiness of the poet's imagination is properly invention or finding of the thought ; the 
second is fancy, or the variation, deriving or moulding of that thought as the judgment represents it 
proper to the subject ; the third is elocution, or the art of clothing and adorning that thought, so 
sound and varied, in apt, significant, and sounding words : the quickness of the imagination is seen in 
the invention, the fertility in the fancy, and the accuracy in the expression. For the two first of 
these, Ovid is famous amongst the poets ; for the latter, Virgil. Ovid images more often the move- 
ments and affections of the mind, either combating between two contrary passions, or extremely 
discomposed by one. His words therefore are the least part of his care ; for he pictures nature in 
disorder, with which the study and choice of words is inconsistent. This is the proper wit of dialogue 
or discourse, and consequently of the drama, where all that is said is to be supposed the effect of 
sudden thought ; which, though it excludes not the quickness of wit in repartees, yet admits not a 
too curious election of words, too frequent allusions, or use of tropes, or in fine any thing that shows 
remoteness of thought or labour in the writer. On the other side, Virgil speaks not so often to us in 
the person of another, like Ovid, but in his own : he relates almost all things as from himself, and 
thereby gains more liberty than the other, to express his thoughts with all the graces of elocution, to 
write more figuratively, and to confess as well the labour, as the force of his imagination. Though he 
describes his Dido well and naturally, in the violence of her passions, yet he must yield in that to the 
Myrrha, the Biblis, the Althaja, of Ovid ; for as great an admirer of him as I am, I must acknowledge, 
that if I see not more of their souls than I see of Dido's, at least I have a greater concernment for 
them : and that convinces me, that Ovid has touched those tender strokes more delicately than Virgil 
could. But when action or persons are to be described, when any such image is to be set before us, 
how bold, how masterly are the strokes of Virgil ! — We see the objects he presents us with in their 
native figures, in their proper motions ; but so we see them, as our own eyes could never have beheld 
them so beautiful in themselves. "We see the soul of the poet, like that universal one of which he 
speaks, informing and moving through all his pictures : 



Totamque infusa per artus 

Mens agitat niolem, et magno se corpore niiscet. 



We behold him embellishing his images, as he makes Venus breathing beauty upon her son iEneas. 

lumenque juventaa 

Purpureum, et lsetos oculis afflarat honores : 
Quale manus adduut ebori decus, aut ubi flavo 
Argeutuin Pariusve lapis circundatur auro. 

See his Tempest, his Funeral Sports, his Combat of Turnus and iEneas ; and in his Georgics, 
which I esteem the divinest part of all his writings, the Plague, the Country, the Battle of the Bulls, 
the Labour of the Bees, and those many other excellent images of nature, most of which are neither 
great in themselves nor have any natural ornament to bear them up ; but the words wherewith he 
describes them are so excellent, that it might be well applied to him, which was said by Ovid, Materiam 
superabat opus. The very sound of his words has often somewhat that is connatural to the subject ; 
and while we read him, we sit, as in a play, beholding the scenes of what he represents. To perform 
this, he made frequent use of tropes, which you know change the nature of a known word, by applying 
it to some other signification ; and this is it which Horace means in his epistle to the Pisos : 

Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum 
Keddiderit junctura novum 

But I am sensible I have presumed too far to entertain you with a rude discourse of that art which 
you both know so well, and put into practice with so much happiness. Vet before I leave Virgil, I 
must own the vanity to tell you, and by you the world, that he has been my master in this poem. 
I have followed him everywhere, I know not with what success, but I am sure with diligence enough ; 
my images are many of them copied from him, and the rest are imitations of him. My expressions, 
also, are as near as the idioms of the two languages would admit of in translation. And this, sir, I have 
done with that boldness for which I will stand accountable to any of our little critics, who, perhaps, 
are no better acquainted with him than I am. Upon your first perusal of this poem, you have taken 
notice of some words which I have innovated (if it be too bold for me to say refined) upon his Latin ; 



LETTER TO THE HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 21 

which, as I offer not to introduce into English prose, so I hope they are neither improper nor altogether 
inelegant in vei'se ; and in this Horace will again defend me. 

Et nova, fictaque nupcr, habebiint verba fidero, Bi 
Grreco funtc cadunt, parce dutorta 

The inference is exceeding plain ; for if a Roman poet might have liberty to coin a word, supposing 
only that it was derived from the Greek, was put into a Latin termination, and that he used this 
liberty but seldom, and with modesty ; how much more justly may I challenge that privilege to do 
it with the same prerequisites, from the best and most judicious of Latin writers ? In some places, 
where either the fancy or the words were his, or any other's, I have noted it in the margin, that I 
might not seem a plagiary; in others I have neglected it, to avoid as well tediousn ess as the affectation 
of doing it too often. Such descriptions or images well wrought, which I promise not for mine, are, 
as I have said, the adequate delight of heroic poesy ; for they beget admiration, which is its proper 
object; as the images of the burlesque, which is contrary to this, by the same reason beget laughter: 
for the one shows nature beautified, as in the picture of a fair woman, which we all admire ; the other 
shows her deformed, as in that of a lazar, or of a fool with distorted face and antic gestures, at 
which we cannot forbear to laugh, because it is a deviation from nature. But though the same images 
serve equally for the Epic poesy, and for the Historic and Panegyric, which arc branches of it, yet 
a several sort of sculpture is to be used in them. If some of them are to be like those of Juvenal, 
Stantes in civrribus sEmiliani, heroes drawn in their triumphal chariots, and in their full proportion ; 
others are to be like that of Virgil, Sjriranlia mollius (era : there is somewhat more of softness and 
tenderness to be shown in them. You will soon find I write not this without concern. Some, who 
have seen a paper of verses, which I wrote last year to her Highness the Duchess, have accused them of 
that only thing I could defend in them. They said, I did humi serpere, that I wanted not only height of 
fancy but dignity of words to set it off. I might well answer with that of Horace, Nunc non crat Mx 
locus ; I knew I addressed them to a lady, and, accordingly, I affected the softness of expression and the 
smoothness of measure, rather than the height of thought ; and in what I did endeavour, it is no 
vanity to say I have succeeded. I detest arrogance ; but there is some difference betwixt that and a 
just defence. But I will not farther bribe your candour or the reader's. I leave them to speak for 
me ; and, if they can, to make out that character, not pretending to a greater, which I have given 
them.* 

And now, sir, 'tis time I should relieve you from the tedious length of this account. Tou have 

better and more profitable employment for your hours, and I wrong the public to detain you longer. 

In conclusion, I must leave my poem to you with all its faults, which I hope to find fewer in the 

printing by your emendations. I know you are not of the number of those of whom the younger 

I'liny speaks : Nee sunt pari mmulli, qui carpcre amicos suos judicium vacant: I am rather too secure of 

you on that side. Your candour in pardoning my errors may make you more remiss in correcting 

them ; if you will not withal consider that they come into the world with your approbation and 

through your hands. I beg from you the greatest favour you can confer upon an absent person, since 

I repose upon your management what is dearest to me, my fame and reputation ; and therefore I hope 

it will stir you up to make my poem fairer by many of your blots ; if not, you know the story of the 

gamester who married the rich man's daughter, and when her father denied the portion, christened all 

his children by his surname, that if, in conclusion, they must beg, they should do so by one name as 

well as by the other. But since the reproach of my faults will light on you, 'tis but reason I should 

do you that justice to the readers, to let them know that if there be anything tolerable in this poem, 

they owe the argument to your choice, the writing to your encouragement, the correction to your 

judgment, and the care of it to your friendship, to which ho must ever acknowledge himself to owe all 

things, who is, 

oir. 

The most obedient and most faithful of your Sen-ants, 

JOHN DRYDEX. 

In.M ( ' 1 1 A Itl.TON, IN WILTSHIRE, 

Nov. 10, 1GGG. 
* See tlio preceding poem, which, in the original edition of the Annus MiraUlh, occurs in this place. Jonx 

W AUTOS. 



22 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS; 

THE YEAK OF WONDEKS, 166(3.* 



In thriving arts long time had Holland grown, 

Crouching at home and cruel when abroad : 
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own ; 

Our king they courted, and our merchants 
awed. 

ii. 
Trade, which like blood should circularly flow, 5 

Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost : 
Thither the wealth of all the world did go, 

And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast, 
in. 
For them alone the heavens had kindly heat ; 

In eastern quarries ripening precious dew : 10 
For them the Idumsean balm did sweat, 

And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew. 

IV. 

The sun but seem'd the labourer of their year; 

Each wexing moon supplied her watery store, 
To swell those tides, which from the line did bear 15 

Their brim-full vessels to the Belgian shore. 

* " This poem is written with great diligence, yet does 
not fully answer the expectation raised by such subjects, 
and such a writer. With the stanza of Davenant, he has 
sometimes his vein of parenthesis, and incidental disqui- 
sition, and stops his narrative for a wise remark. The 
general fault is, that he affords more sentiment than 
description, and does not so much impress scenes upon the 
fancy, as deduce consequences, and make comparisons." — 
Johnson's Life of Dryden. John Waeton. 

Ver. 1.] "The initial stanzas have rather too much 
resemblance to the first lines of Waller's poem on the war 
with Spain; perhaps such a beginning is natural, and 
could not be avoided without affectation. Both Waller and 
Dryden might take their hint from the poem on the civil 
war of Rome. Orbem jam totmn," &c. — Johnson's Life of 
Dryden. John Warton. 

Ver. 5. Trade, which like blood should circularly flow,] 
With equal liberty Cowper : 

" — The band of commerce was design'd 
T' associate all the branches of mankind ; 
And, if a boundless plenty be the robe, 
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe." 

John Wakton. 

Ver. 10. In eastern quarries, &c] Precious stones at first 
are dew, condensed and hardened by the warmth of the 
sun, or subterranean fires. Original edition, 1667. 

"Ver. 11. For them the Idumcean balm did sweat,] Pope 
had his eye on this passage, where, describing the effects of 
commerce, he says, 

" For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow," &c. 

Windsor Forest, line 393. 
John Waeton. 

Y er . 13. their year ;] Corrected from the original 

edition. 12mo, 1667. Derrick has the year. Todd. 

Ver. 14. Each wexing, &c] According to their opinion, 
who think that great heap of waters under the line is 
depressed into tides by the moon, towards the poles. 
Original edition. 

Ibid. loexing] Original edition. Derrick, waxing. 

Todd. 

Ver. 15. those tides,] Original edition. Derrick, 

most probably by an error of the press, has tide. Todd. 



Thus, mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long, 
And swept the riches of the world from far; 

Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more 
strong : 
And this may prove our second Punic war. M 



What peace can be, where both to one pretend 1 
(But they more diligent, and we more strong) 

Or if a peace, it soon must have an end ; 

For they would grow too powerful were it long. 

VII. 

Behold two nations then, engaged so far, 2E 

That each seven years the fit must shake each 
land : 

Where France will side to weaken us by war, 
Who only can his vast designs withstand. 

VIII. 

See how he feeds th' Iberian with delays, 

To render us his timely friendship vain : 30 

And while his secret soul on Flanders preys, 
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain. 

IX. 

Such deep designs of empire does he lay 

O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in 
hand; 

And prudently would make them lords at sea, M 
To whom with ease he can give laws by land. 

x. 

This saw our king ; and long within his breast 
His pensive counsels balanced to and fro : 

He grieved the land he freed should be oppress'd, 
And he less for it than usurpers do. 4 " 

XI. 

His generous mind the fair ideas drew 

Of fame and honour, which in dangers lay; 

Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew, 
Not to be gather'd but by birds of prey. 

XII. 

The loss and gain each fatally were great ; *" 

And still his subjects call'd aloud for war; 

But peaceful kings, o'er martial people set, 
Each other's poise and counterbalance are. 

Ver. 19. stoop'd to Kome,~\ The President He- 

nault, after so much has been said of the Komans, has 
made this fine and new reflection : — " Is it not astonishing 
that this celebrated and extensive empire of Rome should 
have subsisted from the time of Romulus to that of Theo- 
dosius II. — that is to say, more than a thousand years — 
without ever having had a complete body of laws." " Dr. J. 
Waeton. 

Ver. 29. th' Iberian] The Spaniard. Original 

edition. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



23 



He first survey'd the charge with careful eyes, 
Which none but mighty monarchs could main- 
tain ; 60 

Yet judged, like vapours that from limbecs rise, 
It would in richer showers descend again. 

XIV. 

At length resolved t' assert the watery ball, 

He in himself did whole Armadas bring : 
Him aged seamen might their master call, cs 

And choose for general, wore he not their king, 
xv. 
It seems as every ship their sovereign knows, 

His awful summons they so soon obey ; 
So hear the scaly herd when Proteus blows, 

And so to pasture follow through the sea. M 

xvi. 
To see this fleet upon the ocean move, 

Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies ; 
And heaven, as if there wanted lights above, 

For tapers made two glaring comets rise. 



Ver. 51. Yet judged, like vapours that from limbecs rise,] 
Dryden's allusions to chemistry and chemical operations 
are frequent. Jons Wabton. 

Ver. 53. At length resolved} It may be still doubted 
whether a naval engagement, though a magnificent object 
in itself, is yet a proper subject for heroic poetry. Boileau 
boasted to his friend and commentator Brossette, that he 
was the first of modern poets who had ventured to mention 
gunpowder in verse; which he did in his 4th Epistle, 
addressed to Louis XIV., at line 121 : 

" De salspetre en fureur l'air s'echauffe et s'allume." 

Also at line 123 : 

" Deja du plomb mortel." 
And again in his 8th Satire, line 153; in'his 4th Epistle, 
lines 5-1 and 121 ; and in his Ode on Namur : 

" Et les bombes dans les airs." 
Most undoubtedly the first time that ever bombs were 
introduced into lyric poetry. But the example even of 
Boileau will not justify the use of these images, because 
they do not lose that familiarity which produces disgust. 
As to technical terms, and sea language, the epic muse 
should certainly disdain to utter them. Our author has 
been lavish of them indeed, and sullied his piece by talking 
frequently like a boatswain. How can we defend such 
expressions as the following : " Old oakum — calking-iron — 
boiling pitch — rattling mallet — chase-guns — his lee — 
ii 'I timber— Yearns instops— sharp-keel'd — shrouds — 
torpawling." Or. J. Warton. 

\ it. 59. So hear the scaly herd] The first edition erro- 
neously has litre. 

Ibid. when Proteus blows,] 

" C'teruleus Proteus immania ponti 

Armeuta, et inagnas pascit sub gurgite phocas." — Virg. 

Original edition. 
Ver. 60. And so to pasture follow, &c] For Proteus was 
the shepherd of Neptune, and hence Milton gives him a 
hook, Comue, v. 872. 

" By the Carpathian wizard's hook." 
Compare Virgil, Oeorg. iv. 395. 



immania cujus 



Armenia, et turpes pascit sub gurgite phocas." Toon. 

Ver. 62. Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies ;] This 
line seems Indebted to Sir P. Sidney's Astrophcl and 
Stella : 

" Phcebus drew wide the curtaincs of the skies." 

Todd. 

Ver. 64. two glaring comets'] A very improper 

and absurd image; as also at verse 62. Dr. J. WABTON. 

[bid. two glaring comets rise.] A comet was seen 

t'n-t on the Hili of December, 16(14, which lasted almost 

three months; and another the 6th of April, 1666, which 
was visible to us fourteen days. - Appendix to Hhcrburn's 
Translation of Manilius, p. 211. Dbrbioe. 



Whether they unctuous exhalations arc, 
Fired by the sun, or seeming so alene : 

Or each some more remote and slippery star, 
Which loses footing when to mortals shown. 



Or one, that bright companion of the sun, 
Whose glorious aspect seal'd our new-born 
king ; 7» 

And now, a round of greater years begun, 

New influence from his walks of light did 
bring. 

XIX. 

Victorious York did first with famed success, 
To his known valour make the Dutch give 
place : 

Thus Heaven our monarch's fortune did confess, 
Beginning conquest from his royal race. ' s 



But since it was decreed, auspicious king, 

In Britain's right that thou shouldst wed the 
main, 
Heaven, as a gage, would cast some precious thing, 
And therefore doom'd that Lawson should be 
slain. 

XXI. 

Lawson amongst the foremost met his fate, 

Whom sea-green Sirens from the rocks lament: 

Thus as an offering for the Grecian state, 
He first was kill'd who first to battle went. 



Their chief blown up in air, not waves, expired, m 
To which his pride presumed to give the law : 

The Dutch confess'd Heaven present, and retired, 
And all was Britain the wide ocean saw. 



To nearest ports their shatter'd ships repair, 
Where by our dreadful cannon they lay awed ; 



Ver. 69. that bright companion of the sun, 

Wliose glorious aspect seal'd our new-born king.] 

A new star appeared in the open day abont the time of 
King Charles the Second's birth ; a fact which Lilly, the 
famous astronomer, denied, affirming it to be only the 
planet Venns, which may be often seen by day-light, as 
has been experienced by all curious people again in 1757. 
DERRICK. 
Ver. 71. And nov>, a round of greater gears begun,] 
"Magnus ah intcgro saeclorum nascitur ordo." — Virg. 
John Waktos. 
Ver. 80. Ami (herefort doom'd, &c] Sir John Lawson 
was born at Hull of but mean parentage, and bred to the 
sea; he was for some time employed in the merchant's 
Sen ice, which he left for that of the Parliament, in which 
he soon got a ship, and afterwards carried a flag under 
Monk : with him he co-operated in the restoration of the 
King; for which good reason he received the honour of 
knighthood at the Hague, lie zealously supported our 
claim to the sovereignty of the sea, and quarrelled with 
De Ruyter, the Dutch admiral, for being backward in 
acknowledging it, an accident that partly occasioned the 
Dutch war. In the action here celebrated, he was rear- 
admiral of the red, and acted Immediately under his royal 
highness. His death was occasioned by a musket-ball, 
that wounded him in the knee, and he was not taken 
proper core of. We find him characterised honest, brave, 
loyal, and one of the most experienced seamen of his tin a . 

Derrick, 

Ver. 85. Their chief] The admiral of Holland. Origi- 
nal edition. 



24 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



So reverently men quit the open air, 9I 

Where thunder speaks the angry gods abroad. 

XXIV. 

And now approach'd their fleet from India, 
fraught* 
With all the riches of the rising sun : 
And precious sand from southern climates 
brought, % 

The fatal regions where the war begun. 

xxv. 
Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, 
Their way-laid wealth to Norway's coasts they 
bring: 
There first the North's cold bosom spices bore, 
And winter brooded on the eastern spring. 10 ° 

XXVI. 

By the rich scent we found our perfumed prey, 
Which, flank'd with rocks, did close in covert 
lie; 

And round about their murdering cannon lay, 
At once to threaten and invite the eye. 

XXVII. 

Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, 105 
The English undertake th' unequal war : 

Seven ships alone, by which the port is barr'd, 
Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare. 

XXVIII. 

These fight like husbands, but like lovers those : 

These fain would keep, and those more fain 

enjoy : 110 

And to such height their frantic passion grows, 
That what both love, both hazard to destroy. 

XXIX. 

Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, ' 
And now their odours arm'd against them fly : 

Some preciously by shatter'd porcelain fall, u5 
And some by aromatic splinters die. 

xxx. 

And though by tempests of the prize bereft, 
In heaven's inclemency some ease we find : 

Our foes we vanquish'd by our valour left, 
And only yielded to the seas and wind. I20 

XXXI. 

Nor wholly lost we so deserved a prey ; 

For storms, repenting, part of it restored : 
Which as a tribute from the Baltic sea, 

The British ocean sent her mighty lord. 

XXXII. 

Go, mortals, now, and vex yourselves in vain 125 
For wealth, which so uncertainly must come : 



Ver. 92. So reverently men quit tlie open air, 
Where thunder speaks, &C.J 

" The late Mr. James Ralph told Lord Macartney that 
he passed an evening with Dr. Young at Lord Melcombe's 
(then Mr. Dodington) at Hammersmith. The Doctor 
happening to go out into the garden, Mr. Dodington 
observed to him, on his return, that it was a dreadful 
night, as in truth it was, there being a violent storm of rain 
and wind. ' No, sir,' replied the Doctor, ' it is a very fine 
night — the Lord is abroad.' " — Boswell's Life of Johnson, 
vol. iv. p. 60. John Warton. 

* The attempt at Berghen. Original edition. 

Ver. 95. southern climates'] Guinea. Original 

edition. 



When what was brought so far, and with such 
pain, 
Was only kept to lose it nearer home. 

XXXIII. 

The son, who, twice three months on th' ocean 
toss'd, 
Prepared to tell what he had pass'd before, I3 ° 
Now sees in English ships the Holland coast, 
And parents' arms, in vain, stretch'd from the 
shore. 

XXXIV. 

This careful husband had been long away, 

Whom his chaste wife and little childron 
mourn ; 

Who on their fingers learn'd to tell the day 135 
On which their father promised to return. 



Such are the proud designs of human-kind, 
And so we suffer shipwreck everywhere ! 

Alas ! what port -can such a pilot find, 

Who in the night of fate must blindly steer ! 

xxxvi. 
The undistinguished seeds of good and ill, 141 

Heaven, in his bosom, from our knowledge 
hides : 
And draws them in contempt of human skill, 
Which oft for friends mistaken foes provides. 



Let Munster's prelate ever be accursed, 145 

In whom we seek the German faith in vain : 

Alas ! that he should teach the English first, 
That fraud and avarice in the Church could 
reign ! 

XXXVIII. 

Happy, who never trust a stranger's will, 

Whose friendship 's in his interest understood ! 

Since money given but tempts him to be ill, lsl 
When power is too remote to make him good. 



Ver. 133.] Mr. Todd cites Thomson's natural and 
pathetic stroke : 

" In vain for him th' officious wife prepares 
The fire fair-blazing and the vestment warm — 
In vain his little children, peeping out 
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire 
"With tears of artless innocence— alas ! 
Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold ; 
Nor friends nor sacred home." 

" — - Si sic 

Omnia dixisset ! " 
In point of melody Dryden had in his eye Lucretius. 
" At jam non domus accipiet te laita, nee uxor 
Optima, nee dulces occurrent oscula nati 
Praripere, et taeita pectus dulcedine tangent." 
The latter part of the description is natural and his own. 

John Warton. 
Ver. 137. Such are, &c.] From Petronius. " Si bene cal- 
culum ponas, ubique fit naufragium." Original edition. 
Ver. 141. The undistinguished seeds of good and ill,] 
" Prudens futuri temporis, exitum 
Caliginosa nocte premit deus." 

John "Warton. 
Ver. 145. Let Munster's prelate, &c] The famous Ber- 
nard Vanghalen, Bishop of Munster, excited by Charles, 
marched twenty thousand men into the province of Overys- 
sell, under the dominion of the republic of Holland 1 , where 
he committed great outrages, acting rather like a captain 
of banditti than the leader of an army. Derrick. 

Ver. 146. the German faith] Tacitus saith of 

them, " Nullos mortalium fide aut armis ante Germanos 
esse." Original edition. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



Till now, alone the mighty nations strove ; 

The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand : 
And threatening France, placed like a painted 
Jove, 15i 

Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand. 



That eunuch guardian of rich Holland's trade, 
Who envies us what he wants power t' enjoy ; 

Whose noiseful valour does no foe invade, 

And weak assistance will his friends destroy. lc0 



Offended that we fought without his leave, 
He takes this time his secret hate to show :* 

Which Charles does with a mind so calm receive, 
As one that neither seeks nor shuns his foe. 



With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes 
unite : 165 

France as their tyrant, Denmark as their slave. 
But when with one three nations join to fight, 

They silently confess that one more brave. 

ran. 

Lewis had chased the English from his shore ; 

But Charles the French as subjects does in- 
vite : B° 
Would Heaven for each some Solomon restore, 

Who, by their mercy, may decide their right ! 



Were subjects so but only by their choice, 
And not from birth did forced dominion take, 

Our prince alone would have the public voice ; 
And all his neighbours' realms would deserts 
make. 176 

XLV. 

He without fear a dangerous war pursues, 
Which without rashness he began before : 

As honour made him first the danger choose, 
So still he makes it good on virtue's score. 180 



The doubled charge his subjects' love supplies, 
\\ bo, in that bounty, to themselves are kind: 

So glad Egyptians see their Nilus rise, 
And in his plenty their abundance find. 



With equal power he does two chiefs create, + 18S 
Two such as each seem'd worthiest when 
alone ; 

Each able to sustain a nation's fate, 

Since both had found a greater in their own. 



* War declared by France. Original edition. 

Ver. 165. With Francr, to aid] Madame Charlotte F.liza- 

i Bavaria says, in her memoirs, that Louis XIV. 

rards attacked Holland with so much impetuosity 

ami Injustice, merely from the jealousy of M. de I.ionne, 

who urged him to this measure, against Prince William of 

Furstenberg, who was in love with this minister's wife. 

si .l.ls. in another place, that Louis XIV. returned so 

ils- from his expedition against Holland, solely to 
have mi Interview with Madame Do Montc'span. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

t Prince Rupert and Duke of Albemarle, sent to sea. 
Original edition. 



XLVIIT. 

Both great in courage, conduct, and in fame, 
Yet neither envious of the other's praise : 

Their duty, faith, and interest too the same, 
Like mighty partners equally they raise. 



The prince long time had courted fortune's love, 
But once possess'd did absolutely reign : 

Thus with their Amazons the heroes strove, 1M 
And conquer'd first those beauties they would 
gain. 

L. 

The duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain, 
That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more ; 

And shook aloft the fasces of the main, 

To fright those slaves with what they felt 
before. 20 ° 

LI. 

Together to the watery camp they haste, 

Whom matrons passing to their children show : 

Infants' first vows for them to heaven are cast, 
And future people bless them as they go. 

LIT. 

With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train, Mi 
T' infect a navy with their gawdy fears ; 

To make slow fights, and victories but vain : 
But war, severely, like itself, appears. 

LIII. 

Diffusive of themselves, where'er they pass, 
They make that warmth in others they expect ; 

Their valour works like bodies on a glass, 2 " 

And does its image on their men project. 

LIV. 

Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear, 
In number, and a famed commander, bold : 

The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear, 215 
Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold. 



The Duke, less numerous, but in courage more, 
On wings of all the winds to combat flies : * 

His murdering guns a loud defiance roar, 

And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise. aa 

I. VI. 

Both furl their sails, and strip them for the fight ; 

Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air : 
Th' Elean plains could boast no nobler fight, 

When struggling champions did their bodies 
bare. 

LVII. 

Borne each by other in a distant line, ■* 

The sea-built forts in dreadful order move : 

So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join, 

But lauds unfix'd, and floating nations strove. 



Ver. 204. future pMpJr.] " Ezamina Infantum 

futurusjue popuha." Flin. Jun. in Pan. ad Traj. Origins 
edition. 

Ver. 205. With them no riotous pomp,] Dryden follows 
his great master, Milton, in making riotous only two sylla- 
bles. — Again, in stanza 59, elephant is contracted in like 
manner. Other examples of this kind occur. Tonr>. 

* Dukcof Albemarle's battle, first day. Original edition. 

Ver. 2'2:). Th' Elean, &c] Where the Olympic games 
won- celebrated. Original edition. 

Ver. 228. lands unfix d,] From Virgil : 

11 Credas innare revulsaa 

Cycladas," &c. Original edition. 



26 



ANNUS MIBABILIS. 



Now pass'd, on either side they nimbly tack ; 

Both strive to intercept and guide the wind : 
And, in its eye, more closely they come back, al 

To finish all the deaths they left behind. 

LIX. 

On high-raised decks the haughty Belgians ride, 
Beneath whose shade our humble frigates go : 

Such port the elephant bears, and so defied 235 
By the rhinoceros her unequal foe. 

LX. 

And as the built, so different is the fight ; 

Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd : 
Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light, 

And through the yielding planks a passage 
find. m 

LXI. 

Our dreaded admiral from far they threat, 

Whose batter'd rigging their whole war re- 
ceives : 

All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, 
He stands and sees below his scatter'd leaves. 



Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought ; 245 
But he, who meets all danger with disdain, 

Ev'n in their face his ship to anchor brought, 
And steeple-high stood propt upon the main. 

LXIII. 

At this excess of courage, all amazed, 

The foremost of his foes awhile withdraw : 259 
With such respect in enter'd Rome they gazed, 

Who on high chairs the god-like fathers saw. 

LXIV. 

And now, as where Patroclus' body lay, 

Here Trojan chiefs advanced, and there the 
Greek ; 

Ours o'er the Duke their pious wings display, 255 
And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek. 



Ver. 236. By the rhinoceros, &c.j Tl»s enmity between 
the elephant and rhinoceros is thus described in Franzius's 
Uistoria Anvmalium, &c. 12rao. Arast. 1665, p. 93. — 
" Naturale est odium inter Elephantum et Khinocerotem, 
ita ut invicem certent, et qnidem in ipsa pugna rhinoceros 
unice dat operam, ut alvum Elephanti tanquam partem 
molliorem petat, sicut etiam tandem vincit Elephantum, contra 
quern suo cornu, quod in nari habet, audacissime pugnat. 
Tergum etiam habet scutuiatum, et quasi variis clypeis 
muriitum, unde etiam aestimari potest fortitudo hujus bestiae. 
Haec bellua paulo humilior est Elephanto, si altitudinem 
spectes," &c. Thus we see the propriety of Dryden's simile 
— her unequal foe, &c. Todd. 

Ver. 243. All tare, like some old oak which tempests beat, 
He stands, and sees below his scatter d leaves.'] 

This is Virgil's simile compressed, Lib. iv. 441. 
"Ac vclut annoso validam cum robore quercum 
Alpini Boreas, nunc nine, nunc flatibris illinc, 
Eruere inter se certant ; it stridor, et alte 
Constermint terram concusso stipite frondes: 
Ipsa hseret scopnlis ." John Warton. 

Ver. 255. Ours o'er the Duke'] "Waller wrote a long poem 
on the victory obtained over the Dutch by the Duke of 
York, June 3, 1665, in imitation of a poem of Francesco 
Busenello, addressed to Pietro Liberi, instructing him to 
paint the famous sea-fight between the Turks and Venetians, 
near the Dardanelles, in the year 1656. The Duke of York 
urged the necessity of this war, not only because, as well as 
his brother, he hated the Dutch, but also because he wished 
for an opportunity of signalising him as an Admiral, as he 
well understood sea affairs. Clarendon and Southampton 
constantly opposed this war. The Dutch admiral's ship 
blew up just as he was closely engaged. Dr. J. Warton. 



Meantime his busy mariners he hastes, 
His shatter'd sails with rigging to restore ; 

And willing pines ascend his broken masts, 

Whose lofty heads rise higher than before. 2m 

LXVI. 

Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow, 
More fierce th' important quarrel to decide : 

Like swans, in long array his vessels show, 
Whose crests advancing do the waves divide. 

LXVII. 

They charge, recharge, and all along the sea 265 
They drive, and squander the huge Belgian 
fleet. 

Berkley alone, who nearest danger lay, 
Did a like fate with lost Cre'usa meet. 

LXVIII. 

The night comes on, we eager to pursue 26 ° 

The combat still, and they ashamed to leave : 

Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew, 
And doubtful moon-light did our rage deceive. 



In th' English fleet each ship resounds with joy 
And loud applause of their great leader's fame : 

In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy, T,i 
And, slumbering, smile at the imagined flame. 

LXX. 

Not so the Holland fleet, who, tired and done, 
Stretch'd on their decks like weary oxen lie : 

Faint sweats all down their mighty members run ; 
Vast bulks which little souls but ill supply. 280 

LXXI. 

In dreams they fearful precipices tread : 

Or, shipwreck'd, labour to some distant shore : 

Or in dark churches walk among the dead ; 
They wake with horror, and dare sleep no more. 

LXXII. 

The mom they look on with unwilling eyes,* 2SS 
Till from their main-top joyful news they hear 



Ver. 267. Berkley alone, &c] Among other remarkable 
passages in this engagement, the undaunted resolution of 
Vice-Admiral Berkley was particularly admired. He had 
many men killed on board him, and though no longer able 
to make resistance, yet would obstinately continue the 
fight, refusing quarter to the last. Being at length shot in 
the throat with a musket-ball, he retired to his cabin, where, 
stretching himself on a great table, he expired ; and in 
that posture did the enemy, who afterwards took the ship, 
find the body covered with blood. Derrick. 

Ver. 269. The night comes on,] The four next stanzas 
are worth the reader's particular attention; and the con- 
trast betwixt the feelings of the triumphant English and 
conquered Dutch strongly supported. The dreams in the 
71st stanza are painted with true poetic energy and much 
propriety. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 280. Vast bulks which little souls but ill supply.] So 
Milton, in the spirited speech which he gives to Samson, as 
an answer to the cowardly language of the giant Harapha, 
Sam. Agon. ver. 1237. 

" Go, baffled coward ! lest I run upon thee. 
Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast, 
And with one buffet lay thy structure low," &c. Todd. 

Ver. 281. In dreams, &c] Probably alluding to Virgil, 
Mn. iv. 465. 

" Agit ipse fnrentem 

In somnis ferus ./Eneas : semperque relinqui 
Sola sibi, semper longam incomitata videtur 
Ire viam," &c. Todd. 

* Socond day's battle. Original edition. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



27 



Of ships, which by their mould bring new supplies, 
And in their colours Belgian lions bear. 



Our watchful general had discern'd from far 
This mighty succour, which made glad the foe : 

He sigh'd, but, like a father of the war, M1 

His face spake hope, while deep his sorrows 
flow. 

LXXIV. 

His wounded men he first sends off to shore, 
Never, till now, unwilling to obey : 

They not their wounds, but want of strength 

deplore, 29S 

And think them happy who with him can stay. 



Then to the rest, " Rejoice," said he, " to-day ; 

In you the fortune of Great Britain lies : 
Among so brave a people, you are they 

Whom Heaven has chose to fight for such a 
prize. 300 

LXXVI. 

If number English courages could quell, 

We should at first have shunn'd, not met our 
foes : 
Whose numerous sails the fearful only tell : 
Courage from hearts, and not from numbers, 
grows." 

LXXVII. 

He said, nor needed more to say : with haste 305 
To their known stations cheerfully they go ; 

And all at once, disdaining to be last, 
Solicit every gale to meet the foe. 



Nor did th' encouraged Belgians long delay, 
But bold in others, not themselves, they 
stood: 310 

So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way, 
But seem'd to wander in a moving wood. 



Our little fleet was now engaged so far, 

That, like the sword-fish in the whale, they 
fought : 
The combat only seem'd a civil war, 315 

Till through their bowels we our passage 
wrought. 

LXXX. 

Never had valour, no not ours, before 

Done ought like this upon the land or main, 

Where not to be o'ercome was to do more 
Than all the conquests former kings did gain. 



The mighty ghosts of our great Harries rose, 3il 
And armed Edwards look'd with anxious oyes, 

To seo this fleet among unequal foes, 
By which fate promised them their Charles 
should rise. 



Ver. 292. His face, tfcc.l " Spemvultu simulat, premit alto 
corde dolcrem." — Virg. Original edition. 

Vcr. 312. Hut seem'd to wonder in amoving wood.] Pindar, 
speaking ofthe many noble buildings with which Caniarina 
had been embellished and enriched, uses a noble tignre 
trmhiut tlctkx/juuv u-^iyvcv H\(rK. A lofty forest of solid 
edifices. Pindar. 01ymn.Od.5tb. John Waiiton. 

Ver. 821. The mighty ghosts] This is finely imagined. 
Dr. J.Wauton. 



Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear, 325 
And raking chase-guns through our sterns they 
send : 

Close by, their fire-ships, like jackals, appear, 
Who on their lions for the prey attend. 



Silent in smoke of cannon they come on : 

Such vapours once did fiery Cacus hide : 53 ° 

In these the height of pleased revenge is shown, 
Who burn contented by another's side. 



Sometimes from fighting squadrons of each fleet, 
Deceived themselves, or to preserve some 
friend, 

Two grappling ^Etnas on the ocean meet, 885 

And English fires with Belgian flames contend. 

LXXXV. 

Now, at each tack, our little fleet grows less ; 

And, like maim'dfowl, swim lagging on the main; 
Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess, 

While they lose cheaper than the English gain. 



Have you not seen, when, whistled from the fist, 
Some falcon stoops at what her eye design'd, 

And, with her eagerness the quarry niiss'd, W3 
Straight flies at check, and clips it down the 
wind? 

LXXXVII. 

The dastard crow that to the wood made wing, 
And sees the groves no shelter can afford, 3I6 

With her loud caws her craven kind does bring, 
Who, safe in numbers, cuff the noble bird. 

LXXXVIII. 

Among the Dutch thus Albemarle did fare : 
He could not conquer, and disdain'd to fly ; 3S0 

Past hope of safety, 'twas his latest care, 
Like falling Csesar, decently to die. 



Yet pity did his manly spirit move, 

To see those perish who so well had fought ; 

And generously with his despair he strove, 85a 
Resolved to live till he their safety wrought. 

xc. 

Let other muses write his prosperous fate, 
Of conquer'd nations tell, and kings restored : 

But mine shall sing of his eclipsed estate, 

Which, like the sun's, more wonders does 
afford. so" 

XCI. 

He drew his mighty-frigates all before, 

On which the too his fruitless force employs : 

His weak ones deep into his rear he bore 

Remote from guns, as sick men from the noise. 

xcir. 

His fiery cannon did their passage guide, 36i 

And following smoke obscured them from the 
foe ; 



Ver. 351. Post hope of snftty, 'twos his lattst care, 
Like/ailing Cwaar, Recently to die,"] 

1 Tunc quoque jam moriens, no non procumbai boneste 

Hcsnicit; lnec etiam oura cadenbs n:it."--Ovid. 

■ Ions WabtoH. 



28 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



Thus Israel safe from the Egyptian's pride, 
By flaming pillars, and by clouds, did go. 

xcin. 
Elsewhere the Belgian force we did defeat, 

But here our courages did thoirs subdue : 
So Xenophon once led that famed retreat, 

Which first the Asian empire overthrew. 



The foe approach'd, and one for his bold sin 
Was sunk ; as he that touch'd the ark was slain : 

The wild waves master'd him and suck'd him in, 
And smiling eddies dimpled on the main. B76 

xcv. 
This seen, the rest at awful distance stood : 

As if they had been there as servants set 
To stay, or to go on, as he thought good, 

And not pursue but wait on his retreat. 3S0 

xcvi. 
So Libyan huntsmen, on some sandy plain, 

From shady coverts roused, the lion chase : 
The kingly beast roars out with loud disdain, 

And slowly moves, unknowing to give place. 

XCVII. 

But if some one approach to dare his force, 3S3 
He swings his tail, and swiftly turns him round ; 

With one paw seizes on his trembling horse, 
And with the other tears him to the ground. 

XCVIII. 

Amidst these toils succeeds the balmy night ; 

Now hissing waters the quench'd guns restore ; 
And weary waves, withdrawing from the fight, 391 

Lie lull'd and panting on the silent shore. 



The moon shone clear on the becalmed flood, 
Where while her beams like glittering silver 
play, 

Upon the deck our careful general stood, 3M 

And deeply mused on the succeeding day. 

Ver. 381. So Libyan, huntsmen,] This simile is finely- 
expressed, and -with new and characteristic incidents, 
varying from the many similes of the kind in Homer and 
Virgil. John Warton. 
Ver. 384. And slowly moves,'] The simile is Virgil's : 

" Vestigia retro 

Improperata refert," &c. Orig. edit. 

Ibid. unknowing to give place.] Horace's Cedere 

nescii, Ode 6, lib. 1, 1. 6. John Warton. 

Ver. 386. He swings his tail,] The metre of this line, 
perhaps, introduced swings instead of the more emphatic 
word swindges, applied to a lion enraged by Chapman, in 
his Cms. and Pompey, 1G07. 

" And then his sides he swindges with his sterneV 
And by Sylvester, Du Bart., p. 205, 4to. edit. 

" Then often swindging with his sinewie traine," &c. 
Milton, in a line of admirable effect, has applied the word 
to the old dragon, who, 

" Wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
Swindges the scaly horrour of his folded tail." 

Ode Nativ. st 18. 
Waller also describes the " taiVs impetuous swinge" of the 
whale, Batt. Summ. Isl. c. iii. Todd. 
Ver. 391. — weary waves,] From Statius Sylv. 
" Nee trucibus fluviis idem somts : occidit horror 
JEquoris, antennis maria acclinata quiescnnt." 

Original edition. 

Ver. 396. succeeding day.] The 3rd of June, 

famous for two former victories. Original edition. 



" That happy sun," said he, " will rise again, 
Who twice victorious did our navy see : 

And I alone must view him rise in vain, 

Without one ray of all his star for me. m 

ci. 
" Yet like an English general will I die, 

And all the ocean make my spacious grave : 
Women and cowards on the land may lie, 

The sea 's a tomb that 's proper for the brave." 

en. 
Restless he pass'd the remnants of the night, * 55 

Till the fresh air proclaim'd the morning nigh : 
And burning ships, the martyrs of the fight, 

With paler fires beheld the eastern sky. ' 

era. 
But now, his stores of ammunition spent,* 

His naked valour is his only guard ; 4,n 

Rare thunders are from his dumb cannon sent, 

And solitary guns are scarcely heard. 

civ. 
Thus far had fortune power, here forced to stay, 

Nor longer durst with virtue be at strife ; 
This, as a ransom, Albemarle did pay 415 

For all the glories of so great a life. 

cv. 
For now brave Rupert from afar appears, 

Whose waving streamers the glad general knows: 
With full-spread sails his eager navy steers, 

And every ship in swift proportion grows. 42 ° 

cvi. 
The anxious prince had heard the cannon long, 

And from that length of time dire omens drew 
Of English overmatch' d, and Dutch too strong, 

Who never fought three days, but to pursue. 

cvn. 
Then, as an eagle, who, with pious care, 425 

Was beating widely on the wing for prey, 
To her now silent eyrie does repair, 

And finds her callow infants forced away : 



Ver. 401. Yet Wee an English general will I die, 

And all the ocean malce my spacious grave : 
Women and covmrds on the land may lie, 
The sea's a tomb that 's proper for the brave.] 
This speech contains nearly the same words that the Duk 
of Albemarle spoke in a council the evening before the 
battle, in which he fought with amazing intrepidity, and 
all that determined resignation here implied. Derrick. 

Ver. 405. the remnants of the night,] Original 

edition. Derrick, remnant. Todd. 
* Third day. Original edition. 

Ver. 413. here forced to stay,] Original edition. 

This is certainly right; and Derrick's reading is wrong, 
" he forced," &c. Todd. 
Ver. 417. 

For now brave Rupert from afar appears, 

Whose waving streamers the glad general knows : 
With fall-spread sails his eager navy steers. 
And every ship in swift proportion grows.] 
This last line gives us a picturesque and lively represen- 
tation of a fleet approaching us, and gradually increasing 
in size and height. 
Milton, of a distant fleet, says finely : 
" As when far off at sea a fleet descried, 

Hangs in the clouds, " B. ii. 636. 

John Warton. 

Ver. 425. Then, as an eagle,] Another simile, worthy of 
our author, as also 440. Dr. J. Warton. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



29 



Stung with her love, she stoops upon the plain, 
The broken air loud whistling as she flies : 430 

She stops and listens, and shoots forth again, 
And guides her pinions by her young ones' cries. 



With such kind passion hastes the prince to fight, 
And spreads his flying canvas to the sound ; 

Him, whom no danger, were he there, could 
fright, 435 

Now, absent, every little noise can wound. 



As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry, 
And gape upon the gather'd clouds for rain : 

And first the martlet meets it in the sky, 

And with wet wings joys all the feather'd 
train. 440 



With such glad hearts did our despairing men 
Salute th' appearance of the prince's fleet : 

And each ambitiously would claim the ken, 
That with first eyes did distant safety meet. 



The Dutch, who came like greedy hinds before, * a 
To reap the harvest their ripe ears did yield : 

Now look like those, when rolling thunders roar, 
And sheets of lightning blast the standing field. 



Full in the prince's passage, hills of sand 

And dangerous flats in secret ambush lay, 450 

Where the false tides skim o'er the cover'd land, 
And seamon with dissembled depths betray. 



Ibid. Then, as an eagle, who, with pious care, 

Was beating widely on the wing for prey, 
To her now silent eyrie does repair, 

And finds her callow infants forced away : 
Stung with her love, she stoops upon the plain, 

The broken air loud whistling as she flies : 
Shi stops "nd listens, and shoots forth again, 

And guides her pinions by her young ones' cries.] 

The expression, " to her now silent eyrie," reminds us of 
that pathetic stroke in Antipater's Greek epigram : 
Olxrpos ac/Auzvira/ xccrOavi ir«{ z.a}.up,v\. 

As do the lines — 

" She stops, she listens, and shoots forth again, 
And guides her pinions by her young ones' cries " 

of that description in Lucretius — 

" At mater, virides saltus orbata peragrans, 
Linqnit hum! pedibus vestigia pressa bisnlcis, 
Omnia convisens oculis loca, si queat usquam 
Conspicere amissum ftetum ; completque querelis 
Frondiferum nonius, assistens, et crebra revisit 
Ad stabulum, desiderio perfixa juvenci." 
Then follows a thought inexpressibly tender, yet never 
noticed when this passage is cited : 

" Ncc vitr.lorum al'no species per pahula leeta 
Hi'rivare queunt aninium curaquc levare : 
Usque adeo quiddam proprium nolumque requirit." 
John Warton. 

Ver.435. Him, whom no danger, were he there, could fright, 

Now, absent, every little noise can wound.] 
"F.t mo qiiciu dudum non ulla iujecta movebant 
Tela, neque adverso glomerati ex agmine Grail 
Nunc omnos torrent mini 1 ; Sonus excitat omuis 
Suspensum, et pariter comitique onerique timentem." 
John Warton. 



The wily Dutch, who, like fall'n angels, fcar'd 

This new Messiah's coming, there did wait, 
And round the verge their braving vessels steer'd. 

To tempt his courage with so fair a bait. 4oli 
cxv. 
But he, unmoved, contemns their idle threat, 

Secure of fame whene'er he please to fight : 
His cold experience tempers all his heat, 

And inbred worth does boasting valour slight. 4f '° 

CXVI. 

Heroic virtue did his actions guide, 

And he the substance not th' appearance chose : 
To rescue one such friend he took more pride, 

Than to destroy whole thousands of such foes. 

cxvn. 

But when approach'd, in strict embraces bound, 46s 

Rupert and Albemarle together grow ; 
He joys to have his friend in safety found, 

Which he to none but to that Mend would owe. 

CXVIII. 

The cheerful soldiers, with new stores supplied, 

Now long to execute their spleenful will ; *?' 
And, in revenge for those three days they tried, 

Wish one, like Joshua's, when the sun stood 
still 

cxix. 
Thus reinforced, against the adverse fleet,* 

Still doubling ours, brave Rupert leads the way : 
With the first blushes of the mom they meet, 4 ' s 

And bring night back upon the new-born day. 
cxx. 
His presence soon blows up the kindling fight, 

And his loud guns speak thick like angry men : 
It scem'd as slaughter had been breathed all night, 

And death new pointed his dull dart again. 4S0 

cxxi. 
The Dutch too well his mighty conduct knew, 

And matchless courage, since the former fight : 
Whose navy like a stiff-stretch'd cord did show, 

Till he bore in and bent them into flight. 

exxn. 
The wind he shares, while half their fleet offends 4S5 

His open side, and high above him shows : 
Upon the rest at pleasure he descends, 

And, doubly harm'd, he double harms bestows. 

exxur. 
Behind, the general mends his weary pace, 

And sullenly to his revengo he sails : <9 " 

So glides some trodden serpent on the grass, 

And long behind his wounded volume trails. 

Ver. 454. new Messiah's'] Surely very profane. 

Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 460. — worth does boasting valour slight.] Ori- 
ginal edition. Derrick puts "doth." Todd. 
* Fourth day's battle. Original edition. 
Ver. 491. So glides, &c ] From Virgil : 

" Quum mt:dii nexus extrtemesqm aamina cavdez 
Solvuntur, tardosque trahit sinus ullimus orbes." 

Original edition. 
Ibid. So glides some trodden serpent on the grass, 
And long behind his wounded volume trails.] 
In the fifth book of the jEneid, line 273, the application is 
precisely the same : 

" Qualis smpe viio doprensus in aggore serpens, 
.lErea quern obliqiium rota transiit- aut gravis ictu 



30 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



Th' increasing sound is borne to either shore, 
And for their stakes the throwing nations fear : 

Their passions double with the cannons' roar, 495 
And with warm wishes each man combats there. 

CXXV. 

Plied thick and close as when the fight begun, 

Their huge unwieldy navy wastes away ; 
So sicken waning moons too near the sun, 

And blunt their crescents on the edge of day. 500 
cxxvi. 
And now reduced on equal terms to fight, 

Their ships like wasted patrimonies show ; 
Where the thin scattering trees admit the light, 

And shun each other's shadows as they grow. 

cxxvn. 
The warlike prince had sever' d from the rest 505 

Two giant ships, the pride of all the main ; 
Which with his one so vigorously he press'd, 
And flew so home they could not rise again. 
cxxviii. 
Already batter' d, by his lee they lay, 

In vain upon the passing winds they call : ol ° 
The passing winds through their torn canvas play, 
And flagging sails on heartless sailors fall, 
cxxix. 
Their open'd sides receive a gloomy light, 
Dreadful as day let in to shades below ; 
Without, grim death rides barefaced in their 
sight, 51S 

And urges entering billows as they flow. 

cxxx. 
When one dire shot, the last they could supply, 

Close by the board the prince's main-mast bore : 
All three now helpless by each other lie, 

And this offends not, and those fear no more. 

cxxxi. 

So have I seen some fearful hare maintain 521 

A course, till tired before the dog she lay : 
Who, stretch'd behind her, pants upon the plain, 

Past power to kill, as she to get away. 

cxxxn. 
With his loll'd tongue he faintly licks his prey ; 525 

His warm breath blows her flix up as she lies; 
She, trembling, creeps upon the ground away, 

And looks back to him with beseeching eyes. 



Seminecem liquit saxo lacerumque viator ; 
Necquicquam longos fugiens dat corpore tortus 
Parte ferox, ardensque oculis ; et sibila colla 
Arduus attollens ; pars vulnera clauda retentat 
Nexantem nodis seque in sua membra plicantem: 
Tali remigio navis se tarda movebat." 

John Wakton. 
Ver. 495. Their passions double] The original edition 
incorrectly has passion. Todd. 

Ver. 501. ■ on equal terms'] The President Renault 

has observed, from Madame de Sevigne, that since the 
battle of Actium, no sea-fight has ever been decisive, or 
produced any important consequences. Is this an obser- 
vation well founded? Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver 513. Their open'd sides received a gloomy light, 
Dreadful as day let into shades below :] 

" trepidantque humiSKO lumine Manes." 

An allusion to Virgil. John Warton. 

Ver. 514. as day let in to shades] Original edition. 

This again is right, and Derrick's "let into" should, I think, 
be discarded. Todd. 



The prince unjustly does his stars accuse, 

Which hinder'd him to push his fortune on ; 530 

For what they to his courage did refuse, 
By mortal valour never must be done. 



This lucky hour the wise Batavian takes, 
And warns his tatter'd fleet to follow home : 

Proud to have so got off with equal stakes, 535 
Where 'twas a triumph not to be o'ercome. 



The general's force, as kept alive by fight, 
Now, not opposed, no longer can pursue : 

Lasting till Heaven had done his courage right ; 
When he had conquer'd he his weakness knew. 

cxxxvi. 
He casts a frown on the departing foe, 541 

And sighs to see him quit the watery field ; 
His stern fix'd eyes no satisfaction show, 

For all the glories which the fight did yield. 

cxxxvn. 
Though, as when fiends did miracles avow, 645 
He stands confess'd ev'n by the boastful Dutch : 
He only does his conquest disavow, 
And thinks too little what they found too 
much. 

cxxxviii. 
Eeturn'd, he with the fleet resolved to stay ; 

No tender thoughts of home his heart divide ; 
Domestic joys and cares he puts away ; 551 

For realms are households which the great 
must guide. 



As those who unripe veins in mines explore, 
On the rich bed again the warm turf lay, 

Till time digests the yet imperfect ore, 
And know it will be gold another day : 



So looks our monarch on this early fight, 
Th' essay and rudiments of great success : 

Which all-maturing time must bring to light, 
While he, like Heaven, does each day's labour 



Heaven ended not the first or second day, 
Yet each was perfect to the work design'd : 

God and kings work, when they their work survey, 
And passive aptness in all subjects find. 



In burden'd vessels first, with speedy care,* 5I 
His plenteous stores do season'd timber send : 

Thither the brawny carpenters repair, 

And as the surgeons of maim'd ships attend. 



Ver. 536. 
Horace : 



a triumph not to be overcome.] From 



" quos opimus 

Fallere et effugere est triumphus." Original edition. 
Ver. 558.] The expression is Virgil's : 

" Primitia} juvenis misers, bellique propinqui 
Dura rudimenta." John Wakton. 
* His majesty repairs the fleet. Original edition. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



31 



CXLIII. 

With cord and canvas from rich Hamburgh sent, 
His navy's moulted wings he imps once more ; 

Tall Norway fir, their masts in battle spent, wl 
And English oak, sprung leaks and planks, 
restore. 

CXI.1V. 

All hands employ'd, the royal work grows warm : 
Like labouring bees on a long summer's day, 

Some sound the trumpet for the rest to swarm, 
And some on bells of tasted lilies play. 576 

CXLV. 

With gluey wax some new foundation lay 

Of virgin combs, which from the roof are hung : 

Some arm'd within doors upon duty stay, 

Or tend the sick, or educate the young. 580 

CXLVT. 

So here some pick out bullets from the sides, 
Some drive old oakum through each seam and 
rift: 

Their left hand does the calking-iron guide, 
The rattling mallet with the right they lift. 

CXLVII. 

With boiling pitch another near at hand, 6S5 

From friendly Sweden brought, the seams 
instops : 

Which well paid o'er, the salt sea-waves withstand, 
And shakes them from the rising beak in drops. 

CXLVIII. 

Some the gall'd ropes with dawby marling bind, 
Or cere-cloth masts with strong tarpawling 
coats : 59 ° 

To try now shrouds one mounts into the wind, 
And one, below, their ease or stiifhess notes. 

CXLIX. 

Our careful monarch stands in person by, 
His new-cast cannons' firmness to explore : 

The strength of big-corn'd powder loves to try, 5M 
And ball and cartrage sorts for every bore. 

CI.. 

Each day brings fresh supplies of arms and men, 
And ships which all last winter were abroad ; 

And such as fitted since the fight had been, 
Or new from stocks were fall'n into the road. M0 

CLI. 

The goodly London* in her gallant trim, 
(The phoenix daughter of the vanish'd old,) 



Ver. 570. wings he imps] See Mr. Warton's note 

on Milton's 15th Sonnet, "to imp their serpent-uj/rcys :" 
he "luiTves that the expression occurs in poets much 
later than Milton. The latest, whom I have hitherto found 
using this old poetical expression, Is Shadwell, by whom it 
is employed towards the end of his Isabella. Todd. 

Ver. 573. All hands'] This is a very elegant stanza. 
Dr. J. Warton. 

Ibid. the. royal vwrk grows warm :] " Fervet opus:" 

the same similitude in Virgil. Original edition. 

Vit. 577. some nru> foundation lay] Original 

edition. Derrick, foundations. Todd. 

Ver.689. 

Derrick, marline. 

Ver. 590. hall and cartrage] Original edition. 

I >• > i Ick, i irtrige. Todd. 

• Loyal London described. Original edition. 

Ver. 601. The goodly London in Tier gallant trim,'] Gray 
has evidently copied this passage in The Hard, ver. 73. 
" In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes." Todd. 

Ver. 602, Derrick's reading and pointing of the second 
lino of this stanza are absurd. He gives, 

The Phoenix, daughter of the vanish'd old, 
which might inclino some readers to imagine another 



— with dawby marling] Original edition. 
Todd. 



Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim, 
And on her shadow rides in floating gold. 

CT.II. 

Her flag aloft spread ruffling to the wind, W5 

And sanguine streamers seem the flood to fire: 

The weaver, charm'd with what his loom design'd, 
Goes on to sea, and knows not to retire. 

CLIII. 

With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, 
Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow 
laves : Cl " 

Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, 
She seems a sea-wasp flying on the waves. 

CLIV. 

This martial present, piously design'd, 
The loyal city give their best-loved king : 

And, with a bounty ample as the wind, 6,n 

Built, fitted, and maintain'd, to aid him bring. 

CLV. 

By viewing nature, nature's handmaid, art 

Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow; 

Thus fishes first to shipping did impart, 

Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow. 

CLVI. 

Some log perhaps upon the waters swam, 621 

An useless drift, which rudely cut within, 

And, hollow'd, first a floating trough became, 
And 'cross some rivulet passage did begin. 

CLV1I. 

In shipping such as this, the Irish kern, 63b 

And untaught Indian, on the stream did glide : 

Ere sharp-keel'd boats to stem the flood did learn, 
Or fin-like oars did spread from either side. 

CLVIII. 

Add but a sail, and Saturn so appear'd, 

When from lost empire he to exile went, 63 " 

And with the golden age to Tyber steer' d, 

Where coin and first commerce he did invent. 

CLIX. 

Rude as their ships was navigation then ; 

No useful compass or meridian known ; 
Coasting, they kept the land within their ken, 6a 

And knew no North but when the Pole-star 
shone. 

CLX. 

Of all who since have used the open sea, 

Than the bold English none more fame have won : 

Beyond tho year, and out of heaven's high way, 
They make discoveries where they see no sun. 



ship here intended, especially as there is a comma after 
Phoenix, and no parenthesis, as in the original edition. 
Read and point thus, for the whole belongs to the London : 
The goodly London in her gallant trim, 
(The phoenix daughter of the vanish'd old,) 
Like a rich bride, &c. &c. Todd. 

Ver. 625. the Irish kern,] Derrick says, that 

kern signifies a clown or peasant, ami that in Spenser it is 
used for a foot-soldier. He should have added, that Spenser, 
in his View of the state of Inland, has given a very minute 
description of the kern, " whom only," lie says, " I take to 
be tho proper Irish soulilier," <&c. Todd. 

Ver.632. coin and first commerce, &c] Edit. 1667. 

I prefer this t<> Derrick's unauthorised commercefiret, which 
I suppose ho adopted tor the sake of the more musical accent 

on tin- first syllable of commerce^ forgetting, however, that 
" quick commerce" occurs in stanza 163, where he could not 
change the position of the word. Todd. 

Ver.639. Beyond (hi // or. ""</ out o/heaveWe high way,] 
" Extra anni, liolisiiuu vias." — Virg. 

Original edition 



32 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



But what so long in vain, and yet unknown, M1 
By poor mankind's benighted wit is sought, 

Shall in this age to Britain first be shown, 
And hence be to admiring nations taught. 

CLXII. 

The ebbs of tides and their mysterious flow, 6I5 
We, as arts' elements, shall understand, 

And as by line upon the ocean go, 

Whose paths shall be familiar as the land. 



Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce,* 
By which remotest regions are allied ; 65 ° 

Which makes one city of the universe ; 

Where some may gain, and all may be supplied. 

CLXIV. 

Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go, 
And view the ocean leaning on the sky : 

From thence our rolling neighbours we shall 
know, 655 

And on the lunar world securely pry. 



This I foretel from your auspicious care,t 

Who great in search of God and nature grow ; 

Who best your wise Creator's praise declare, 
Since best to praise his works is best to know. 

cr.xvi. 
truly royal ! who behold the law 661 

And rule of beings in your Maker's mind : 
And thence, like limbecs, rich ideas draw, 

To fit the levell'd use of human-kind. 



But first the toils of war we must endure, ' 665 
And from th' injurious Dutch redeem the seas. 

War makes the valiant of his right secure, 
And gives up fraud to be chastised with ease. 



Already were the Belgians on our coast, 

Whose fleet more mighty every day became 

By late success, which they did falsely boast, 
And now by first appearing seem'd to claim. 



Designing, subtle, diligent, and close, 

They knew to manage war with wise delay : 

Yet all those arts their vanity did cross, we 

And by their pride their prudence did betray. 



Nor staid the English long ; but well supplied, 
Appear as numerous as th' insulting foe : 

The combat now by courage must be tried, 
And the success the braver nation show. ' 



Ver. 648. Whose paths shall he familiar as the land.'] 
" His digression to the original and progress of navigation, 
with his prospect of the advancement which it shall receive 
from the Royal Society, then newly instituted, may he 
considered.as an example, seldom equalled, of seasonable 
excursion and artful return." — Johnson's Life of Dryden. 
John Warton. 

* By a more exact knowledge of longitudes. Original 
edition. 

f Apostrophe to the Royal Society. Original edition. 

Ver. 658. great in seareh~\ Alludes to the Eoyal 

Society. Dr. J. Warton. 



There was the Plymouth squadron now come in, 
Which in the Straits last winter was abroad ; 

Which twice on Biscay's working bay had been, 
And on the midland sea the French had awed. 



Old expert Allen, loyal all along, 68i 

Famed for his action on the Smyrna fleet : 

And Holmes, whose name shall live in epic song, 
While musie numbers, or while verse has 
feet. 

CLXXIII. 

Holmes, the Achates of the general's fight ; 

Who first bewitch'd our eyes with Guinea gold : 
As once old Cato in the Roman sight 691 

The tempting fruits of Afric did unfold. 



With him went Sprag, as bountiful as brave, 
Whom his high courage to command had 
brought : 

Harman, who did the twice-fired Harry save, Mi 
And in his burning ship undaunted fought. 



Young Hollis on a muse by Mars begot, 

Born, Caesar-like, to write and act great deeds : 

Impatient to revenge his fatal shot, 

His right hand doubly to his left succeeds. 70 ° 



Ver. 685. Old expert Allen, &c] Sir Thomas Allen wa3 
admiral of the white. Derrick. 

Ver. 689. Holmes, the Achates of the, &c] Sir Robert 
Holmes was rear-admiral of the white, called the Achates 
from his eagerness to support the general. Achates was the 
faithful companion of JEneas. For an illustration of the 
two last lines of this stanza, see our notes to the Satire on 
the Dutch. Derrick. 

Ver. 693. With him went Sprag, &c] Sir Edward Sprag 
served under Sir Jeremiah Smith, who carried the blue 
flag : he was drowned passing from one ship to another, in 
a fight with Van Tromp, on the 11th of August, 1672, bear- 
ing the character of a gallant officer, and an accomplished 
gentleman. Derrick. 

Ver. 694. his high courage] The courage haut of 

Spenser and our elder poets, which Dryden no doubt had in 
mind. Todd. 

Ver. 695. Harman, who did the twice-fired, &c.] These 
two lines cannot be more properly explained, than by the 
following extract from the London Gazette, of the 4th of 
June, 1666 :— 

" Alborough, June 2. This day is come in hither the 
Henry, Captain Harman, commander, who parted from the 
fleet, much disabled, at nine o'clock last night, having had 
the luck, it seems, to have a great part of the Dutch fleet 
upon her singly, which she supported bravely, and forced 
her way quite through them, though not without much 
damage, which the enemy finding, endeavoured to clap a 
fire-ship upon her, but she nimbly struck him off : after 
which comes up one of their admirals, and fastened a second 
fire-ship, with which she grappled long, but at last took fire 
in one of her quarters, which yet she happily quenched. 
After this a third fire-ship was laid on her, which, disabled 
as she was, she so mauled with her chace-pieces, that she 
cut short her main-yard, and so escaped him. She had 
several of her men killed and wounded ; amongst these 
latter is the captain himself, but it is hoped without danger. 
The fleet is in very good condition, not one of our vessels 
having been taken." Derrick. 

Ver. 697. Captain Hollis, of the Antelope ship of war, 
lost a hand in this memorable fight : to his writings I con- 
fess myself a stranger. 1 believe it is the same person who 
commanded the Cambridge, under the name of Sir Fretch- 
ville Hollis, in 1672, when he was killed in another sea-fight 
with the Dutch. Derrick. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



33 



Thousands were there in darker fame that dwell, 
Whose deeds some nobler poem shall adorn : 

And, though to me unknown, they sure fought 
well, 
Whom Rupert led, and who were British born. 

CI.XXVII. 

Of every sine an hundred fighting sail : 7U 

So vast the navy now at anchor rides, 

That underneath it the press'd waters fail, 
And with its weight it shoulders off the tides. 

CLxxvnr. 
Now, anchor's weigh'd, the seamen shout so 
shrill, 715 

That heaven, and earth, and the wide ocean 
rings: 
A breeze from westward waits their sails to fill, 
And rests in those high beds his downy wings. 



The wary Dutch this gathering storm foresaw, 
And durst not bide it on the English coast : 72 ° 

Beliind their treacherous shallows they withdraw, 
And there lay snares to catch the British host. 



So the false spider, when her nets are spread, 
Deep ambush'd in her silent den does lie ; 

And feels far off the trembling of her thread, 726 
Whose filmy cord should bind the struggling fly. 

CLXXXI. 

Then if at last she find him fast beset, 

She issiies forth, and runs along her loom : 

She joys to touch the captive in her net, 

And drag the little wretch in triumph home. 730 

CLXXXII. 

The Belgians hoped, that, with disorder'd haste, 

Our deep-cut keels upon the sands might run : 
Or, if with caution leisurely were past, 

Their numerous gross might charge us one by 
one. 

CLxxxm. 
But with a fore-wind pushing them above, 735 

And swelling tide that heaved them from below, 
O'er the blind flats our warlike squadrons move, 

And with spread sails to welcome battle go. 

CLXXXIV. 

It seem'd as there the British Neptune stood, 
With all his hosts of waters at command, ~ w 

Beneath them to submit th' officious flood, 
And with his trident shoved them off the sand. 

CLXXXV. 

To the pale foes they suddenly draw near, 
And summon them to unexpected fight : 

They start like murderers when ghosts appear, 746 
And draw their curtains in the dead of night. 



Ver.707. Tliousands were there in darter farm that dwell,] 
"Multl pneterca quos famn obscura recondit." 

Jonn Warton. 
Ver. 72.1. So the false] Elegantly expressed, but hardly 
equal to Pope's Spider. Dr. J . Warton. 

Ver. 742. with his trident shoved them off the sand.] 

'• Levat Ipse tridenti, et vastas aperit syrtes," &c— Virg. 

Original edition. 



Now van to van the foremost squadrons meet,* 
The midmost battles hasting up behind : 

Who view far off the storm of falling sleet, 

And hear their thunder rattling in the wind. 7S0 

clxxxv:i. 

At length the adverse admirals appear ; 

The two bold champions of each country's right 
Their eyes describe the lists as they come near, 

And draw the lines of death before they fight. 

CLXXXVIII. 

The distance judged for shot of every size, 755 
The linstocks touch, the ponderous ball expires: 

The vigorous seaman every port-hole plies, 
And adds his heart to every gun he fires ! 



Fierce was the fight on the proud Belgians' side, 
For honour, which they seldom fought before : 

But now they by their own vain boasts were tied, 
And forced, at least in show, to prize it more. 



But sharp remembrance on the English part, 
And shame of being match'd by such a foe, 

Rouse conscious virtue up in every heart, 
And seeming to be stronger makes them so. 



Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain, 
Which did two generals' fates and Cassar's bear : 

Each several ship a victory did gain, 
As Rupert or as Albemarle were there. 77 ° 



Their batter'd admiral too soon withdrew, 

Unthank'd by ours for his unfinish'd fight : 
But he the minds of his Dutch masters knew, 
Who call'd that providence which we call'd 
flight. 

cxciii. 

Never did men more joyfully obey, 775 

Or sooner understood the sign to fly : 

With such alacrity they bore away, 

As if to praise them all the States stood by. 



famous leader of the Belgian fleet, 

Thy monument inscribed such praise shall wear, 
As Varro timely flying once did meet, 7S1 

Because he did not of his Rome despair. 



Behold that navy, which a while before 
Provoked the tardy English to the fight ; 

Now draw their beaten vessels close to shore, 7SB 
As larks lie dared to shun the hobbies flight. 



* Second battle. Original edition. 

Ver. 748 hasting up behind:] Original edition. 

Derrick has hastning. Todd. 

Ver. 766. And seeming to he stronger makes them so.] 
" Possnnt, quia posse videntur." — Virg. 

Original edition. 

Ver. 784. English to the fight;] Original edition. 

This, I think, must be the poet's own reading; and Derrick'* 
" close to fight," I suppose an error : close occurs in the next 
line. Todd. 



34 



ANNUS MIEABILIS. 



Whoe'er would English monuments survey, 
In other records may our courage know : 

But let them hide the story of this day, 

Whose fame was blemish'd by too base a foe. 

cxcvu. 
Or if too busily they will enquire ' 81 

Into a victory, which we disdain ; 
Then let them know, the Belgians did retire 

Before the patron saint of injured Spain. 

CXCVIII. 

Repenting England this revengeful day ' % 

To Philip's manes did an offering bring : 

England, which first, by leading them astray, 
Hatch'd up rebellion to destroy her king. 

cxcix. 
Our fathers bent their baneful industry, 

To check a monarchy that slowly grew ; so ° 

But did not France or Holland's fate foresee, 

Whose rising power to swift dominion flew. 

CO. 

In fortune's empire blindly thus we go, 

And wander after pathless destiny ; m 

Whose dark resorts since prudence cannot know, 
In vain it would provide for what shall be. 

cci. 
But whate'er English to the blest shall go, 

And the fourth Harry or first Orange meet ; 
Find him disowning of a Bourbon foe, 

And him detesting a Batavian fleet. sl ° 

ecu. 

Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides, 
Waylays their merchants, and their land besets ; 

Each day new wealth without their care provides ; 
They lie asleep with prizes in their nets, 

com. 
So, close behind some promontory lie 815 

The huge leviathans to attend their prey ; 
And give no chace, but swallow in the fry, 

Which through their gaping jaws mistake the 
way. 

Ver. 794. patron saint] St. James, on whose day this 

victory was gained. Orig. ed. 

Ibid. the Belgians did retire 

Before the patron saint of injured Spain.] 

This victory was completed on the twenty-fiftn day of 
July, a day sacred to St. James the Great, patron of Spain, 
which nation our author calls "injured," inasmuch as the 
Hollanders had rebelled against King Philip II., being aided 
by Queen Elizabeth : and the next stanza refers to this trans- 
action, for which the poet supposes us now to have atoned. 
The monarchy mentioned in the 199th stanza is Spain, 
with which Queen Elizabeth had been long at variance, 
when, in our author's opinion, we overlooked the growing 
power of France and Holland, which merited much more 
our attention. Derrick. 

Ver. 795. Repenting England] Repent 1 What, of one of 
the most glorious and meritorious actions that Queen 
Elizabeth was ever engaged in, assisting the oppressed 
Hollanders against the execrable tyranny of Philip II. ? 
I could wish to forget that our poet ever wrote lines of such 
an abject spirit, and so unworthy of a true Englishman. 
Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 796. ■ Philip's manes] Philip II., of Spain, 

against whom the Hollanders rebelling, were aided by 
Queen Elizabeth. Orig. ed. 

Ver. 815. So, close behind] This poem is overloaded 
with similes. Dr. J. Wabton. 



Ibid. 



" Purpureus, late qui splendeat unus et alter 
Assuitur pannus." John Warton. 



Nor was this all ; in ports and roads remote, 
Destructive fires among whole fleets we send ; 

Triumphant flames upon the water float, 321 

And out-bound ships at home their voyage end. 

ccv. 
Those various squadrons, variously design'd, 

Each vessel freighted with a several load, 
Each squadron waiting for a several wind, tBf 

All find but one, to burn them in the road. 



Some bound for Guinea, golden sand to find, 
Bore all the gawds the simple natives wear : 

Some, for the pride of Turkish courts design'd, 
For folded turbans finest Holland bear. 



Some English wool, vex'd in a Belgian loom, 
And into cloth of spongy softness made, 

Did into France or colder Denmark doom, 
To ruin with worse ware our staple trade. 

ccvni. 
Our greedy seamen rummage every hold, 83S 

Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest ; 
And, as the priests who with their gods make bold, 

Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest. 

ccix.t 
But ah ! how insincere are all our joys ! 

Which sent from heaven, like lightning make 
no stay : 840 

Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, 
Or grief, sent post, o'ertakes them on the way. 

OCX. 

Swell'd with our late successes on the foe, 

Which France and Holland wanted power to 
cross, 

We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, ^ 

And feed their envious eyes with English loss. 



* Burning of the fleet in the Vly, by Sir Robert Holmes. 
Orig. ed. 

Ver. 828. the gawds] Toys, baubles. So in Shak- 

speare's Mid. Nights Dream, A. i. S. i. 

" And stolen the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits," &c. 
Where see Mr. Steeven's note. Todd. 

Ver. 830. folded turbans] Orig. ed. Derrick reads, 

turbants. Todd. 

t Transitum to the fire of London. Orig. ed. 

Ver. 839. But ah ! how insincere] Here he enters on 
the other part of his subject, the dreadful fire in London. 
Though the conflagration of a great city, with all its con- 
comitant circumstances of distress, is one of the most 
striking objects imaginable for a great poet to describe, 
(witness the second, perhaps, most beautiful book of the 
^Eneid), yet how lamentably has Dryden failed in raising 
any interest or emotion in the minds of the reader. And 
being unwilling to pass a censure, as I have thought my- 
self obliged to do frequently, I shall adopt the words of a 
celebrated critic, who says, the " poet watches the flame 
coolly from street to street, with now a reflection and now a 
simile, till at last he meets the king, for whom he makes a 
speech, rather tedious in a time so busy : and then follows 
again the progress of the fire." Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 842. Or grief, sent post, die] It is the same senti- 
ment in Milton's Samson Agonistes, ver. 1538. 

" For evil news rides post, while good news bates." 

Milton's, however, is the closer imitation of Statius, as I 
have elsewhere observed : 

" Spargitur in turmas solito pernicior index 
Cum lugenda refert." Todd. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



35 



Each element his dread command obeys, 
Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown ; 

Who, as by one he did our nation raise, 
So now he with another pulls us down. eso 

ccxu. 
Yet, London, empress of the northern clime, 

By an high fate thou greatly didst expire ; 
Great as the world's, which at the death of time 

Must fall, and rise a nobler frame by fire ! 

ccxni. 
As when some dire usurper heaven provides, 855 

To scourge his country with a lawless sway ; 
His birth perhaps some petty village hides, 

And sets his cradle out of fortune's way. 

ccxiv. 
Till fully ripe his swelling fate breaks out, 

And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on ; m 
His prince surprised at first no ill could doubt, 

And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known. 

ccxv. 
Such was the rise of this prodigious fire, 

Which, in mean buildings first obscurely bred, 
From thence did soon to open streets aspire, 86S 

And straight to palaces and temples spread. 

ccxvi. 
The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, 

And luxury more late, asleep were laid: 
All was the night's ; and in her silent reign 

No sound the rest of nature did invade. ^ 

ccxvu. 
In this deep quiet, from what source unknown, 

Those seeds of fire their fatal birth disclose ; 
And first few scattering sparks about were blown, 

Big with the flames that to our ruin rose. 



Then in some close-pent room it crept along, ^ 
And smouldering as it went, in silence fed ; 

Till th' infant monster, with devouring strong, 
Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head. 



Now like some rich or mighty murderer, 

Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold; 

Who fresher for new mischiefs does appear, SSI 
And dares the world to tax him with the old : 



So 'scapes th' insulting fire his narrow jail, 
And makes small outlets into open air : 

There the fierce winds his tender force assail, s 85 
And beat liim downward to his first repair. 



Ver. 853. Orcat as the world's, which at the death of time 
Must fall, and rise a nobler frame by fire /] 

u Qnum mare, quum tellus, correptaque rcgia ccelij 
Ardent," ice. — Ovid. Orig. ed. 

Ver. 871. from what source unhiown,] The 

fire might nnturully have been accounted for, from the 
narrowness of the streets, from houses built entirely of 
Umber, and a strong cast wind that blew at the time. But 
It was ascribed by the rage of the people, either to the 
Iti'pnbllcuns or the Catholics, especially the latter. An 
inscription on the monument, proscribed, we know by Pope, 



The winds, like crafty courtezans, withheld 

His flames from burning, but to blow them 
more : 

And every fresh attempt he is repell'd 

With faint denials weaker than before. 80 ° 



And now, no longer letted of his prey, 
He leaps up at it with enraged desire : 

O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey, 
And nods at every house his threatening fire. 

ccxxnr. 
The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, 

With bold fanatick spectres to rejoice : fi96 

About the fire into a dance they bend, 

And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice. 

ccxxiv. 

Our guardian angel saw them where they sate 
Above the palace of our slumbering king ; 90 ° 

He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to fate, 

And, drooping, oft look'd back upon the wing. 

cexxv. 
At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze 

Call'd up some waking lover to the sight ; 
And long it was ere he the rest could raise, 9M 

Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night. 

ccxxvi. 
The next to danger, hot pursued by fate, 

Half-cloth'd, half-naked, hastily retire : 
And frighted mothers strike their breasts too late, 

For helpless infants left amidst the fire. 910 

ccxxvn. 
Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near ; 

Now murmuring noises rise in every street ; 
The more remote run stumbling with their fear, 

And in the dark men justle as they meet. 

ccxxvui. 
So weary bees in little cells repose ; 9I5 

But if nightrrobbers lift the well-stored hive, 
An humming through their waxen city grows, 

And out upon each other's wings they drive. 



was intended to perpetuate this groundless suspicion. This 
inscription was erased by James II., but restored at the 
Revolution, and still remains. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 887. The winds,'] In this stanza, and in the four 
following, our poet may be justly said "to tread upon the 
brink of meaning, where light and darkness begin tb 
mingle; to approach the precipice of absurdity, and hover 
over the abyss of unideal vacancy? Dr. J. Warton. 

Ibid. like crafty, &c] Here arte tractabat cupidum 

virum, ut illius animum inopia accenderet. Orig. ed. 

Ibid. like crafty courtezans,] A vulgar and im- 
proper allusion ! Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 897. About the fire into a dance they bend,] How 
inferior is this passage to Milton's animated description of 
tlic wild ceremonies of Moloch, which Dryden, however 
seems U> have here bad in mind : 

' In vain with cymbals 1 ring 
They call the grisly king, 
In dismal dance about II" I'imince Mud" 

Ode Nativ. st. 23. Todd. 
Ver. 909. And friyhted mothers] The orig. edit, has 
mother, incorrectly. Todd. 

Ver.914. And in the dark, &c] If I mistake not, Loe 
has somewhere written a similar line — 

" And \im\n iiu-il Mods, and jostle in the dark." 
Doth arc equally splendid ! Todd. 

D-2 



36 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



Now streets grow throng'd and busy as by day : 
Some run for buckets to the hallow'd quire : 9S0 

Some out the pipes, and some the engines play ; 
And some more bold mount ladders to the fire. 

ccxxx. 
In vain : for from the East a Belgian wind 

His hostile breath through the dry rafters sent ; 
The flames impell'd soon left their foes behind, 

And forward with a wanton fury went. 9ai 



A key of fire ran all along the shore, 
And lighten'd all the river with a blaze : 

The waken'd tides began again to roar, 

And wondering fish in shining waters gaze. 9 

ccxxxn. 
Old father Thames raised up his reverend head, 

But fear'd the fate of Simois would return : 
Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, 

And shrunk his waters back into his um. 



The fire, mean time, walks in a broader gross ; 

To either hand his wings he opens wide : 9S6 
He wades the streets, and straight he reaches 
cross, 

And plays his longing flames on th' other side. 

ccxxxiv. 
At first they warm, then scorch, and then they 
take ; 
Now with long necks from side to side they 
feed: 94 ° 

At length, grown strong, their mother-fire forsake, 
And a new colony of flames succeed. 



To every nobler portion of the town 

The curbing billows roll their restless tide : 

In parties now they straggle up and down, 
As armies, unopposed, for prey divide. 



One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped, 
Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does 
haste, 

By powerful charms of gold and silver led, m 
The Lombard bankers and the Change to waste. 

ccxxxvu. 
Another backward to the Tower would go, 

And slowly eats his way against the wind : 
But the main body of the marching foe 

Against th' imperial palace is design'd. 

ccxxxvin. 
Now day appears, and with the day the king, 955 

Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest : 
Far off the cracks of falling houses ring, 

And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast. 



Ver. 928. And lighten'd all the river with a blaze :] 
" Sigma igni freta lata relucent." — Virg. Orig. ed. 

Ver. 931. Old father Thames raised up his reverend head, 

But fear'd the fate of Simois mould return :] 
An evident allusion to the 21st book of Homer, where Vul- 
can dries up the allied streams of Simois and Scamander. 
John Wakton. 



Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke 
With gloomy pillars cover all the place ; 96 ° 

Whose little intervals of night are broke 

By sparks, that drive against his sacred face. 

CCXL. 

More than his guards his sorrows made him known, 
And pious tears which down his cheeks did 
shower : 

The wretched in his grief forgot their own ; ^ 
So much the pity of a king has power. 

CCXLI. 

He wept the flames of what he loved so well, 
And what so well had merited his love : 

For never prince in grace did more excel, 

Or royal city more in duty strove. 97 ° 

CCXMI. 

Nor with an idle care did he behold : 

Subjects maygrieve,but monarchs must redress; 

He cheers the fearful and commends the bold, 
And makes despairers hope for good success. 

CCXLIII. 

Himself directs what first is to be done, 975 

And orders all the succours which they bring : 



Ver. 975.] Immediately after the fire of London, there 
was published, on a half sheet, " A true and exact Relation 
of the most dreadful and remarkable Fires, which have 
happened since the reign of King William the Conqueror 
to this present year, 1666, in the cities of London and 
Westminster, and other parts of England." 

The following is the account of the fire in 1666 : — " On 
Sunday, the second of September, this present year, 1666, 
about one o'clock in the morning, there happened a sad and 
deplorable fire in Pudding-lane, near New Fish-street; which, 
falling out in a part of the city so close built with wooden 
houses, propagated itself so far before day with such 
violence, that it bred such distraction and astonishment in 
the inhabitants and neighbours, that care was taken not to 
stop the further diffusion of it, by pulling down houses, as 
ought to have been ; so that this grievous fire in a short time 
became too big to be mastered by any engines, or working 
near it; and being fomented by the hand of God in a 
violent easterly wind, which kept it burning in such a raging 
manner all Sunday and Sunday night, spreading itself by 
Monday morning up G-racechurch-street to Lombard-street, 
and to St. Swithin's church in Canon-street, and downwards 
from Canon-street to the water-side as far as the Three 
Cranes in the Vintry, and eastward beyond Billinsgate. 
The greatness and vastness of the fire was such, that made 
the amazed and distracted people take care only to pre- 
serve their own goods, and secure every man his particular 
concerns, making but slender attempts to extinguish the 
flame. In fine, it continued all Monday and Tuesday with 
such impetuosity, that it had, at ten of the clock on Tuesday 
night, westward, consumed houses and churches all the way 
to St. Dunstarts church, in Fleet-street ; at which time, by the 
favour of God, the wind slackened ; and that night, by the 
vigilancy, irtdustry, and indefatigable pains of his Majesty and 
his Boyal Highness, calling upon all people, and encouraging 
them, by their personal assistances, a stop was put to the fire 
in Fleet-street, the Inner Temple, and Fetter-lane, at Holborn- 
bridge, Pie-corner, Aldersgate, Cripplegate, near the lower end 
of Goleman-street, at the end of Basinghall-street, by the 
Postern, at the upper end of Bishopsgate-street, and Leaden- 
hall-street, at the standard in Cornhill, at the church in 
Fenchurch-street, near Clothworker's-hall in Mincing-lane, 
at the middle of Mark-lane, and at the Tower-dock. But on 
Wednesday night it suddenly brake out afresh in the 
Inner Temple, which happened (as it is supposed) by flakes 
of fire falling into the gutters of the buildings. His Royal 
Highness in person fortunately watching there that night, 
by his care, diligence, great labour, and seasonable com- 
mands for the blowing up, with gunpowder, some of the 
said buildings, it was most happily before day extinguished, 
after it had laid level with the ground Tanfield-court, 
Parsori s-court, and the buildings in the church-yard, and 
done some little damage to the church and hall." Todd. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



37 



The helpful and the good about him run, 
And form an army worthy such a king. 



He sees the dire contagion spread so fast, 
That where it seizes, all relief is vain : 

And therefore must unwillingly lay waste 

That country, which would else the foe maintain. 

ccxt/V. 
The powder blows up all before the fire : 

Th' amazed flames stand gather'd on a heap ; 
And from the precipice's brink retire, 9S5 

Afraid to venture on so large a leap. 



Thus fighting fires a while themselves consume, 
But straight like Turks, forced on to win or die, 

They first lay tender bridges of their fume, 
And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly. 



Part stays for passage, till a gust of wind " 

Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet : 

Part creeping under ground their journey blind, 
And climbing from below their fellows meet. 



Thus to some desert plain, or old wood-side, " 5 
Dire night-hags come from far to dance their 
round ; 

And o'er broad rivers on their fiends they ride, 
Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground. 



No help avails : for, hydra-like, the fire 

Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way : 

And scarce the wealthy can one half retire, 
Before he rushes in to share the prey. 



The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud : 
Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more : 

So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd, lu05 

When others' ruin may increase their store. 



As those, who live by shores, with joy behold 
Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh ; 

And from the rocks leap down for shipwreck'd 
gold, 
And seek the tempest which the others fly : 



Ver. 988. Hut straight like Turks, forced on, &c] The 

Turks are not only prcdist inuriaiis, but they also believe 

thai every man who dies fighting against unbelievers, for 

. call all who differ from them in religion, goes 

to Paradise. These tenets often encourage those 

111 who have no groat, stomachs to it; and, in this 

lie] '"' be said to be forced on. Derrick. 

Ver. 991. Part stays for passage,'] Original edition. 

Derrick has stay. Todd. 

\ Br. 1007. As those, who livt by shores, &c.~\ The gallant 

lldeslei Shovel was barbarously murdered on the 

of Cornwall, as he swam on shore, by a woman, who 

wa Incited to the barbarous act by the sight of a ring 

' lie wore on his finger, This is related on the 

authority of the late Lord Peterborough, who t<.ld it to Sir 

John Mordaunt, who related it to the late Dr. Shipley, 

■ of St. Asaph. Jons \\ in roN. 

Ver. 1010. Ami .ink /I,,- tempest ] Thus the original 

Derrick has tempi H . Todd. 



So these but wait the owner's last despair, 101 
And what 's permitted to the flames invade ; 

Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear, 
And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade. 



The days were all in this lost labour spent ; lu ' 5 
And when the weary king gave place to night 

His beams he to his royal brother lent, 
And so shone still in his reflective light. 



Night came, but without darkness or repose, 
A dismal picture of the general doom ; ln2 ° 

Where souls distracted when the trumpet blows, 
And half unready with their bodies come. 



Those who have homes, when home they do repair, 
To a last lodging call their wandering friends : 

Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care, 102s 
To look how near their own destruction tends. 



Those who have none, sit round where once it was, 
And with full eyes each wonted room require : 

Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place, 

As murder'd men walk where they did expire. 



Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire, 1031 
Others in vain from sight of ruin run ; 

And while through burning labyrinths they retire, 
With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun. 



The most in fields like herded beasts lie down, 
To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor ; 1036 

And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown, 
Sad parents watch the remnants of their store. 



AVhile by the motion of the flames they guess 
What streets are burning now, and what are 
near, mu 

An infant waking to the paps would press, 
And meets instead of milk, a falling tear. 



Ver. 1016. And when the weary Icing gave place to night,~[ 

" serse meminit decedere nocti." Virg. 

Joiin "Warton. 
Ver. 1028. 

And with full eyes each wonted room require: 
Haunting the yet warm ashes of ths placed] 
A pathetic stroke, which reminds us of the lively repre- 
sentation of Livy :— " At pne metn obliti quid relinquerent, 
quid seoum ferrent, deficiente consilio, rogitantesqne alii 
alios, nunc in liminibus stnrent, nunc errabundi domes 
Bnas, ultimum illas visuri pervagarentur." John War- 
ton. 

Ver. 1041. An infant waking ta the imps would press 
And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear.] 
A tender and pathetic stroke, which might have been 
derived from l'linv's description of the fainnus picture of 
Aristi.les the Theban :—" Hujus picture est, oppldocapto 
ad niatris ninrientis e vulnere maniiiiain adrepens infills: 
Intelligiturque sentire mater, el timere, ne emortuo lacU; 
sanguiiiem himbat."— Pliny. John WABTOH. 
Ver. 1042.] 

" Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, 
Perhaps that parent mourn'd^her soldier slain; 



38 



ANNUS MIKABILIS. 



OCLX. 

No thought can ease them but their sovereign's 
care, 

Whose praise the afflicted as their comfort sing : 
E'en those whom want might drive to just despair. 

Think life a blessing under such a king. 1045 

CCLXI. 

Meantime he sadly suffers in their grief, 
Out-weeps an hermit, and out-prays a saint : 

All the night long he studies their relief, 

How they may be supplied, and he may want. 

CCLXII. 

" God," said he, " thou patron of my days,* 1051 
Guide of my youth in exile and distress ! 

Who me unfriended brought by wond'rous ways, 
The kingdom of my fathers to possess : 

CCLXIII. 

" Be thou my judge, with what unwearied care I055 
I since have labour' d for my people's good ; 

To bind the bruises of a civil war, 
And stop the issues of their wasting blood. 

CCLXIV. 

" Thou, who hast taught me to foi'give the ill, 
And recompense, as friends, the good misled ; 

If mercy be a precept of thy will, 1061 

Return that mercy on thy servant's head. 

CCLXV. 

" Or if my heedless youth has stept astray, 
Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand ; 



Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, 
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, 
Gave the sad presage of his future years, 
The child of Misery baptised in tears ! " 
Apology for Vagrants. Anon. Knox's edit. vol. i. p. 523. 

John Warton. 

Ver. 1048. Out-weeps an hermit, a?d out^prays a saint : 
All the long night he studies their relief, 
How they may he supplied, and he 7nay want.] 
This reminds us of Cowper : 

" When, Isaac like, the solitary saint 
Walks forth to meditate at even tide, 
And think on her, who thinks not for herself." 
John Warton. 
* King's prayer. Original edition. 

Ver. 1051. " God," said he,] One of the finest stanzas, 
and onwards to verse 1086 worthy our author. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

Ibid. " ffod," said he, " thou patron of my days,] This, 
which Dr. Johnson calls " a speech rather tedious in a 
time so busy," I would rather, with due deference to so 
great a man, call a solemn prayer. It may be no un- 
pleasing task to my reader to compare with these admirable 
lines the prayer of Henry the Fourth of France, cited by 
Mr. Addison in the Guardian, vol. i. p. 79. " O Lord of 
Hosts, who canst see through the thickest veil and closest 
disguise, who viewest the bottom of my heart, and the 
deepest designs of my enemies, who hast in thy hands, as 
well as before thine eyes, all the events which concern 
human life ; if thou knowest that my reign will promote 
thy glory, and the safety of thy people ; if thou knowest 
that I have no other ambition in my sou], but to advance 
the honour of thy holy name, and the good of this state, 
favour, O great God, the justice of my arms, and reduce 
all the rebels to acknowledge him whom thy sacred decrees, 
and the order of a lawful succession, have made their 
sovereign; but if thy good Providence has ordered it 
otherwise, and thou seest that I should prove one of those 
kings whom thou givest in thine anger, take from me, O 
merciful God, my life and my crown; make me this day a 
sacrifice to thy will ; let my death end the calamities of 
France, and let my blood be the last that is spilt in this 
quarrel." John Warton. 

Ver. 1063. youth has stept astray,] Original edit. 

Derrick step'd. Todd. 



" On me alone thy just displeasure lay, 106S 

But take thy judgments from this mourning 
land. 

CCLXVI. 

" We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low, 
As humble earth from whence at first we came : 

Like flying shades before the clouds we show, 
And shrink like parchment in consuming flame. 

CCT.XVII. 

" O let it be enough what thou hast done ; lo;l 

When spotted deaths ran arm'd through every 
street, 
With poison'd darts which not the good could 
shun, 
The speedy could out-fly, or valiant meet. 

CCLXVIII. 

" The living few, and frequent funerals then, ln ?s 
Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place : 

And now those few, who are return'd again, 
Thy searching judgments to their dwellings 
trace. 

CCLXIX. 

" pass not, Lord, an absolute decree, 

Or bind thy sentence unconditional : 103 ° 

But in thy sentence our remorse foresee, 
And in that foresight this thy doom recaL 

CCLXX. 

"Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou mayst 
revoke : 

But, if immutable and fix'd they stand, 
Continue still thyself to give the stroke, 1035 

And let not foreign foes oppress thy land." 

cclxxl 
Th' Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire 

Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword ; 
And bade him swiftly drive th' approaching fire 

From where our naval magazines were stored. 

CCLXXII. 

The blessed minister his wings display^, ,wl 

And like a shooting star he cleft the night : 

He charged the flames, and those that disobey'd 
He lash'd to duty with his sword of light. 



Ver. 1069. 

IAlce flying shades "before the clouds we show, 
And shrink Wee parchment in consuming flame.] 

Two energetic lines founded on scriptural allusions, Psalm 
cix. v. 22, " I go hence like the shadow that departeth." 

This last image Dr. Glynn has transferred into his 
Seatonian Prize Poem, " The Day of Judgment," with so 
much felicity, that I must be pardoned for transcribing 
the whole of the prayer with which he concludes hia 
spirited poem : 

" Power supreme, 

O everlasting King, to thee I kneel, 
To thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat 
Melt all ye elements ! and thou, high heaven, 
Shrink like a shrivell'd scroll ! but think, O Lord, 
Think on the best, the noblest of thy works ! 
Think on thine own bright image ! think on Him 
Who died to save us from thy righteous wrath, 
And 'midst the wreck of worlds remember Man ! '' 
John Warton. 

Ver. 1085. Continue still thyself to give the stroke, 

And let not foreign foes oppress thy land.] 

He imitates the pious submission of David : — " Let us 
now fall into the hand of the Lord ; for his mercies are 
great ; and let me not fall into the hand of man." — 2 Sam. 
xxiv. 14. John Warton. 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



3J 



OCLXXTII. 

The fugitive flames, chastised, went forth to prey 

On pious structures, by our fathers rear'd ; 10M 
P.y which to heaven they did affect the way, 

Ere faith in churchmen without works was 
heard. 

cci.xxtv. 
The wanting orphans saw with watery eyes 

Their founders' charity in dust laid low; ll0 ° 
And sent to God their ever-answer'd cries, 

For he protects the poor who made them so. 

CCLXXV. 

Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long, 
Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise : 

Though made immortal by a poet's song ; 1K)5 

And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise. 

CCLXXVI. 

The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far 
The awful beauties of the sacred quire : 

But, since it was profaned by civil war, 

Heaven thought it fit to have it purged by fire. 

CCLXXVII. 

Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came, lnl 
And widely opening did on both sides prey : 

This benefit we sadly owe the flame, 
If only ruin must enlarge our way. 

cclxxviii. 
And now four days the sun had seen our woes : 

Foul" nights the moon beheld th' incessant fire : 
It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose, 1117 

And farther from the feverish north retire. 



In th' empyrean heaven, the bless'd abode, 
The thrones and the dominions prostrate lie, 

Not daring to behold their angry God ; 112 

And an hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky. 

CCLXXX. 

At length th' Almighty cast a pitying eye, 
And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast : 

He saw the town's one half in rubbish lie, I12 

And eager flames drive on to storm the rest. 



Ver. 1096. On pious structures, &c] He here, I presume, 
Blludes to Christ's Hospital, &c. <£tc. John Warton. 
Ver. 1097. 

By which to heaven they did affect the. way, 
J-'/'' I'm Hi in churchmen without works was heard.'] 
This passage is a sarcasm upon those who reduce all prin- 
ciples of religion to the single article of faith, which, 
according to some, is sufficient for salvation, exclusive of 
every other tenet. Derrick. 

Ver. 1107. flames peep'd in,] In censuring some 

teeming blemishes in this piece, such as the above lines, 
I should be mortified to be placed among those idle and 
petty objectors who mistake cavilling for criticising; such 
who blamed Tasso for making Erminia cut off her 
I i inn, I up Tancred's wounds, with a sword, as a sword 
will not cut hair; or he who thought Hapha'el bad made 

(he l t too little to receive the miraculous capture of fish ; 

i bjected to the figure of Laocoon being repre- 

d as naked when ho was in the act of sacrificing. I 
till. ill tin- ever read the Seasons of Thomson with delight 
admiration, though I cannot forbear objecting to the 
tun last as a conceit, alluding to bis subject: 

"The storms of wintry Time will quickly pass, 

And one mil ileil Sprimj ouciivle all." 

The verse below about God's taking an extinguisher is an 
rdlty of the most glaring kind. (Verse 1129.) Dr. J. 

\\ \ R ln\. 

Vor. i "aer flames drive on] The original 

i I j reads give. Todd 



CCT.XXXI. 

An hollow crystal pyramid he takes, 

In firmamental waters dipt above ; 
Of it a broad extinguisher he makes, 

And hoods the flames that to their quarry- 
drove. 1,M 

CCLXXXII. 

The vanquish'd fires withdraw from every place, 
Or full with feeding sink into a sleep : 

Each household genius shows again his face, 
And from the earth the little lares creep. 

CCLXXXIII. 

Our king this more than natural change beholds; 

With sober joy his heart and eyes abound: " 36 
To the All-good his lifted hands he folds, 

And thanks him low on his redeemed ground. 

CCLXXXIV. 

As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the 
earth, 
A kindly thaw unlocks it with mild rain ; ,14 ° 
And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, 
And straight the green fields laugh with pro- 
mised grain : 

CCLXXXV. 

By such degrees the spreading gladness grew 
In every heart which fear had froze before : 

The standing streets with so much joy they view 
That with less grief the perish'd they deplore. 1H6 

CCLXXXVT. 

The father of the people open'd wide 

His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed ; 

Thus God's anointed God's own place supplied, 
And fill'd the empty with his daily bread. 115 ° 

cclxxxvu. 
This royal bounty brought its own reward, 

And in their minds so deep did print the sense, 
That if their ruins sadly they regard, 

'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him 

thence. 

ccLxxxvirr, 

But so may he live long, that town to sway, 1155 
Which by his auspice they will nobler make, 

As he will hatch their ashes by his stay, 
And not their humble ruins now forsake.* 

CCLXXXIX. 

They have not lost their loyalty by fire ; 

Nor is their courage or their wealth so low, 1IM 



Ver. 1140. A kindly thaw unlocks it with mild rain;] 
Original edition. Certainly the genuine reading. Derrick's 
" cold rain " must he discarded. Todd. 

Ver. 1147. The father of the people open'd wide 

His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed ; ] 
The poor people that were, burned out built huts and sheds 
of boards for shelter in Moortields, and other outlets of the 
city; and the King was often seen among them, inquiring 
into their wants, and doing every thing in his power to I 
comfort them. He moreover ordered the justices of the 
peace to see them supplied with food, and to be careful of 
preventing forestalled from taking advantage of their 
distresses; besides which, he commanded thai the biscuits 
and other provisions, laid up in the Tower for the use of 
his army and navy, should be Carried Out and distributed 

among them. Enjoying such benefits from his royal 

presence, we arc not io wonder at the citizens begging him 
not to leave tin in. when it was supposed be w as going into 

th,, i try. VuU » tanxa 288. Dbbbiok. 

• City's request to the King not to leave lliem. Original 
edition. 



40 



ANNUS MIRABILIS. 



1'hat from his wars they poorly would retire, 
Or beg the pity of a vanquished foe. 

ccxc. 
Not with more constancy the Jews of old, 

By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent, 
Their royal city did in dust behold, 

Or with more vigour to rebuild it went. 



The utmost malice of their stars is past, 

And two dire comets, which have scourged the 
town, 

In their own plague and fire have breath'd the last, 
Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown. n '° 



Now frequent trines the happier lights among, 
And high-raised Jove, from his dark prison freed, 

Those weights took off that on his planet hung, 
Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed. 



Methinks already, from his chymic flame, ,175 

I see a city of more precious mould : 

Rich as the town* which gives the Indies name, 
With silver paved, and all divine with gold. 

ccxciv. 
Already, labouring with a mighty fate, 

She shakes the rubbish from her mounting 
brow, 118n 

And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, 
Which heaven will to the death of time allow. 

ccxcv. 
More great than human now, and more august, 

Now deified she from her fires does rise : 1184 
Her widening streets on new foundations trust, 

And, opening, into larger parts she flies. 

ccxcvr. 
Before, she like some shepherdess did show, 

Who sat to bathe her by a river's side ; 
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low, 

Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride. 



Ver. 1167. 



— malice of their stars] Original edition. 
In Derrick it is " the stars." Todd. 

Ver. 1174. the new-laid work succeed.'] Original 

edition. Derrick has " works. 1 * Todd. 

Ver. 1175. Methinks already,] A prophecy most fortunately 
fulfilled ! No city was ever more improved by the wide- 
ness and commodiousness, and consequent healthiness and 
cleanliness, of its streets, and magnificence of its buildings, 
than London after this calamitous fire. 

" Merses profundo, pulchrior evenit ! " 
And of later years moi-e attention has been paid to the 
circumstances above mentioned than in any metropolis of 
Europe. The stanzas 295, 296, 297, are beautiful. The 
298th stanza concludes with a puerile conceit. Dr. J. 
Waeton. 

* Mexico. Original edition. 

Ver. 1183. august,] Augusta, the old name of 

London. Original edition. 



Now, like a maiden queen, she will behold, 1191 
From her high turrets, hourly suitors come : 

The East with incense, and the West with gold, 
Will stand, like suppliants, to receive her doom. 



The silver Thames, her own domestic flood, U95 
Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train ; 

And often wind, as of his mistress proud, 
With longing eyes to meet her face again. 

ccxcix. 
The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, ,,M 

The glory of their towns no more shall boast, 
And Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, 

Shall find her lustre stain' d, and traffic lost. 



The venturous merchant who design'd more far, 
And touches on our hospitable shore, 1204 

Charm'd with the splendour of this northern star, 
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more. 



Our powerful navy shall no longer meet, 
The wealth of France or Holland to invade : 

The beauty of this town, without a fleet, 12 

From all the world shall vindicate her trade. 



And, while this famed emporium we prepare, 
The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, 

That those who now disdain our trade to share, 
Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast. 



Already we have conquer'd half the war, 
And the less dangerous part is left behind ; 

Our trouble now is but to make them dare, 
And not so great to vanquish as to find. 



Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, 
But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more : 

A constant trade-wind will securely blow, J221 

And gently lay us on the spicy shore. 



Ver. 1219. Thus to the eastern] If he had never written 
any other poem than this Annus Mirabilis, he never could 
have been ranked among our greatest English poets. 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 1220. the Cape once doubled, fear no more : 

A constant trade-wind will securely blow.] 

Sailors generally imagine themselves out of danger on 
an East-India voyage, when they double the Cape of Good 
Hope, because then they get into the trade-winds, or mon- 
soons, that always blow in a certain direction. Derrick. 

Ver. 1221. A constant] A frigid conceit drawn from the 
nature of the trade-wind. Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 1222. And gently lay us, &c] From these lines Pope 
has formed one of his most melodious couplets : 
" Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow, 

And softly lay me on the waves below." — Sappho to Phaon. 

John Waeton. 






AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 



41 



AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE/ 



BY MR. DRYDEN AND THE EARL OF MULGRAVE. 



How dull, and how insensible a beast 

Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the rest ? 

Philosophers and poets vainly strove 

In every age the lumpish mass to move : 

But those were pedants, when compared with these, 

Who know not only to instruct but please. ° 

Poets alone found the delightful way, 

Mysterious morals gently to convey 

In charming numbers ; so that as men grew 

Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser too. 10 

Satire has always shone among the rest, 

And is the boldest way, if not the best, 

To tell men freely of their foulest faults ; 

To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts. 

In satire too the wise took different ways, 15 

To each deserving its peculiar praise. 

Some did all folly with just sharpness blame, 

Whilst others laugh'd and scoru'd them into shame. 

But of these two, the last succeeded best, 

As men aim lightest when they shoot in jest. :o 

Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides, 

And censure those who censure all besides ; 

In other things they justly are preferr'd ; 

In this alone methinks the ancients err'd ; 

Against the grossest follies they declaim ; 2h 

Hard they pursue, but hunt ignoble game. 

Nothing is easier than such blots to liit, 

And 'tis the talent of each vulgar wit. 

Besides 'tis labour lost ; for who would preach 

Morals to Armstrong, or dull Aston teach ? ' M 



* This piece was written in 1679, and handed about in 
manuscript, some time before it made its appearance in 
print. It is supposed to have occasioned the beating Mr. 
Dryden received in Rose-street, Covent-garden, of which 
notice is taken in his Life. The Earl of Musgrave's name 
has been always joined with Dryden's, as concerned in the 
composition; and that nobleman somewhere takes notice, 
that Dryden 

" Was praised and beaten for another's rhymes." 
It is not improbable that Rochester's character was drawn 
by his lordship, who held him in high contempt, after his 
nig in a very dastardly manner when he challenged 
him. How, indeed, Lord Mulgrave came to subscribe 
to BO disagreeable a picture of himself, is hard to divine. 
Dhiuuck. 

Ver.l. Bow dull,"] This satire is claimed by the Earl 
of Mulgrave, and perhaps ought not to have a place in our 
works. But quarrel Dr. J. Waiitok. 
80. Morals to Armstrong, or dull Aston teaclif] Sir 

Th is Armstrong had I n knighted by King Charles II, 

me sen ices received from him during the protectorship, 

ho iun lug been scut over t.. his majesty, when in Holland, 

with a sum of money, raised among some of his faithful 

1 1, for his royal use. He afterwards bore a lieutonant- 

" ■l.iu I'm commission in the first troop of horse guards, and 

appointed gentleman of horse to the king. Being a 

ol a loose Immoral character, and of no fixed principles, 

Hither in religion or politics, he joined in the Ryohouse 1'lnt, 

and then escaped into 1 1. .Hand. Five hundred pounds were 

offered i i n n ird for taking him. Louis XIV., out of 

i met i Ing Charles, offered five hundred pounds to 

who should secure him in the dominions of France, 



'Tis being devout at play, wise at a ball, 

Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall. 

But with sharp eyes those nicer faults to find, 

Which lie obscurely in the wisest mind ; 

That little speck which all the rest does spoil, 3 s 

To wash off that would be a noble toil ; 

Beyond the loose writ libels of this age, 

Or the forced scenes of our declining stage ; 

Above all censure too, each little wit 

Will be so glad to see the greater hit ; 40 

Who judging better, though concern'd the most 

Of such correction will have cause to boast. 

In such a satire all would seek a share, 

And every fool will fancy he is there. 

Old story-tellers too must pine and die, io 

To see their antiquated wit laid by ; 

Like her who miss'd her name in a lampoon, 

And grieved to find herself decay'd so soon. 

No common coxcomb must be mention'd here : 

Nor the dull train of dancing sparks appear : 50 

Nor fluttering officers who never fight ; 

Of such a wretched rabble who would write 1 

Much less half wits : that 's more against our rules; 

For they are fops, the others are but fools. 

Who would not be as silly as Dunbar "\ ib 

As dull as Monmouth, rather than Sir Carr 1 



He was at length seized at Leyden, brought over to Eng- 
land, and condemned to die by Judge Jefferies, who treated 
him in a very unbecoming manner. 

Bishop Burnet observes, that he died with great meekness 
and resignation, expressing a hearty repentance for his 
past profligate life. King Charles, about the time of Sir 
Thomas's execution, told several people, that be had been 
lately assured Sir Thomas had been suborned by Cromwell 
to take away his life, when be waited on him in Holland, 
but he found no opportunity of perpetrating his crime ; for 
failing in which, the Protector imprisoned him on his 
return home. Though this story came from a royal mouth 
few people believed it ; yet it is certain that Cromwell kept 
him a year in prison. 

He was hanged at Tyburn, on the 20th of June, 1GS4 : his 
head was fixed upon Westminster Hall, between those of 
Cromwell and Bradshaw, and his quarters upon Temple Bar, 
Aldgate, Aldersgate, and the town-wall of Stafford. It is 
said he was a native of Nimeguen, a city of Guelderhmil, 
and would have claimed from the States-General the pro- 
tection of a native, if he had not been carried away as soon 
as he was arrested. 

I find, in Wood's Fasti, mention made of one James 
Aston, a divine, of whom no more is said than that he was 
a zealous loyalist, and about this time well beneficed. It is 
nnt unlikely, that it is the same person whom we find hero 
Celebrated for dulness; for, had he excelled in anything 
else, Wood would not have failed to remark it. DERRICK. 

Ver.55. Who would not be as silt;/ a.s />. 

As dull us Monmouth, rather than Sir Carrf] 

There was a Lord Viscount Dunbar, and a colonel of the 
same name, about this time, at court; but to which to apply 
this Character 1 cannot tell, as 1 never met with any of their 

private history. 

Monmouth is said to have I n brave, soft, gentle, and 

sincere, open to the grossest adulation, and strongly 



42 



AN ESSAY UPON SATIKE. 



The cunning courtier should be slighted too, 

Who with dull knavery makes so much ado ; 

Till the shrewd fool, by thriving too too fast, 

Like iEsop's fox becomes a prey at last. c(l 

Nor shall the royal mistresses be named, 

Too ugly, or too easy to be blamed ; 

With whom each rhyming fool keeps such a 

pother, 
They are as common that way as the other : 
Yet sauntering Charles between his beastly brace, 
Meets with dissembling still in either place, M 
Affected humour or a painted face. 
In loyal libels we have often told him, 
How one has jilted him, the other sold him : 
How that affects to laugh, how this to weep ; 70 
But who can rail so long as he can sleep ? 
Was ever prince by two at once misled, 
False, foolish, old, ill-natured, and ill-bred ? 
Earnely and Aylesbury, with all that race 
Of busy blockheads, shall have here no place ; 7b 



addicted to his pleasures : he was, upon the whole, a man 
of very weak parts, graceful in his person, and of an 
endearing placid deportment. — See the notes upon Absalom 
and Achitophel. 

Sir Can' Scrope is the third person in this verse : he was 
the son of Sir Adrian Scrope, a Lincolnshire knight, and 
bred at Oxford, where he took a master's degree, in 1664 ; 
and in 1666 he was created a baronet. He was intimate 
with the most celebrated geniuses of King Charles's court, 
had a very pretty turn for poetry, and was certainly some- 
thing more than a half-wit. His translation of Sappho to 
Phaon, among the epistles of Ovid, is in some estimation ; 
and many loose satires, handed about in manuscript, were 
set down to his account. He is mentioned thus in the first 
volume of State Poems, p. 200 : 

" Sir Carr, that knight of wither' d face, 

Who, for reversion of a poet's place, 
Waits on Melpomene, and soothes her grace, 
That angry miss alone he strives to please, 
For fear the rest should teach him wit and ease, 
And make him quit his loved laborious walks, J 
When sad or silent o'er the room he stalks, ' > 
And strives to write as wisely as he talks." ) 
And again, in the third volume, Part I. p. 148 : 
- no man can compare 



* 1 

e. J 



For carriage, youth, and beauty, with Sir Carr." 
He died at his house in St. Martin's-fields, Westminster, 
In the latter end of the year 1680. Derrick. 

Ver.61. Nor shall the royal mistresses be named^] About 
the time of the writing this poem, the king, if we may rely 
upon Bishop Burnet's authority, divided all his spare time 
between the Duchess of Portsmouth and Nell Gwin. 
Derrick. 
Ver. 74. Earnely and Aylesbury, with all that race 

Of busy blockheads, shall have here no place ; 
At council set as foils on Danby's score,'] 

Sir John Earnely was bred to the law : he was Chancellor 
of the Exchequer in the year 1686, and made one of the 
Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, in the room of the 
Lord Treasurer Hyde, Earl of Rochester. 

Robert, the first Earl of Aylesbury, was the son of Thomas 
Bruce, Earl of Elgin, in Scotland, and created, by King 
Charles, Lord Brace, in England. In 1685 he succeeded 
the Earl of Arlington as Lord Chamberlain of the king's 
household, and died a few months afterwards. Wood gives 
him the character of a man of learning, a benefactor to the 
clergy, a great antiquarian, and says he was well skilled in 
the history of his own country. 

Thomas, Earl of Danby, ancestor to the present Duke 
of Leeds, came out of Yorkshire, and was very zealous in 
forwarding the Restoration; for which special service he 
was made Treasurer of the Navy, then a Privy Counsellor, 
and, in 1673, Lord High Treasurer of England. He enjoyed 
a great share of the royal favour, which, perhaps, promoted 
his being impeached by the Commons, for monopoly and 
mismanagement. He was pardoned by the king, which 
occasioned much discontent; was zealous in procuring a 
match between the Prince of Orange and Lady Mary, after- 
wards king and queen of England ; a principal actor in the 
Revolution, and chairman of that committee of the whole 



At council set as foils on Danby's score, 

To make that great false jewel shine the more ; 

Who all that while was thought exceeding wise, 

Only for taking pains and telling lies. 

But there 's no meddling with such nauseous men ; 

Their very names have tired my lazy pen ; M 

'Tis time to quit their company, and choose 

Some fitter subject for a sharper muse. 

First, let 's behold the merriest man alive 
Against his careless genius vainly strive ; M 

Quit his dear ease some deep design to lay, 
'Gainst a set time, and then forget the day : 
Yet he will laugh at his best friends, and be 
Just as good company as Nokes and Lee. 
But when he aims at reason or at rule, w 

He turns himself the best to ridicule. 
Let him at business ne'er so earnest sit, 
Show him but mirth, and bait that mirth with 

wit; 
That shadow of a jest shall be enjoyed, 
Though he left all mankind to be destroy'd. 95 
So cat transform'd sat gravely and demure, 
Till mouse appear'd and thought himself secure ; 
But soon the lady had him in her eye, 
And from her friend did just as oddly fly. 
Reaching above our nature does no good ; 10 ° 

We must fall back to our old flesh and blood ; 
As by our little Machiavel we find 
That nimblest creature of the busy kind, 
His limbs are crippled, and his body shakes ; 
Yet his hard mind, which all this bustle makes, 
No pity of its poor companion takes. I06 

What gravity can hold from laughing out, 
To see him drag his feeble legs about, 
Like hounds ill-coupled 1 Jowler lugs him still 
Through hedges, ditches, and through all that 's ill. 
'Twere crime in any man but him alone, lu 

To use a body so, though 'tis one's own : 
Yet this false comfort never gives him o'er, 
That whilst he creeps his vigorous thoughts can 

soar : 
Alas ! that soaring to those few that know, 115 
Is but a busy groveling here below. 
So men in rapture think they mount the sky, 
Whilst on the ground th' intranced wretches lie : 
So modern fops have fancied they could fly. 



house, which, on King James's flight, voted an abdication, 
and advanced William to the throne; wherefore he was 
made President of the Council, and raised to the dignity of 
Marquis of Carmarthen and Duke of Leeds, about three 
years afterwards. He died in the year 1712, aged eighty- 
one. Derrick. 

Ver. 84. First, lets behold tlie merriest man alive] This 
character is so strongly and so justly marked, that it is 
impossible to mistake its being intended for Anthony 
Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury : " a man of little 
steadiness, but such uncommon talents, that he acquired 
great weight with every party he espoused : he was turbu- 
lent, restless, ambitious, subtle, and enterprising : he had 
conquered all sense of shame, was restrained ny no fears, 
and influenced by no principles." — Smollett's History. 

In the first volume of the State Poems, p. 140, he is 
mentioned thus : 

"A little bobtail'd lord, urchin of state, 
A praise-god-bare-bone peer, whom all men hate ; 
Amphibious animal — half fool, half knave." Derrick. 

Ver. 89. as Nokes and Lee.] These were two 

celebrated comedians in Charles the Second's reign. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 96. So cat transform'd, &c] Alluding to the fable 
of a cat's being turned into a woman, at the intercession of 
a young man that loved it ; but, forgetting herself, she 
ran after a mouse, and was reduced to her pristine shape. 
Derrick. 



AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 



43 



As the new earl with parts deserving praise, 1S 
And wit enough to laugh at his own ways; 
Yet loses all soft days and sensual nights, 
Kind nature chocks and kinder fortune slights ; 
Striving against his quiet all he can, 
For the fine notion of a busy man. 12 

And what is that at best, but one, whose mind 
Is made to tire himself and all mankind? 
For Ireland he would go ; faith, let him reign ; 
For if some odd fantastic lord would fain 
Carry in trunks, and all my drudgery do, 13 

I '11 not only pay him, but admire him too. 
But is there any other beast that lives, 
Who his own harm so wittingly contrives] 
Will any dog that has his teeth and stones, 
Refmedly leave his bitches and his bones, u 

To turn a wheel 1 and bark to be employ'd, 
While Venus is by rival dogs enjoy'd 1 
Yet tins fond man, to get a statesman's name, 
Forfeits his friends, his freedom, and his fame. 

Though satire nicely writ with humour stings 
But those who merit praise in other things ; w 
Yet we must needs this one exception make, 
And break our rules for silly Tropos' sake ; 
Who was too much despised to be accused, 
And therefore scarce deserves to be abused ; w 
Raised only by his mercenary tongue, 
For railing smoothly, and for reasoning wrong. 
As boys on holy-days let loose to play, 
Lay waggish traps for girls that pass that way ; 



Vcr. 120. As the new earl with parts deserving praise, 
And wit enough to laugh at his own ways ; 
Yet loses all, &c] 
Tliis character was well known to be drawn for Arthur, 
Earl of Essex, son to the Lord Capel, who was put to 
death by the regicides; but wherefore he should be called 
the tw?0 earl, I cannot see, sinoe we find in Collins's 
Peerage that he was created Earl of Essex in the year 
1661, eighteen years before the publication of this piece, 
lie was very fond of the lieutenancy of Ireland, which he 
had held from July, 1672, to 1677 ; and though the Duke 
of Ormond was much fitter for that important post, as 
being better acquainted with the genius and polity of the 
nation, and more agreeable to the people; yet he did every 
thing in his power to undermine that nobleman, with a 
view of again obtaining his government. He afterwards 
opposed the court, piqued perhaps because he was not 
gratified in all his desires, and perhaps from the repub- 
prlnciples which he seemed to cherish, though so 
different from those of his unfortunate father. He was 
n into custody and committed to the Tower, for being 
concerned in the Eye-house Plot; and he was found in his 
apartment there, with his throat cut from ear to ear, on 
tie- very morning of Lord Russell's execution.' Lord 
Essex was a man of indifferent abilities, but what the 
world calls cunning ; his education had been neglected in 
Hie civil wurs, hut he had a smattering of Latin, knew 
something of mathematics, and had a little knowledge of 
tlie law ; he aspired at being something greater than either 
nature or education had fitted him for, and his disappoint- 
ment perhaps gave him an atrabilarious sourness, that 
ended in suicide, for which he was a professed advocate. 
Dbbbiok. 

Ver.148. for silly Tropos' sake ;\ Sir William 

. is meant by Tropos. He was Lord Chief Justice 
King's Bench, and a violent prosecutor of the 

llppnsod lo ho I i-i rued ill the I'npisll plot; hut 

when he found that Shaftesbury had, in reality, no interest 
il. In quitted that parly, ami acted as much as 

>lj I" 1 1 Id against it. This occasioned an accusation 

to he preferred against him by Oates and Bcdloe, but it 

W» never supported, his weight not being thought worth 

' ping. He was resolute and penetrating, had a good 

deal >■( wit, in,. I spoke fluently and boldly; but he often 

over ie.i, I,, ,| I „.|f by being warm. He seems not to 

of much estimation, and Roger North, 
in his Eiamen, says his course of life was scandalous. 
Dbbbiok. 



Then shout to see in dirt and deep distress 150 
Some silly cit in her flower'd foolish dress : 
So have I mighty satisfaction found, 
To see his tinsel reason on the ground : 
To see the florid fool despised, and know it, lsl 
By some who scarce have words enough to show it : 
For senso sits silent, and condomns for weaker 
Tho sinner, nay sometimes the wittiest speaker : 
But 'tis prodigious so much eloquence 
Should be acquired by such little senso ; 
For words and wit did anciently agree, 1M 

And Tully was no fool though this man be : 
At bar abusive, on the bench unable, 
Knave on the woolsack, fop at council-table. 
These are the grievances of such fools as would 
Be rather wise than honest, great than good. I65 

Some other kind of wits must be made known, 
Whose harmless errors hurt themselves alone ; 
Excess of luxury they think can please, 
And laziness call loving of their ease : 
To live dissolved ill pleasures still they feign, 17C 
Though their whole life 's but intermitting pain : 
So much of surfeits, headaches, claps are seen, 
We scarce perceive the little time between ; 
Well-meaning men who make tliis gross mistake, 
And pleasure lose only for pleasure's sake ; 17i 
Each pleasure has its price, and when we pay 
Too much of pain, we squander life away. 

Thus Dorset, purring like a thoughtful cat, 
Married, but wiser puss ne'er thought of that : 



Ver. 178. Thus Dorset, purring Wee, Arc] Charles, Earl 
of Dorset, about this time forty years ot age, was one of 
the best bred men of his time. He was a lord of the bed- 
chamber, and sent several times with compliments, or on 
short embassies, to France, for the king could not bear to 
be long without him: he was a most munificent patron; 
learning and genius were sure of his protection ; and when 
our author was deprived of the bays, he allowed him the lau- 
reat's annual stipend out of his own private purse. Arthur 
Manwaring, Mr. Prior, and many other men of abilities, 
owed to him their being advanced and provided for. Nor 
was he less brave than polite and learned ; for he attended 
the Duke of York as a volunteer in the first Dutch war, 
and by his coolness, courage, and conduct, showed himself 
a worthy representative of his many illustrious ancestors, 
The night before the famous battle in which the Dutch 
admiral Opdam was blown up, he made a celebrated song, 
with the greatest composure, beginning, 

" To you fair ladies now at land, 
We men at sea indite," &c. 
No man had more ease or good-humour ; his conversation 
was refined and sprightly; he had studied books and men 
deeply, and to good purpose. He was an excellent critic 
and good poet, with a strong turn to satire, for which he 
is thus highly complimented in the State Poems, vol. i. 
p. 200. 

" Dorset writes satire too, and writes so well, ~\ 

O great Apollo I let him still rebel. v 

Pardon a muse which does, like his, excel, J 

Pardon a muse which docs, with art, support 
Some drowsy wit in our unthinking court." 
He wrote with severity, but that severity was always 
justly pointed; and Lord Rochester calls him, 

"The best good man, with the werst-natured muse." 
His first wife, the Countess Dowager of Falmouth, bad 
proved a barren wife. Of her having been a teeming 
widow I am ignorant. His second wife, whom he married 
in 1685, was daughter to the Earl of Northampton, and 
mother to the present Duke el" Dorset, lie was principally 
concerned in bringing ahout the Revolution; was Lord 
Chamberlain to King William and Queen .Mary; chosen a 
Knight of the Garter in 1601, and several times appointed 

one of the regents, when the affairs of Europe demanded 
the absence of the king. He died at Bath in 1706, aged 

sixty-nine, lamented by every class of people, and tho 
most opposite parties. Mr. I'ope gives him these lineB. 
" Dorset, the grace of courts, the muse's pride, 
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died." Derrick, 



u 



AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 



And first he worried her with railing rhyme, 180 

Like Pembroke's mastiffs at his kindest time ; 

Then for one night sold all his slavish life, 

A teeming widow, but a barren wife ; 

Swell'd by contact of such a fulsome toad, 

He lugg'd about the matrimonial load ; 185 

Till fortune, blindly kind as well as he, 

Has ill restored him to his liberty ; 

Which he would use in his old sneaking way, 

Drinking all night and dozing all the day ; 

Dull as Ned Howard, whom his brisker times 19 ° 

Had famed for dulness in malicious rhymes. 

Mulgrave had much ado to 'scape the snare, 
Though learn'd in all those arts that cheat the 

fair: 
For after all his vulgar marriage mocks, 
With beauty dazzled, Numps was in the stocks ; 
Deluded parents dried their weeping eyes, I96 
To see him catch his Tartar for his prize : 
Th' impatient town waited the wish'd-for change, 
And cuckolds smiled in hopes of sweet revenge ; 
Till Petworth plot made us with sorrow see, 2U0 
As his estate, his person too was free : 
Him no soft thoughts, no gratitude could move ; 
To gold he fled from beauty and from love ; 
Yet failing there he keeps his freedom still, 
Forced to live happily against his will : 205 

'Tis not his fault, if too much wealth and power 
Break not his boasted quiet every hour. 

And little Sid, for simile renown'd, 
Pleasure has always sought, but never found : 
Though all his thoughts on wine and women fall, 
His are so bad, sure he ne'er thinks at all. 2U 

The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong, 
His meat and mistresses are kept too long. 
But sure we all mistake this pious man, 
Who mortifies his pei'son all ho can : 215 

What we uncharitably take for sin, 
Are only rules of this odd capuchin ; - 

For never hermit, under grave pretence, 
Has lived more contrary to common sense ; 



Ver. 190. Dull as Ned Howard, whom Ms brisker times 
Had famed for dulness in malicious rhymes."] 
Edward Howard, Esq., a gentleman of the Berkshire 
family, consequently related to Sir Eohert Howard. He 
wrote four plays, called, 1st. The Man of Newmarket, a 
comedy ; 2nd. Six Days' Adventure, or the New Utopia, a 
comedy; 3rd. The Usurper, a tragedy; 4th. "Women's 
Conquest, a tragi-comedy ; hut none of them succeeded on 
the stage, nor procured him any reputation. He also 
published an epic poem, called The British Princes, for 
which he was severely ridiculed hy all the wits of his age : 
Lord Rochester, Lord Dorset, Mr. Waller, the Duke of 
Buckingham, Dr. Spratt, Lord Vaughan, published lam- 
poons upon it, most of them printed in the six volumes of 
Miscellanies published by Dryden. Derrick. 

Ver. 208. And little Sid, for simile renoum'd, 

Pleasure has always sought, but never fourid .■] 
This .Sidney, brother of Algernon Sidney and the Earl of 
Leicester, was rather a man of pleasure than of business ; 
his talents were great, but his indolence was greater ; his 
appearance was graceful; he was a favourite with the 
ladies, had a turn for intrigue, and was of a disposition 
exactly fitted to Charles's court, easy, affable, and insinu- 
ating ; free from any guile, and a friend to mankind. In 
1679 he went envoy to the Hague, where he contracted an 
intimacy with the Prince of Orange, whose friends he 
heartily assisted in raising him to the throne, being him- 
self a messenger from England to Holland upon that very 
business in 1688. He was raised to the dignity of Lord 
Sidney and Earl of Rumney, in 1688; declared Secretary of 
State, Master of the Ordnance, and Lord-lieutenant of Ire- 
land in 1689 ; and was removed from the latter post in 1693, 
it being thought that he held the reins of power with too 
Black a hand. Derrick. 



And 'tis a miracle we may suppose, 
No nastiness offends his skilful nose ; 
Which from all stink can with peculiar art 
Extract perfume and essence from a f — t : 
Expecting supper is his great delight ; 
He toils all day but to be drunk at night ; 
Then o'er his cups this night-bird chirping sits, 
Till he takes Hewet and Jack Hall for wits. 

Rochester I despise for want of wit ; 
Though thought to have a tail and cloven feet ; 



Ver. 227. Till he takes Hewet and Jack Hall for wits.] 
Sir George Hewet, a man of quality,' famous for gallantry, 
and often named in the State Poems. Sir George Ether- 
edge intended for him the celebrated character of Sir 
Fopling Flutter. 

" Scarce will there greater grief pierce every heart, 
Should Sir George Hewit, or Sir Carr, depart. 
Had it not better been, than thus to roam, 
To stay and tie the cravat-string at home ; 
To strut, look big, shake Pantaloon, and swear, 
With Hewit, dammee, there 's no action there." 

State Poems, vol. i. p. 155. 
The above lines are addressed hy Rochester to Lord Mul- 
grave, when bound for Tangier. 

Jack Hall, a courtier, whom I take to be the same with 
Uzza in the second part of Absalom and Achitophel, is 
thus mentioned in the State P&ems, vol. ii. p. 135. 

"Jack Hall left town, 

But first writ something he dare own, 
Of prologue lawfully begotten, 
And full nine months maturely thought on 
Born with hard labour, and much pain, 
Ousely was Dr. Chamberlain. 
At length from stuff and rubbish pick'd, 
As bear's cubs into shape are lick'd, 
When Wharton, Etherege, and Soame, "> 

To give it their last strokes were come, >- 

Those critics differ'd in their doom. J 

Yet Swan says he admired it 'scap'd, 
Since 'twas Jack Hall's, without being clapp'd." 
Swan was a notorious punster. Derrick. 

Ver. 228. Rochester I despise, &c] Wilmot, Earl of 
Rochester, was naturally modest, till the court corrupted 
him. His wit had in it a brightness to which few could 
ever arrive. He gave himself up to all sorts of extrava- 
gance, and to the wildest frolics that a wanton wit could 
devise. He went about the streets as a beggar ; made love 
as a porter; set up a stage as an Italian mountebank; 
was, for some years, always drunk, ever doing mischief. 
The king loved his company for the diversion it afforded, 
better than his person : and there was no love lost between 
them. He took his revenges in many libels ; he found out 
a footman that knew all the court, whom he furnished with 
a red coat and a musket, as a sentinel, and kept him all 
the winter long, every night, at the doors of such ladies as 
he suspected of intrigues. In the court a sentinel is little 
minded, and is believed to be posted by a captain of the 
guards to hinder a combat ; so this man saw who walked 
about And visited at forbidden hours. By this means 
Lord Rochester made many discoveries ; and when he was 
well furnished with materials, he used to retire into the 
country for a month or two to write libels. 

Once, being drunk, he intended to give the king a libel 
that he had wrote on some ladies ; but, by a mistake, he 
gave him one written on himself, which brought him for 
that time into disgrace. He fell into an ill habit of body, 
and in several fits of sickness he had deep remorses, for 
he was guilty of much impiety, and of great immoralities ; 
but as he recovered, he threw these off, and returned again 
to his former ill courses. 

This is the account given of Lord Rochester hy Bishop 
Burnet, who attended him in his illness ; and who says he 
is sure he would have continued to live a regular religious 
life, in case he had survived. 

He had served as a volunteer in the Dutch war, and 
behaved with such undaunted resolution, that it can 
scarcely be reconciled to his dastardly conduct afterwards 
in private life ; for it is certain, that he was not only 
capable of satirising in the severest manner, but of sus- 
taining the due reward of his abuse without resentment : 
so that he is said to have 

" His own kickings notably contrived." 
And we can only reconcile these contradictions iu conduct 



AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE. 



45 



For while he mischief means to all mankind, 230 
Himself alone the ill effects does find : 
And so like witches justly suffers shame, 
Whose harmless malice is so much the same. 
False are his words, affected is his wit ; 
So often he does aim, so seldom hit ; ^ 

To every face he cringes while he speaks, 
But when the back is turn'd the head he breaks : 
Mean in each action, lewd in every limb, 
Manners themselves are mischievous in him : 
A proof that chance alone makes every creature 
A very Killigrew without good-nature. 241 



by remembering his uninterrupted course of riot and 
debauchery, which had enervated all mental as well as 
corporeal faculties, and eradicated every virtue ; besides, 
it is a just observation, that no two things can be more 
opposite than one and the same man at different times. 
He envied Dryden's great success, while he acknowledged 
his superior abilities, and supported Crown against him, 
whom he forsook, and opposed with equal virulence, when 
hid Conquest of Jerusalem procured him some reputation. 
This is one reason for his being introduced here, in a light 
so very unpleasing, though not untrue; for the picture 
resembles him in everything but want of wit, which is a 
misrepresentation. As he was one of the lewdest writers 
of his time, several collections of obscene poems, many of 
which he never saw, have been published under his name. 

He was looked upon to be master of so much insinuation, 
that no woman was seen talking to him three times without 
losing her reputation; and if he did not make himself 
master of her person, he scrupled not scandalising her to 
the world. Indeed, in his latter days, it was only talk; for 
his debaucheries had disabled him from action, and his 
inability was universally known. Derrick. 

Ver. 241. A very Killigrew without good-natured] Thomas 
Killigrew, of whom we hear daily so many pleasant stories 
related, had good natural parts, but no regular education, 
lie was brother to Sir William Killigrew, Vice-chamber- 
lain to King Charles the Second's queen ; had been some 
time page of honour to King Charles I., and was, after the 
Restoration, many years Master of the Revels and Groom 
of the Chamber to King Charles II., in whose exile he 
shared, being his resident at Venice in 1651. — During his 
travels abroad he wrote several plays, none of which are 
much talked of. His itch of writing, and his character as 
a wit and companion, occasioned this distich from Sir John 
Denham : 

" Had Cowley ne'er spoke, Killigrew ne'er wTit, 
Combined in one they 'd made a matchless wit." 
The same knight wrote a ballad on him. 

Killigrew was a most facetious companion. His wit was 
lively and spirited, and he had a manner of saying the 
bitterest things without provoking resentment; he ticlUed 
you while he made you smart, and you overlooked the 



For what a Bessus has he always lived, 

And his own kickings notably contrived? 

For there 's the folly that 's still mixt with fear ; 

Cowards more blows than any hero bear ; ** 

Of fighting sparks some may their pleasure say, 

But 'tis a bolder thing to run away : 

The world may well forgive him all his ill, 

For every fault does prove his penance still : 

Falsely he falls into some dangerous noose, 250 

And then as meanly labours to get loose ; 

A life so infamous is better quitting, 

Spent in base injury and low submitting. 

I 'd like to have left out his poetry ; 

Forgot by all almost as well as me. 255 

Sometimes he has some humour, never wit, 

And if it rarely, very rarely, hit, 

'Tis under so much nasty rubbish laid, 

To find it out's the cindenvoman's trade ; 

Who, for the wretched remnants of a fire, :6 ° 

Must toil all day in ashes and in mire. 

So lewdly dull his idle works appear, 

The wretched texts deserve no comments here ; 

Where one poor thought sometimes, left all alone. 

For a whole page of dulness must atone. SIS1 

How vain a thing is man, and how unwise ? 
E'en he, who would himself the most despise 1 
I, who so wise and humble seem to be, 
Now my own vanity and pride can't see ; 
While the world's nonsense is so sharply shown 
We pull down others but to raise our own ; 2rl 
That we may angels seem, we paint them elves, 
And are but satires to set up ourselves. 
I, who have all this while been finding fault, 
E'en with my master, who first satire taught; 275 
And did by that describe the task so hard, 
It seems stupendous and above reward ; 
Now labour with unequal force to climb 
That lofty hill, unreach'd by former time : 
'Tis just that I should to the bottom fall, 2S0 

Learn to write well or not to write at all. 



pain, charmed by the pleasure. He died at Whitehall in 
March, 1682, aged seventy-one, bewailed by his friends, 
and truly wept for by the poor. Derrick. 

Ver. 242. For what a Bi'.ssus has he always lived,'] Bessus 
is a remarkably cowardly character in Beaumont and 
Fletcher. Derrick. 



46 ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Te capiet magia ■ 



■ Si propi&s stes 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL ; A POEM PUBLISHED 1681. 

THE OCCASION OF IT EXPLAINED. 

* 

1 HE Earl of Shaftesbury seemed bent upon the ruin of the Duke of York. It was mostly through his 
influence in both houses, that those infamous witnesses, Oates, Tongue, Bedloe, &c, were so strenuously 
encouraged, and the Popish plot, if not schemed by him, was at least by him cherished and supported. 
He had been heard to say with some exultation, / won't pretend to pronounce who started the game, 
hut I am sure I have had the full hunting. At this day that plot appears, to impartial and discerning 
eyes, to have been a forgery contrived to inflame the minds of the people against popery, a religion 
now professed by the duke, that the bill for excluding him from the throne might meet with more 
countenance and greater certainty of success ; and it went very near having the desired effect. 

The indiscreet zeal and imprudent conduct of the Eoman Catholics, for some time past, had given 
too much room for suspicion ; they having often openly, and in defiance of the established laws of 
the kingdom, shown a thorough contempt for the established religion of their country, propagated as 
much as possible their own tenets, loudly triumphed in their progress, and daily acquisition of 
proselytes among all ranks of people, without the least secrecy or caution. Hence was the nation ripe 
for alarm : when given, it spread like wildfire ; and the Duke of York, as head of the party at which 
it was aimed, was obliged to withdraw to Brussels to avoid the impending storm. 

The king being some time after taken ill, produced his highness's sudden return, before his 
enemies, and those in the opposition to the court-measures, could provide for his reception ; so that 
their schemes were thus for a while disconcerted. Lest his presence might revive commotion, he 
returned again to Brussels, and was then permitted (previously) to retire to Scotland, having received 
the strongest assurances of his brother's affection, and resolution to secure him and his heirs the 
succession. He had before this the satisfaction of seeing the turbulent Earl of Shaftesbury 
removed from his seat and precedence in the privy council, as well as all share in the ministry ; 
and now prevailed to have the Duke of Monmouth dismissed from all his posts, and sent into 
Holland. 

Shaftesbury's views were to lift Monmouth to the throne, whose weaknesses he knew he could 
so effectually manage, as to have the reins of government in that case in his own hands. Monmouth 
was the eldest of the king's sons, by whom he was tenderly beloved. His mother was one 
Mrs. Lucy Walters, otherwise Barlow, a Pembrokeshire woman, who bore him at Kotterdam, in 1649 
and between whom and his Majesty it was artfully reported, there had passed a contract of marriage. 
This report was narrowly examined into, and proved false, to the full satisfaction of the privy 
council, and of the people in general, though Shaftesbury did all in his power to support and establish 
a belief of its reality. The youth was educated at Paris, under the queen-mother, and brought over 
to England in 1662 : soon after which time he was created Duke of Orkney, in Scotland, and 
Monmouth in England, or rather Wales ; chosen a Knight of the Garter ; appointed Master of Horse 
to his Majesty, General of the land forces, Colonel of the life-guard of horse, Lord-lieutenant of the 
East Riding of Yorkshire, Governor of Kingston-upon-Hull, Chief Justice in Eyre on the south of the 



TO THE READER. 47 



river Trent, Lord Chamberlain of Scotland, and Duke of Buccleugh, in right of his wife, who wag 
daughter and heiress to a noble and wealthy earl, bearing that name ; but he lost all those places of 
honour and fortune, together with his royal father's favour, by the insinuation and art of Shaftesbury, 
who poisoned him with illegal and ambitious notions, that ended in his destruction. 

The partisans of this earl, and other malecontents, had long pointed out his Grace as a proper 
successor to the crown, instead of the Duke of York, in case of the king's demise ; and he began to 
believe that he had a real right to be so. At the instigation of his old friend, Shaftesbury, he 
returned to England without his father's consent, who would not see him ; and, instead of obeying 
the royal mandate to retire again, he and Shaftesbury jointly made a pompous parade through several 
counties in the west and north of England, scattering the seeds of discord and disaffection ; so that 
their designs seemed to be levelled against the government, and a tempest was gathering at a distance, 
not unlike that which swept the royal martyr from his throne and life. Many people, who would 
not otherwise have taken part with the court, shuddering when they looked back upon the scenes of 
anarchy and confusion that had followed that melancholy catastrophe, in order to prevent the return 
of a similar storm, attached themselves to the King and the Duke of York ; and the latter returned 
to court, where he kept his ground. 

The kingdom was now in a high fermentation ; the murmurs of each party broke out into 
altercation and declamatory abuse. Every day produced new libels and disloyal pamphlets. To 
answer and expose them, their partisans and abettors, several authors were retained by authority, but 
none came up to the purpose so well as Sir Roger l'Estrange, in the Observator; and the poet 
laureat, in the poem under inspection, the elegance and severity of which raised his character 
prodigiously, and showed the proceedings of Shaftesbury and his followers in a most severe light. 
These writings, according to Echard, in a great measure stemmed the tide of a popular current, that 
might have otherwise immersed the nation in ruin. His Grace the Duke of Monmouth afterwards 
engaged in the Ryehouse Plot, and a reward was offered for the taking him, both by his father and 
Lewis XIV., whether in England or France. He obtained his pardon both of the king and duke, by 
two very submissive, nay abject, letters ; and being admitted to the royal presence, seemed extremely 
Borry for his past offences, confessed his having engaged in a design for seizing the king's guards, and 
changing the government, but denied having any knowledge of a scheme for assassinating either his 
father or uncle, which it seems was set on foot by the inferior ministers of this conspiracy. 

Presuming, however, upon the king's paternal affection, he soon recanted his confession, and 
consorted with his old followers ; so that the king forbid him the court, and he retired to Holland, 
from whence he returned in 1685, raised a rebellion against his uncle, then on the throne, caused 
himself to be proclaimed king, and being defeated and taken prisoner, was beheaded on Tower-hill in 
his thirty-sixth year. — Derrick. 



TO THE HEADER. 



'Tis not my intention to make an apology for my poem : some will think it needs no excuse, and 
others will receive none. The design I am sure is honest ; but he who draws his pen for one party, 
must expect to make enemies of the other. For wit and fool are consequents of Whig and Tory ; * 
and every man is a knave or an ass to the contrary side. There is a treasury of merits in the Fanatic 
Church, as well as in the Popish ; and a pennyworth to be had of Saintship, honesty, and poetry, for 
the lewd, the factious, and the blockheads : but the longest chapter in Deuteronomy has not 

* It was now that tho party-distinctions of Whig and Tory wens first adopted; the courtiers were dcridlngly 
compared to the Irish banditti, who were called Tories; and they likened their opponents to Whigs, a denomination 
of reproach, formerly given tho Scotch covenanters, who wero supposed to live on a poor kind of buttermilk so 
called. These names still distinguish contending parties in England, though strangely Tailed from tluir original 
application. Derrick. 



48 ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 

curses enough for an Anti-Bromingham. My comfort is, their manifest prejudice to my cause will 
render their judgment of less authority against me. Yet if a poem have a genius, it will force 
its own reception in the world. For there 's a sweetness in good verse, which tickles even while it 
hurts ; and no man can be heartily angry with him who pleases him against his will. The commend- 
ation of adversaries is the greatest triumph of a writer, because it never comes unless extorted. But 
I can be satisfied on more easy terms : if I happen to please the more moderate sort, I shall be sure of 
an honest party, and, in all probability, of the best judges ; for the least concerned are commonly the 
least corrupt. And I confess I have laid in for those, by rebating the satire (where justice would allow 
it), from carrying too sharp an edge. They, who can criticise so weakly as to imagine I have done my 
worst, may be convinced, at their own cost, that I can write severely, with more ease, than I can 
gently. I have but laughed at some men's follies, when I could have declaimed against their vices ; and 
other men's virtues I have commended, as freely as I have taxed their crimes. And now, if you are 
a malicious reader, I expect you should return upon me that I affect to be thought more impartial than 
I am. But if men are not to be judged by their professions, God forgive you Commonwealth's-men for 
professing so plausibly for the government. You cannot be so unconscionable as to charge me for 
not subscribing of my name ; for that would reflect too grossly upon your own party, who never dare, 
though they have the advantage of a jury to secure them. If you like not my poem, the fault may, 
possibly, be in my writing (though 'tis hard for an author to judge against himself). But, more 
probably, 'tis in your morals, which cannot bear the truth ol it. The violent, on both sides, will 
condemn the character of Absalom, as either too favourably or too hardly drawn. But they are 
not the violent whom I desire to please. The fault on the right hand is to extenuate, palliate, and 
indulge ; and, to confess freely, I have endeavoured to commit it. Besides the respect which I owe 
his birth, I have a greater for his heroic virtues ; and David himself could not be more tender of the 
young man's life, than I would be of his reputation. But since the most excellent natures are always 
the most easy, and, as being such, are the soonest perverted by ill counsels, especially when baited 
with fame and glory ; 'tis no more a wonder that he withstood not the temptations of Aehitophel, 
than it was for Adam not to have resisted the two devils, the serpent and the woman. The conclusion 
of the story I purposely forebore to prosecute, because I could not obtain from myself to show 
Absalom unfortunate. The frame of it was cut out but for a picture to the waist ; and if the draught 
be so far true, 'tis as much as I designed. 

Were I the inventor, who am only the historian, I should certainly conclude the piece with the 
reconcilement of Absalom to David. And who knows but this may come to pass ? Things were not 
brought to an extremity where I left the story : there seems yet to be room left for a composure ; here- 
after there may be only for pity. I have not so much as an uncharitable wish against Achitophel, but 
am content to be accused of a good-natured error, and to hope with Origen, that the devil himself 
may at last be saved. For which reason, in this poem, he is neither brought to set his house uv 
order, nor to dispose of his person afterwards as he in his wisdom shall think fit. God is infinitely 
merciful ; and his vicegerent is only not so, because he is not infinite. 

The true end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction. And he who writes honestly, is 
no more an enemy to the offender, than the physician to the patient, when he prescribes harsh 
remedies to an inveterate disease ; for those are only in order to prevent the chirurgeon's work of an 
Ense reddendwm, which I wish not to my very enemies. To conclude all ; if the body politic have 
any analogy to the natural, in my weak judgment, an aot of oblivion were as necessary in a hot 
distempered state, as an opiate would be in a raging fever. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



49 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.* 



In pious times ere priestcraft did begin, 
Before polygamy was made a sin ; 



• This poem is said to be one of the most perfect alle- 
gorical pieces that our language ever produced. It is 
carried on through the whole with equal strength and pro- 
pi irty. The veil is no where laid aside. There is a just 
similarity in the characters, whicli are exactly pourtrayed; 
the lineaments are well copied; the colouring is lively; 
the groupings show the hand of a master, and may serve 
to convince us, that Mr. Dryden knew his own power wiien 
he asserted, that lie found it easier to write severely than 
gently. Many editions of this poem were sold in a very 
short time ; the name of the author was, for some time, a 
secret, and the real merits of it were allowed, even by the 
enemies of the cause it was meant to assist. Dr. William 
Coward, a physician of Merton College, Oxford, published 
a Latin translation of it in 1682; as did also the celebrated 
Dr. Francis Atterbury, afterwards Bishop of Rochester. 
A piece of such reputation and service to a particular party 
could not appear without much censure and many answers ;t 
among the most remarkable of which we may reckon 
"Azariah and Hushai;" and "Absalom senior, or Achitophel 
transprosed;" a poem, dedicated to the Tories, as this was 
to the Whigs. Here the satire is transferred to the Duke 
of York ; and from the four following lines in the second 
part of Absalom and Achitophel, we are to suppose, that 
Elkanah Settle was the author of it, to whom also the 
Other piece is attributed. 

"Instinct lie follows, and no farther knows, 

For to write verse with him is to transprose. 

' Twtre petti/ treason at his door to lay, 

R ho makes —heaven's lock a door to its own key." 

Wood tells us, that the Duke of Buckingham printed a 
heet of paper soon after the publication of this poem, 
intitlcd, " Reflections upon it," which contained nothing 
material and were sold very dear. The application of the 
story of Absalom to this part of King Charles II.'s reign, was 
first made by a clergyman in the pulpit, and his sermon 
whs printed with the title of " Absalom and Achitophel." 
Derrick. 

Yer. 1. In pious times'] The application of Scripture 
stories, in the way of allegory, as in the piece before us, 
to modern and political events, has been practised by more 
than one eminent poet. Racine is supposed to have alluded 
to the situation of Madame Maintenon in his Esther. Iiut 
the most striking example of this practice, is the Samson 
Agonistes of .Milton, throughout which noble drama there 
is a constant reference to the case and condition of the 
great poet himself, exposed to the derision and insults of 
bauched and dissolute Philistines of Charles II.'s 
court, and wishing to pull down the temple of Darjon on 
their heads. Tins is particularly visible in the chorus at 
667. The very trials and the condemnations of 
"i, Vane, his favourite, and of the other regicides, 
Inlj pointed out in these lines : 
" iir to th' unjust tribunals, under change of times 
And condemnation of th' ingrateful multitude." 
And the following lines clearly relate to his own losses 
in tie- excise, and his severe fits of the gout: 
" If these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty, 
fu] di < uses anil defonn'd; 
Tho' not disordinatc, vet causeless suffering 
The punishment of dissolute days." 
It Is observed by my very ingenious friend, Mr. Hayley 



t Among the many answers to, and remarks on, this 

poem, the following lire curious: -" Twser the Second a 

Bull-dog, or, A Short Reply to Absalon and Achitophel," 

folio, half sheet, London, 1681. " Absalon's I X. Worthies," 

half sheet, no date. "Poetical Reflections on 

nd Achitophel," folio, s. d. "Absalom Senior," 

, folio, 1682. Todd. 



When man on many multiplied his kind, 

Ere one to one was cursedly confined ; 

When nature prompted, and no law denied 

Promiscuous use of concubine and bride ; 

Then Israel's monarch after Heaven's own heart, 

His vigorous warmth did variously impart 

To wives and slaves ; and wide as his command 

Scatter'd his Maker's image through the land. 10 

Michal, of royal blood, the crown did wear; 

A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care : 

Not so the rest ; for several mothers bore 

To god-like David several sons before. 

But since like slaves his bed they did ascend, 16 

No true succession could their seed attend. 

Of all this numerous progeny was none 

So beautiful, so brave, as Absalon : 



who has certainly given us the most candid and exact life 
of Milton extant, that the lot of Milton had a marvellous 
coincidence with that of his hero Samson in three remark- 
able points : " First, he had been tormented by a beautiful 
hut disaffectionate and disobedient wife; secondly, he had 
been the great champion of his country, and as such the idol 
of public admiration; lastly, be had fallen from that height 
of unrivalled glory, and had experienced the most humili- 
ating reverse of fortune : 

'His foe's derision, captive, poor, and blind.' 
In delineating the greater part of Samson's sensations 
under calamity, he had only to describe his own." I can- 
not forbear adding what the same candid writer has 
observed concerning Milton's political principles : " That 
had his life been extended long enough to witness the 
Revolution, he would probably have exulted as warmly as 
the staunchest friend of our present constitution can exult, 
in that temperate and happy reformation of monarchical 
enormities." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 6. Promiscuous use] These lines are insufferably 
gross and offensive. It is curious to see how Atterbury, 
who, from a veneration for Tory principles, translated the 
whole poem, has rendered them. 

" Cognovere pias nondum pia srccula fraudes 
Arte sacerdotum, nondum vetuere maritos 
Multiplici celebrare jugo connubia leges, 
Cum vir sponsarum numeraverat agmen, et uni 
Non servare toro, fato adversante, coactus 
Plurima fertilibus produxit stemniata luntl.is. 
Cum stimulos natura daret, nee legibus ullis 
Et sponsre et lenre vetitnm est commune cubile, 
Tunc Israelis, coelo cedeute, monarcba 
Concubitu vario vermis nuptasque fovebat." 
The poem was so popular, that another Latin translation 
was also published, in lto, 1682, at Oxford, by Dr. William 
Coward, a physician of Merton College. Dr. J. AVarton. 

Ver. 18. So beautiful, so brain,] The Duke of Mon- 
mouth was young, exquisitely beautiful, brave, generous, 
affecting popularity, and tenderly beloved by bis father; 
had been educated with one part of the flower of tho 
English youth at Oxford, and served with another in tho 
army; so that he had all the advantages of private friend- 
ships joined to those which attend upon royal extraction. 
Mis tutor, one Ross, a Scotchman, either from love to his 
pupil, or to gain importance to himself, was the first per- 
son who inflamed his mind with high ambition, by making 
him believe, or persuading him to make others believe, 
that the King bad been privately married to bis mother. 

Ross went further, for be advised Cornells, Bishop of 
Durham, to write a certificate of the marriage, and to 
deposit it in a strong box In his own house; making use 
of this argument, that, if the Duke of York should bo 



50 



ABSALOM AND ACH1TOPHEL. 



Whether inspired by some diviner lust, 

His father got him with a greater gust : i0 

Or that his conscious destiny made way, 

By manly beauty, to imperial sway. 

Early in foreign fields he won renown, 

With kings and states allied to Israel's crown : 

In peace the thoughts of war he could remove, M 

And seem'd as he were only born for love. 

Whate'er he did, was done with so much ease, 

In him alone 'twas natural to please : 

His motions all accompanied with grace ; 

And paradise was open'd in his face. ^ 

With secret joy indulgent David view'd 

His youthful image in his son renew'd : 

To all his wishes nothing he denied ; 

And made the charming Annabel his bride. 

What faults he had, (for who from faults is free ?) 

His father could not, or he would not see. 36 

Some warm excesses which the law forbore, 

Were construed youth that purged by boiling o'er, 

And Amnon's murder, by a specious name, 

Was call'd a just revenge for injured fame. 40 

Thus praised and loved, the noble youth remain'd, 

While David, undisturb'd, in Sion reign'd. 

But life can never be sincerely blest : 

Heaven punishes the bad, and proves the best. 

The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murmuring race, 

As ever tried the extent and stretch of grace ; 46 

God's pamper'd people, whom debauch'd with ease, 

No king could govern, nor no God could please ; 

(Gods they had tried of every shape and size, 

That god-smiths could produce, or priests devise :) 

These Adam-wits, too fortunately free, 61 

Began to dream they wanted liberty ; 

And when no rule, no precedent was found, 

Of men, by laws less circumscribed and bound ; 

They led their wild desires to woods and caves, 55 

And thought that all but savages were slaves. 



converted from popery, there would be no need of bringing 
the certificate to public view ; and if he should not, that 
all arts were justifiable to exclude a papist from the throne; 
circumstances which Couzens immediately communicated 
to the King, but which that prince disregarded, acquitting 
Monmouth and imputing them only to the petulance of 
his tutor. Yet Ross, after Couzens died, spread a report 
abroad, that he had left such a certificate behind him. 
Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 19. Whether inspired] How gross and indelicate 
must the taste of that age have been, when St. Evremont 
could quote these very filthy and abominable lines in a 
letter addressed to the celebrated Duchess of Mazarine ! 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ibid. inspired by some diviner lust,~] Inspired with 

some diviner lust. First edition. 

Ver. 30. And paradise was open'd in his face.'] Pope's 
Eloisa, in her compliment to Abelard on his founding the 
Paraclete, is certainly indebted to this personal description ; 
and the ingenuity of the poet, in the local adaptation, is 
truly admirable : 

" You raised these hallow'd walls ; the desart smiled, 

And paradise was open'd in the wild." Todd. 
Ver. 51. These Adam-wits, &c] Persons discontented in 
happy circumstances are not unluckily called Adam-wits, 
from a remembrance of Adam's weakness in Paradise, who, 
aiming at being happier than the happiest, by persuasion 
of Eve, eat of the forbidden fruit, and thereby forfeited the 
divine favour, and was excluded the garden of Eden. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 55. They led their wild desires to woods and caves, 
And thought that all out savages were slaves.'] 
Pope, whose eye was perpetually on his master, adopted this 
rhyme : 

' Cities laid waste, they storm'd the woods and caves, 
(For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves.)" 

Windsor Forest, ver. 49. 



They who, when Saul was dead, without a blow, 

Made foolish Ishbosheth the crown forego ; 

Who banish'd David did from Hebron bring, 

And with a general shout proclaim'd him king : 60 

Those very Jews, who, at their very best, 

Their humour more than loyalty express'd, 

Now wonder'd why so long they had obey'd 

An idol monarch, which their hands had made ; 

Thought they might ruin him they could create, 155 

Or melt him. to that golden calf a state. 

But these were random bolts : no form'd design, 

Nor interest made the factious crowd to join : 

The sober part of Israel, free from stain, 

Well knew the value of a peaceful reign ; 70 

And, looking backward with a wise affright, 

Saw seams of wounds dishonest to the sight : 

In contemplation of whose ugly scars, 

They cursed the memory of civil wars. 

The moderate sort of men thus qualified, ' 5 

Inclined the balance to the better side ; 

And David's mildness managed it so well, 

The bad found no occasion to rebel. 

But when to sin our biass'd nature leans, 

The careful devil is still at hand with means ; ^ 

And providently pimps for ill desires : 

The good old cause revived a plot requires. 

Plots, true or false, are necessary things, 

To raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings. 

The inhabitants of old Jerusalem 
Were Jebusites; the town so call'd from them; 

And theirs the native right ■ 

But when the chosen people grew more strong, 
The rightful cause at length became the wrong ; 
And every loss the men of Jebus bore, 90 

They still were thought God's enemies the more. 
Thus worn or weaken'd, well or ill content, 
Submit they must to David's government : 
Impoverish'd and deprived of all command, 
Theh: taxes doubled as they lost their land ; 95 
And what was harder yet to flesh and blood, 
Their gods disgraced, and burnt like common 

wood. 
This set the heathen priesthood in a flame ; 
For priests of all religions are the same. 
Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be, 
Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree, 
In his defence his servants are as bold, 
As if he had been born of beaten gold. 



Altering the original : 

" From towns laid waste, to dens and caves they ran, 
(For who first stoop'd to be a slave was man.)" 

John Warton. 

Ver. 92. Thus worn or weaken'd,'] First edition : worn 
and weaken'd. 

Ver. 99. For priests of all] It is not my intention to £ 
anything to the many just censures that have been passed on 
this sweeping, indiscriminating piece of satire of the priest- 
hood, which by vulgar use is become almost proverbial. 
But I cannot forbear adding an extraordinary passage from 
Mr. Hume's Essays: — "It is a trite, but not altogether; 
false maxim, that priests of all religious are the same ; and 
though the character of the profession will not, in every 
instance, prevail over the personal character, yet it is sure 
always to predominate with the greater number." He has 
added a long note, in which he says, page 547, 8vo, that 
" this profession leads to dissimulation and hypocrisy, to 
ambition, to self-conceit, to pride and arrogance, to impatience 
of contradiction, to intolerance, and to revenge." He after- 
wards softens these sarcastical strokes, and adds, " Who- 
ever possesses the other noble virtues of humanity, meek- 
ness, and moderation, as very many of them, no doubt, do, 
is beholden for them to nature and reflection, not to the genius 
of his calling." Dr. J . W arton. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Tho Jewish rabbins, though their enemies, 

In this conclude them honest men and wise : 105 

For 'twas their duty, all the learned think, 

T' espouse his cause, by whom they eat and drink. 

From hence began that plot, the nation's curse, 

Bad in itself, but represented worse ; 

Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried ; ll0 

With oaths affirru'd, with dying vows denied ; 

Not weigh'd nor winnow'd by the midtitude ; 

But swallow'd in the mass, unchew'd and crude. 

Some truth there was, but dash'd and brew'd with 

lies, 
To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. " 5 
Succeeding times did equal folly call, 
Believing nothing, or believing all. 
Th' Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced ; 
Where gods were recommended by their taste. 
Such savoury deities must needs be good, 12 ° 

As served at once for worship and for food. 
By force they could not introduce these gods; 
For ten to one in former days was odds. 
So fraud was used, the sacrificer's trade : 
Fools are more hard to conquer than persuade. 
Their busy teachers mingled with the Jews, 1M 
And raked for converts even the court and stews : 
Which Hebrew priests the more unkindly took, 
Because the fleece accompanies the flock. 
Some thought they God's anointed meant to slay 
By guns, invented since full many a day : 131 

Our author swears it not ; but who can know 
How far the devil and Jebusites may go 1 
This plot, which fail'd for want of common sense, 
Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence : 135 
For as when raging fevers boil the blood. 
The standing lake sogn floats into a flood, 
And every hostile humour, which before 
Slept quiet in its channels, bubbles o'er ; 
So several factions from this first ferment, 14 ° 

Work up to foam, and threat the government. 
Some by then- friends, more by themselves thought 

wise, 
Opposed the power to which they could not rise. 
Some had in courts been great, aud thrown from 

thence, 
Like fiends were hardon'd in impenitence. Uh 

Some, by their monarch's fatal mercy, grown 
From pardon'd rebels kinsmen to the throne, 

raised in power and public office high ; 
Strong bands, if bands ungrateful men could tie. 

Of these tho false Acliitophel was first; la0 

A name to all succeeding ages cursed : 



Ver. 110. Raised in extremes] There are many vigorous 

lines, and some bold truths, in this account of ft plot that 

ices the annuls of this country, and produced so much 

cruelty, perjury, injustice, fraud, and revenge. Dr. J. 

Wabtok. 

Ver, 112. Not weigh' 'd nor winnow 'd] First edition, incor- 
rectly : Not weigh'd, or winnow'd. 

Ver.121. As s> rued at onee for worship and for food. ,] 
And served at once for worship and for food. First edition. 

N Br. 150. Of these the false] This is the introduction "i 

the chief aero of this piece, the celebrated Earl of Shaftes- 

under tho name "f Acliitophel. A man, insinuating, 

i private, eloquent, daring in public, full of 

in both; who had been bred up in the schools of 

civil commotion, in tho long parliament, in Cromwell's 

revoluti 'M , uh! hi those which followed Cromwell's death; 

anil who, from that education, knew well the powerofpopu- 

at times when popular passions are in ferment; 

framed the tiction of tho Popish plot, in the year 1678, in 

order 1 1 • bury the Duke, and perhaps the King, under the 

WSlght of tho national fear and hat:'. 1 of 1 . aory Siaftes- 



For close designs, and crooked counsels fit ; 
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ; 



Ver. 152. For close designs, and crooked counsels fit ;] 
First edition: For close designs, and crooked counsel fit 



bury was stimulated, too, by offences, both given and 
received ; for the King having said to him, — " Shaftesbury, 
thou art the greatest rogue in the kingdom," he answered, 
bowing, — "Of a subject, Sir, 1 believe I am." And tho 
Duke rated him in passionate terms fur one of his speeches 
in Parliament. "lam glad," said he, "your Royal High- 
ness has not called me Papist and coward." The account of 
this plot, in which was involved the assassination of Charles 
and his brother, an invasion, the conflagration of the city, 
and a massacre of the Protestants, was calculated, in its 
great lines, to gain the attention of the higher ranks of the 
nation, and, by the familiarity and detail of its circum 
stances, to catch the credulity of the meanest of the popu- 
lace. By making the Duke one of the objects of the 
pretended assassination, it prevented the suspicion of its 
being directed against him; and, by accusing the Queen, 
whom the King did not love, it gave a chance for separating 
the interests of the brothers. The information, as soon as 
given, flew instantly abroad. Even the marvellousness of 
the story gave credit to what it was almost impossible to 
believe human fiction could have invented. Accident after 
accident, arising in a manner unparalleled in history, con- 
curred to maintain the delusion. Coleman's letters wura 
seized, which discovered that the Duke had been carrying on 
a correspondence with France, against the religion of his 
country and its interests. Danby's correspondence with 
France for money to the King was betrayed, which made 
"Charles a sharer in his brother's disgrace; but, above all, the 
murder of Godfrey, who, in his office of a magistrate, had 
made public the plot, caused almost every Protestant to 
imagine he felt the dagger in his breast. Shaftesbury knew 
too well the nature of the human mind, not to improve upon 
this last accident. He suggested to his faction to bring 
the eye in aid of the imagination, in order to complete the 
terror of the people. The dead body, ghastly, and with the 
sword fixed in it, and lying on a bier, was exposed during 
two days in the public street. It was carried in procession 
through the city of London to the grave, as the remains 
of a martyr to the Protestant religion ; seventy-two clergy- 
men walking before, near a thousand persons of condition 
behind, innumerable crowds in a long silent order, an 
expression of passion more dangerous than that of clamour 
and confusion, bringing up the, rear. 

Such is the character given by my amiable and ingenious 
friend, Sir John Dalrymple, of this celebrated politician ; 
which character having been censured as unjust and severe, 
the author, with that candour and liberality that endears 
him to his acquaintance, made the following apology in 
his second volume of Memoirs, p. 325: "It has been a 
misfortune to Lord Shaftesbury's memory, that every thing 
has been written against him, and nothing for him ; upon 
which account, I am happy to hear, that his family have 
thoughts of endeavouring to vindicate his memory in 
public. Far from the intention to injure it, I flatter my- 
self that the papers published in this Appendix will set 
his character, in several respects, in a new light in the 
world. They will show that he had Holland in the Duchess 
of Orleans's treaty, made at Dover for the interests of 
popery; that Charles first broke the ties of honour with 
him, by deceiving and betraying hiin into the second 
treaty with France, in the year 1671, while he concealed 
from him ttie first, which had been made in the year 1670; 
and that Shaftesbury took no money from France, at a 
time when most of his friends of the popular party were 
doing it." 

It is painful and difficult to bring one's mind to conceive, 
that a man, totally profligate and unprincipled, could have 
been so much respected and beloved, as he was, by such a 
man as Mr. Locke, and could havo been one of the most 
upright, able, irreproachable, popular Lord Chancellors, 
mat ever adorned that high station, to which Dryden blm- 
self bears testimony in the strongest manner, in six tine 

lines, beginning line 186. It is to he lamented that Locke 
finished the memoirs he began of Lord Shaftesbury's 
life. A very curious and long extract i- 
Locke's papers, by Le Clero, in the seventh volume o 
Bibllotheque Choisie, trom page iir to page 189, well 
worthy the attentive perusal of the impartial reader. 
Locke dwells muoh on the acutencss of his wit, and his 
deep and close penetration into the unman bear) ; of w hah 
among others, h : remarkable Instanc B 

Lord! ' " itli Lord Southampton, i 

l 'J 



52 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Restless, unfix' d in principles and place ; 

In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace : 155 

A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 

Fretted the pigmy-body to decay, 

And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay. 

A daring pilot in extremity ; 

Pleased with the danger, when the waves went 

high m 

He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, 
AVould steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. 
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, 
And thin partitions do their bounds divide ; 
Else why should he, with wealth and honour 

blest, 165 

Refuse his age the needful hours of rest 1 
Punish a body which he could not please ; 
Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease ] 



on their return to the latter, " Miss Anne Hyde, -whom we 
have just left, is certainly married to one of the royal 
hrothers. A certain secret respect, a studied and supprest 
attention and complaisance, paid to her by the mother, in 
her voice, looks, and gestures, and even in the manner in 
which she offered her everything at the tahle, renders this 
suspicion of mine indisputable." Lord Southampton 
laughed at the time at the improbability of this conjecture, 
but was soon afterwards convinced of its truth. In these 
Memoirs is preserved a spirited letter to the Duke of York 
from Shaftesbury, when he was confined in the tower, in 
the year 1676. A saying of this sharp-sighted nobleman 
deserves to be remembered : " That wisdom lay in the 
heart, not in the head ; and that it was not the want of 
knowledge, but the perverseness of the will, that filled 
men's actions with folly, and their lives with disorder." 
Dr. J. Warton. 



Ibid. 



the false Achitophel- 



. name to all succeeding ages curst :] 



was Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, raised to the degree of a 
baron at the Restoration, and afterwards created Earl of 
Shaftesbury. His first remarkable appearance was in the 
royal interest, 1642, being then in his twenty-first year. 
He soon deserted it in disgust, and joined the Parliament, 
cutting a notable figure during the interregnum, there 
being nothing of any consequence transacted, hut what he 
had a hand in, the King's death excepted, of which he 
kept clear. He conceived a dislike to Cromwell, on being 
refused one of his daughters ; and though he had before 
struck in with all his measures, he now endeavoured to 
throw many difficulties in his way, hut with so much 
caution, that he was not called to any accoimt for so 
doing. 

Being nourished by variety, and fond of change, and 
having, at the same time, always an eye to his own advan- 
tage, he assisted, privately, Sir George Booth's designs 
in the West in behalf of the King, which he denied 
with solemn imprecations, when charged therewith by 
the Rump Parliament. At the Restoration, in which he 
aided, he was one of the twelve members that were 
sent on that occasion to compliment the King at the 
Hague, when his wit and vivacity recommended him 
to much notice. It was at this time he received a hurt 
in his side, by being overturned in a chaise, which 
was attended with bad consequences; being some years 
after cut for it, an issue remained open. His enemies 
thence took occasion to ridicule him, by calling him 
Tapski. Independent of politics, we have no great room 
to think highly of his moral character ; for King Charles, 
in one of his social hours, told him, " Shaftesbury, I 
believe you are one of the wickedest fellows in the king- 
dom." " Of a subject, sir," answered he smartly, " it may 
he." In 1672 he was removed from the exchequer, of 
which he was chancellor and under-treasurer, to he one of 
the five commissioners appointed to execute the office of 
lord high chancellor of England. He was also one of the 
privy-council, and a member of that famous cabal which 
engrossed the King's entire confidence. Derrick. 

Ver. 154. Sestless, unfix' d in principles and place ;] First 
edition : Restless, unfix'd in principle and place. 

Ver. 158. the tenement of clay.'] So Milton, 

Ode Nativ. st. 2 :— 

" And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay." 

Todd. 



And all to leave what with his toil he won, 

To that unfeather'd two-legg'd thing, a son ; ! '° 

Got, while his soul did huddled notions try ; 

And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. 

In friendship false, implacable in hate ; 

Resolved to ruin or to rule the state. 

To compass this the triple bond he broke ; 175 

The pillars of the public safety shook ; 

And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke : 

Then seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, 

Usurp'd a patriot's all-atoning name. 

So easy still it proves, in factious times, 180 

With public zeal to cancel private crimes. 

How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, 

Where none can sin against the people's will ! 

Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known, 

Since in another's guilt they find their own ! 185 

Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge ; 

The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 



Ver. 175. the triple bond he broke ;] In the year 

1667, a triple alliance was entered into between England, 
Sweden, and Holland, which was dissolved by the second 
Dutch war, to which and a closer connection with France, 
Lord Shaftesbury contributed his advice, and thereby 
fitted Israel for a foreign yolce. 

The remaining lines allude to his having changed his 
opinion, when he found it unpopular, as we have observed 
above, down to 

Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge; 
The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 

With all his failings it is on every hand allowed, that 
the business of the chancery was never transacted with 
more care and exactness than when Lord Shaftesbury 
presided in that court. His expedition was unparalleled ; 
he made it his study to bring matters to a speedy issue ; 
and his speeches from the bench»were so strong and con- 
clusive, so fraught with knowledge, and so happily 
expressed, that his meaning was plain to the most indif- 
ferent conception. The poet shows himself truly impartial, 
in thus rendering him his due ; and, like a masterly 
painter, he has thereby thrown a strong light over a piece 
that cannot be viewed to great advantage, nor placed in a 
clear situation. 

He had in his younger days been of Lincoln's-Inn, where 
he studied the law with great attention ; but his paternal 
inheritance was so considerable, that he thought the prac- 
tice of it superfluous, except in this elevated station, the 
dignity of which he carefully and judiciously observed. 
He proceeded every day from Exeter-house in the Strand, 
where he then lived, with vast solemnity, to Westminster; 
for he said the credit of all great offices should.be main- 
tained with state and ceremony. He altered nothing of 
his common garb, while he was lord-chancellor, only added 
an ash-coloured gown, thrown over his clothes, richly laced 
with gold. How amiable does the character, drawn of him 
in the passage now before us, represent him I and who, 
without grief, can see it so unhappily contrasted in almost 
all the rest of his life ? Derrick. 

Ver. 179. Usurp'd a patriot's all-atoning 'name.'] The 
first edition reads : Assumed a patron's all-atoning name. 
This last variation, evidently a typographical error, seems 
to have been discovered and corrected while the poem was 
going through the press. There is, in the library of Sion 
College, a copy of the first edition, which reads : Assumed a 
patriot's all-atoning name. 

Ver. 180 — 191.] These twelve lines were added in the 
second edition. 

Ver. 187. The statesman we abhor, but praise the fudge, 
<fcc] In a brief account, published in 1684, of many 
memorable passages of the life and death of the Earl oi 
Shaftesbury, whose juridical character is described in this 
and the four following lines by Dryden, it is related, that 
the Earl being made lord chancellor of England, he exe- 
cuted the office " with the greatest judgment and equity 
imaginable'' Granger, in his discrimination of this noble- 
man's various conduct, bestows an eulogium on this part 
of his character with more than his usual strength ol 
diction, and in the very sentiments of the poet : — " When 
we consider him as sitting in the highest tribunal in the king- 
dom, explaining and correcting the laws, detecting fraud, ana 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



53 



In Israel's court's ne'er sat an AbcthJin 

With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, 

Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress; 1LiU 

Swift of dispatch, and easy of access. 

Oh ! had he been content to serve the crown, 

With virtues only proper to the gown ; 

Or had the rankness of the soil been freed 

From cockle, that oppress'd the noble seed ; 19,i 

JJa\ 'id for him liis tuneful harp had strung, 

And heaven had wanted one immortal song. 

But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, 

And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land. 

Achitophel, grown weary to possess 20 ° 

A lawful fame, and lazy happiness, 

] lisdain'd the golden fruit to gather free, 

And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. 

Now, manifest of crimes contrived long since, 

He stood at bold defiance with his prince ; m 

Held up the buckler of the people's cause 

Against the crown, and sculk'd behind the laws. 

The wish'd occasion of the plot he takes ; 

Some circumstances finds, but more he makes. 

By buzzing emissaries fills the ears 210 

Of listening crowds with jealousies and fears 

Of arbitrary counsels brought to light, 

And proves the king himself a Jebusite. 

Weak arguments ! which yet he knew full well, 

Were strong with people easy to rebel. 215 

For, govern'd by the moon, the giddy Jews 

Tread the same track when she the prime renews; 

And once in twenty years, their scribes record, 

By natural instinct they change their lord. 

Achit-ophel still wants a chief, and none 220 

Was found so fit as warlike Absalon. 

Not that he wish'd his greatness to create, 

For politicians neither love nor hate : 

I'm for he knew his title not allow'd, 

Would keep him still depending on the crowd: t2S 



iff all the powers of his eloquence on the side of justice; we 

the able lawyer, the commanding orator, and the upright 

Rut. when he enters into all the iniquitous measures 

i abal, when he prostitutes his eloquence to enslave 

his country, and Becomes the factious leader, and the 

ir incendiary, we regard him with an equal mixture 

of horror and regret." — Biog. Hist. vol. iii. p. 3G2, second 

edit. Todd. 

Ver. 198. But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, 

And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtues land."] 
Qucre : Whether from Seneca? Thyestes. 
"Stet, qnicunque volet, potens 
AnJse culmine lubrico." John "Wartojt. 
Ver. 205. Ue stood at hold defiance"] The particular cir- 
DUmstance that drove Shafteshury into a sudden opposi- 
tion i" the court, was, that the King, alarmed at the strong 
ici -s of the Commons against Popery, and a dis- 
pensing power, and breaking with his own hands the seal 
d to the declaration of indulgence, and granting all 

ns desired, was guilty himself of a breach of 

to his new ministers, and exposed them to the 
nice of the people. To escape which vengeance, the 
made the same sudden turn with their master; so 
a this occasion Shafteshury said, "The prince 
I'sook himself, deserved to be forsaken." Dr. J. 

\\ BTOX. 

Vei ooliticians] The faults and merits of 

ministers and politicians are, in all governments, especially 

that are free, perpetual!} exaggerated and carried to 

me Drop-laid schemes that neverentered their 

iscrihed to them; and they are frequently 

I rtful de i'ii i i traduce arbitrary power, when 

mi I aim lias been merely to keep themselves 

['ho line above insinuates, that as soon as they 

111 i ease to he w< >i : an insinuation 

falsi zeal, and ignorance of human 

nature. Dr. J. Wanton. 



That kingly power, tlms ebbing out, might be 
Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 
Him he attempts with studied arts to please, 
And sheds his venom in such words as these. 

Auspicious prince, at whose nativity 23u 

Some royal planet ruled the southern sky; 
Thy longing country's darling and desire; 
Their cloudy pillar and their guardian fire : 
Their second Moses, whose extended wand 
Divides the seas, and shows the promised land: 
Whose dawning day in every distant age 2S6 

Has exercised the sacred prophet's rage : 
The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, 
The young men's vision, and the old men's dream ! 
Thee, Saviour, thee the nation's vows confess, 24u 
And, never satisfied with seeing, bless : 
Swift unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim, 
And stammering babes are taught to lisp thy name. 
How long wilt thou the general joy detain, 
Starve and defraud the people of thy reign ! 245 
Content ingloriously to pass thy days, 
Like one of virtue's fools that feed on praise ; 
Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright, 
Grow stale, and tarnish with our daily sight ! 
Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must be 250 
Or gather'd ripe, or rot upon the tree. 
Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late, 
Some lucky revolution of their fate : 
Whose motions if we watch and guide with skill, 
(For human good depends on human will,) 255 
Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent, 
And from the first impression takes the bent : 
But, if unseized, she glides away like wind, 
And leaves repenting folly far behind. 
Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize, 2C0 
And spreads her locks before her as she flies. 
Had thus old David, from whose loins you spriug, 
Not dared when fortune call'd liim to be king, 
At Gath an exile he might still remain, 
And Heaven's anointing oil had been in vain. ^ 



Ver. 227. Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.] To this 
alliteration we may not unaptly apply the observation 
of the acute Dr. Clarke, in au alliterative passage in 
Homer :— 

Xyvro xaita/ %oAa3sV Rem turpem consulta verborum 
zazc^wlu. depingit. Ita Virgilius, belli civilis horrorem ; 

" Neu patna> validas in viscera vertite vires." 

JEn. vi. 833. 

lie uses this line again in The Bind and Panther,ver.211. 
John Warton. 

Ver. 230. Auspicious prince,] All the most powerful 
topics that could be, urged to kindle the latent sparks of 
ambition in a vain, young, spirited, unprincipled prince, 
are here brought together, placed in the must striking light, 
and so placed as each to strengthen the foregoing one with 
matchless dexterity and art; so that here appears what 
Dr. Johnson calls the predominant talent of our poet, Ratio- 
cination. In line 299, Drydon, like a true abject flatterer 
of despotic power, thought he depreciated the doctrine of a | 
limited monarchy, by putting a commendation of it in tho : 
mouth of Shaftesbury. Dr. J. Warton. 

— whose extended wand 



Ver. 234. 

Divides the seas, and shows the promised land:] 

First edition : — 

whose extended wand 

Shuts up tho seas, and shews the promised land. 

Ver. 2G1. And spreads her loch* before her as she JHc3.\ 
First edition. Derrick incorrectly has — 

And spreads her locks before yon as she flies 



54 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Let his successful youth your hopes engage ; 
But shun the example of declining age : 
Behold him setting in his western skies, 
The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise. 
He is not now, as when on Jordan's sand %° 

The joyful people throng'd to see him land, 
Covering the beach, and blackening all the strand ; 
But, like the prince of angels, from his height 
Comes tumbling downward with diminish'd light : 
Betray'd by one poor plot to public scorn : 275 
(Our only blessing since his cursed return :) 
Those heaps of people which one sheaf did bind, 
Blown off and scatter'd by a puff of wind. 
What strength can he to your designs oppose, 
Naked of friends and round beset with foes ] 280 
If Pharaoh's doubtful succour he should use, 
A foreign aid would more incense the Jews : 
Proud Egypt would dissembled friendship bring ; 
Foment the war, but not support the king : 
Nor would the royal party e'er unite 2S5 

With Pharaoh's arms to assist the Jebusite ; 
Or if they should, their interest soon would break, 
And with such odious aid make David weak. 
All sorts of men by my successful arts, 
Abhorring kings, estrange their alter'd hearts 290 
From David's rale : and 'tis their general cry, 
Religion, commonwealth, and liberty. 
If you, as champion of the public good, 
Add to their arms a chief of royal blood, 
What may not Israel hope, and what applause 295 
Might such a general gain by such a cause 1 
Not barren praise alone, that gaudy flower 
Fair only to the sight, but solid power : 
And nobler is a limited command, 
Given by the love of all your native land, 300 

Than a successive title, long and dark, 
Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's ark. 

What cannot praise effect in mighty minds, 
When flattery soothes, and when ambition blinds ? 
Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed, 305 

Yet sprang from high is of celestial seed : 
In God 'tis glory ; and when men aspire, 
'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire. 
Tbo ambitious youth too covetous of fame, 
Too full of angel's mettle in his frame, 310 

Unwarily was led from virtue's ways, 
Made drunk with honour, and debauch'd with 

praise. 
Half loth, and half consenting to the ill, 
For royal blood within him struggled still, 
He thus replied. — And what pretence have I 315 
To take up arms for public liberty? 



Ver. 272. Covering the beach, and blackening all the strand ;] 
Tins latter expression Pope lias adopted : 

" While the long funerals blacken all the way." 

John Warton. 

Ver. 291. ■ and 'tis their general cry,"] First edi- 
tion : and 'tis the general cry. 

Yer. 314. For royal blood] First edition : loyal. 

Ver. 315. And what pretence have I] The seem- 
ing reluctance of Monmouth, not yet totally depraved, to 
comply with the dangerous advice of his seducer, his pro- 
fessions of affection, loyalty, and respect for his father, to 
whom he fondly ascribes many virtues and excellencies, and 
gratitude for favours received from him, all these circum- 
stances are ably and judiciously painted, and the break in 
his speech at line 347, where he comes to mention the 
Duke of York as successor to the crown, is particularly 
artful. As is the wish at line 363, that fate had given his 
mind another turn, and fortune made him either greater 
or meaner. Dr. J. Warton. 



My father governs with unquestion'd right ; 

The faith's defender, and mankind's delight ; 

Good, gracious, just, observant of the laws ; 319 

And Heaven by wonders has espoused his cause. 

Whom has he wrong'd in all his peaceful reign 1 

Who sues for justice to his throne in vain 1 

What millions has he pardon'd of his foes, 

Whom just revenge did to his wrath expose ! 

Mild, easy, humble, studious of our good ; 3!s 

Inclined to mercy, and averse from blood. 

If mildness ill with stubborn Israel suit, 

His crime is God's beloved attribute. 

What could he gain his people to betray, 

Or change his right for arbitrary sway 1 33 ° 

Let haughty Pharaoh curse with such a reign 

His fruitful Nile, and yoke a servile train. 

If David's rule Jerusalem displease, 

The dog-star heats their brains to this disease. 3ss 

Why then should I, encouraging the bad, 

Turn rebel and ran popularly mad? 

Were he a tyrant, who by lawless might 

Oppress'd the Jews and raised the Jebusite, 

Well might I mourn ; but nature's holy bands 

Would curb my spirits and restrain my hands : 340 

The people might assert their liberty ; 

But what was right in them were crime in me. 

His favour leaves me nothing to require, 

Prevents my wishes, and out-runs desire ; 

What more can I expect while David lives 1 Mi 

All but his kingly diadem he gives : 

And that — But there he paused; then sighing, 

said — 
Is justly destined for a worthier head. 
For when my father from his toils shall rest, 
And late augment the number of the blest, 35C 
His lawful issue shall the throne ascend, 
Or the collateral line, where that shall end. 
His brother, though oppress'd with vulgar spite, 
Yet dauntless, and secure of native right, 
Of every royal virtue stands possess'd ; 35,r ' 

Still dear to all the bravest and the bast. 
His courage foes, his friends his truth proclaim; 
His loyalty the king, the world his fame. 
His mercy e'en the offending crowd will find ; 
For sure he comes of a forgiving kind. 3CC 

Why should I then repine at Heaven's decree, 
Which gives me no pretence to royalty ? 
Yet oh that fate, propitiously inclined, 
Had raised my birth, or had debased my mind ; 
To my large soul not all her treasure lent, 365 

And then betray'd it to a mean descent ! 
I find, I find my mounting spirits bold, 
And David's part disdains my mother's mold. 
Why am I scanted by a niggard birth ? 
My soul disclaims the kindred of her earth ; 3 '° 
And, made for empire, whispers me within, 
Desire of greatness is a god-like sin. 

Him staggering so, when hell's dire agent found, 
While fainting virtue scarce maintain'd her ground, 
He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies : 3;ra 

The eternal God, supremely good and wise, 



Ver. 367. I find, I find my mounting spirits bold,] He 
had his eye on Virgil's Nisus and Euryalus. 

- aliqiiid jam dudum invadere magnum 



Mens agitat mihi, nee placida contenta quiete est." 

But the repetition I find, more strongly reminds us of 

" Est hie, est animus lucis contemptor." 

John Warton. 






ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Imparts not these prodigious gifts in vain : 
What wonders are reserved to bless your reign ! 
Against your will your arguments have shown, 
Such virtue's only given to guide a throne. 380 
Hot that your father's mildness I contemn; 
But manly force becomes the diadem. 
"f is true he grants the people all they crave ; 
And more perhaps, than subjects ought to have : 
For lavkh grants suppose a monarch tame, 3b5 
And more his goodness than his wit proclaim. 
But when should people strive their bonds to 

break, 
If not when kings are negligent or weak 1 
Let him give on till he can give no more, 
The thrifty Sanhedi-im shall keep him poor; 33 ° 
And every shekel, which he can receive, 
Shall cost a limb of his prerogative. 
To ply him with new plots shall be my care; 
Or plunge him deep in some expensive war ; 
Which when his treasure can no more supply, 3% 
He must, with the remains of kingship, buy 
His faithful friends, our jealousies and fears 
Call Jebusites, and Pharaoh's pensioners ; 
Whom when our fury from his aid has torn, 
He shall be naked left to public scorn. 40 ° 

The next successor, whom I fear and hate, 
My arts have mado obnoxious to the state ; 
Turn'd all his virtues to his overthrow, 
And gain'd our elders to pronounce a foe. 
His right, for sums of necessary gold, 4M 

Shall first be pawn'd, and afterwards be sold ; 
Till time shall ever-wanting David draw, 
To pass your doubtful title into law ; 
If not, the people have a right supreme 
To make their kings; for kings are made for 

them. 41 ° 

All empire is no more than power in trust, 
Which, when resumed, can be no longer just. 
Succession, for the general good design'd, 
In its own wrong a nation cannot bind : 
If altering that the people can relieve, 4l5 

Better one suffer than a nation grieve. 
The Jews well know their power : ere Saul they 

chose, 
Qod was their king, and God they durst depose. 

now your piety, your filial name, 
A father's right, and fear of future fame ; 4M 

The public good, that universal call, 
To which e'en Heaven submitted, answers all. 
Nor let his love enchant your generous mind; 
Tis nature's trick to propagate her kind. 
Our fond begetters, who would never die, 4M 

Love but themselves in their posterity. 

et his kindness by the effects be tried, 
Or let him lay his vain pretence aside. 

aid, ho loved your father; could he bring 
A better proof, than to anoint him king? 43 ° 

It surely show'd he loved the shepherd well, 
Who gave so fair a flock as Israel. 



Ver.411. All empire] He thinks be sufficiently exposes 

this notion of the origin and end of government, by putting 

•i mouth of a seeming profligate politician. Yet 

i on was hc-ld by Ilooksr, by Locke, and lloadly, 

any otber rational writers on government. And bis 
or was of a contrary opinion, saying, 

" Tb' enormous faitb of many made for one." 

Dr. J. Wauton. 

Vflr.416. Brttrr one suffer than a nation grieved First 
edition: million. 



Would David have 3 T ou thought his darling son ? 
What means he then to alienate the crown ! 
The name of godly he may blush to bear : 435 

Is 't after God's own heart to cheat his heir f 
He to his brother gives supreme command, 
To you a legacy of barren land ; 
Perhaps the old harp, on which he thrums his lays, 
Or some dull Hebrew ballad in your praise. 4)u 
Then the next heir, a prince severe and wise, 
Already looks on you with jealous eyes ; 
Sees through the thin disguises of your arts, 
And marks your progress in the people's hearts ; 
Though now his mighty soul its grief contains : 
He meditates revenge who least complains ; 446 
And like a lion, slumbering in the way, 
Or sleep dissembling, while he waits his prey, 
His fearless foes within his distance draws, 
Constrains his roaring, and contracts his paws ; 
Till at the last, his time for fury found, 451 

He shoots with sudden vengeance from the 

ground ; 
The prostrate vulgar passes o'er and spares, 
But with a lordly rage his hunters tears. 
Your case no tame expedients will afford : 455 
Resolve on death, or conquest by the sword, 
Which for no less a stake than life you draw ; 
And self-defence is nature's eldest law. 
Leave the warm people no considering time : 
For then rebellion may be thought a crime. 40u 
Avail yourself of what occasion gives, 
But try your title while your father lives : 
And that your arms may have a fair pretence, 
Proclaim you take them in the king's defence ; 
Whose sacred life each minute would expose 46S 
To plots, from seeming friends, and secret foes. 
And who can sound the depth of David's soul 1 
Perhaps his fear his kindness may control. 
He fears his brother, though he loves his son, 
For plighted vows too late to be undone. 47 ° 

If so, by force he wishes to be gain'd : 
Like women's lechery to seem constrain'd. 
Doubt not : but, when he most affects the frown, 
Commit a pleasing rape upon the crown. 
Secure his person to secure your cause : 475 

They who possess the prince possess the laws. 

He said, and this advice above the rest, 
With Absalom's mild nature suited best ; 
Unblamed for life, ambition set aside, 
Not stain'd with cruelty, nor puff 'd with pride. 4S0 
How happy had he been, if destiny 
Had higher placed his birth, or not so high ! 
His kingly virtues might have claim'd a throne 
And bless'd all other countries but his own. 
But charming greatness since so few 7 refuse, 485 
'Tis juster to lament him than accuse. 
Strong were his hopes a rival to remove, 
With blandishments to gain the public love : 



Vcr. 4.1G. Is't after God's own heart to cheat his heir t) I 
The first edition has — 

'1'is after God's own heart to cheat his heir. tffanixih- 

Vex. 447. And like a lion,'] These lines are some of the 
most highly-finished and animated of any in Che whole 
piece. But is not Shaftesbury, by introducing this fine 
simile in bis speech to Monmouth, as much too great a 
poet, as ./Eneas is in the comparisons he lias introduced in 
liis narration to Dido in the second and third books of the 
^'Kneid? Dr. J. WABTON. 

Ver. 461. Avail yourself of what occasion giivs,\ First 
edition: Prevail &c. 



5« 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



To head the faction while their zeal was hot, 
And popularly prosecute the plot. 490 

To further this, Achitophel unites 
The malcontents of all the Israelites : 
Whose differing parties he could wisely join, 
For several ends, to serve the same design. 
The best, and of the princes some were such, 495 
"Who thought the power of monarchy too much ; 
Mistaken men, and patriots in their hearts ; 
Not wicked, but seduced by impious arts. 
By these the springs of property were bent, 4 " 
And wound so high, they crack'd the government. 
The next for interest sought to embroil the 

state, 
To sell their duty at a dearer rate ; 
And make their Jewish markets of the throne ; 
Pretending public good to serve their own. 
Others thought kings an useless heavy load, 505 
Who cost too much, and did too little good. 
These were for laying honest David by, 
On principles of pure good husbandry. 
With them join'd all the haranguers of the throng, 
That thought to get preferment by the tongue. 6i0 
Who follow next a double danger bring, 
Not only hating David, but the king ; 
The Solymsean rout ; well versed of old, 
In godly faction, and in treason bold ; 
Cowering and quaking at a conqueror's sword, 615 
But lofty to a lawful prince restored ; 
Saw with disdain an Ethnic plot begun, 
And scorn'd by Jebusites to be outdone. 
Hot Levites headed these ; who pull'd before 
Prom the ark, which in the Judges' days they 

bore, ' 62 ° 

Resumed their cant, and with a zealous cry, 
Pursued their old beloved Theocracy : 
Where Sanhedrim and priest enslaved the nation, 
And justified their spoils by inspiration : 
For who so fit to reign as Aaron's race, 625 

If once dbminion they could found in graccf ! 
These led the pack ; though not of surest scent, 
Yet deepest mouth'd against the government. 
A numerous host of dreaming saints succeed, 
Of the true old enthusiastic breed : 63 ° 

'Gainst form and order they their power employ, 
Nothing to build, and all things to destroy. 
But far more numerous was the herd of such, 
Who think too little, and who talk too much. 
These out of mere instinct, they knew not why, 
Adored their fathers' God and property; 536 

And by the same blind benefit of fate, 
The devil and the Jebusite did hate : 
Bom to be saved, even in their own despite, 
Because they could not help believing right. 64!) 
Such were the tools : but a whole Hydra more 
Eemains of sprouting heads too long to score. 
Some of their chiefs were princes of the land ; 
In the first rank of these did Zimri stand ; 



Ver. 525. For who so fit to reign as Aaron's race,"] In the 
first edition : 

For who so fit for reign as Aaron's race. 

Ver. 544. In the first rank] It will be difficult to find in 
Horace, Boileau, or Pope, any portrait drawn with such 
truth and spirit as this of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. 
Pope entered the lists with his master, hut has not come 
up to the vigour, the variety of follies enumerated, the 
nice discriminations of foibles and weaknesses, the tone 
of pleasantry and contempt, the contrarieties and incon- 
sistencies, enumerated by Dryden. These lines were 
intended as a payment in full, for the bitter, but deserved 
natire of the Rehearsal, acted about nine years before 



A man so various, that he seem'd to be 
Not one, but all mankind's epitome : 
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong ; 
Was every thing by starts, and nothing long ; 



Whether Bayes or Zimri be placed in the more ridiculous 
light, I will not determine. But undoubtedly, the very 
unnatural and forced sentiments, the fustian and bombast 
language, the inartificial plots, the absurd situations, and 
total want of decorum in our author's plays, are exposed 
in the Rehearsal with much good manly sense and sound 
criticism. And I cannot but be surprised that Dr. John- 
son should speak of this piece in so contemptuous a 
manner, calling it a mere farce, and wondering it should 
be thought the production of several wits united in the 
scheme. But Dryden was so much his favourite, hat he 
has endeavoured to palliate many of his faults, and almost 
to defend his rhyme-tragedies, saying, "that we know 
not the effect it might have on the passions of an audi- 
ence; but it has this convenience, that sentences stand 
more independent on each other, and striking passages 
are therefore easily selected and retained. Thus the 
description of night in the Indian Emperor, and the Rise 
and Fall of Empire in the Conquest of Granada, are more 
frequently repeated than any lines in All for Love, or 
Don Sebastian." "Woe to that tragedy whose merit depends 
on striking detached passages, on select sentences, and 
florid descriptions I Dr. J. Warton. 



Ibid. 



- Zimri 



A man so various, that he seem'd to he 
Not one, but all mankind's epitome :] 



Was drawn for G eorge Villiers, who succeeded to the title, 
of Duke of Buckingham, on the death of his father, who 
was murdered by Felton. " He had some wit, great 
vivacity, was the minister of riot, the slave of intem- 
perance, a pretended atheist, without honour, principle, 
economy, or discretion." He had a fine person, and the 
women deemed him handsome; he was capricious and 
sarcastic ; sung well ; told a story very facetiously ; 
mimicked the failings of others admirably ; and possessed 
strong powers for ridicule ; versified with ease ; but knew 
all his accomplishments, and foiled them by his intole- 
rable vanity. He had shared in the King's exile, and 
coming into possession of more than 20,000!. per annum, 
at the Restoration, was a great favourite. In 1666 it was 
discovered that he had endeavoured to stir up such of 
the people that were ill-disposed to the government, 
because he had been refused the trust of President of the 
North. In the following year he made his peace at court, 
and became a member of the Cabal, which was made up 
of five ministers, in whom alone the King for some time 
confided, and who led him into measures that were pro- 
ductive of all the uneasiness he afterwards sustained. 
In 1675 he became a favourer of the Nonconformists ; and 
in the affairs of the Popish plot, and bill of exclusion, 
stuck close to Shaftesbury, and, with all his strength and 
influence, opposed the court. Having at length squan- 
dered away almost all his immense fortune, with the 
acquisition of an infamous character, he departed this 
life in 1687, lamented by nobody, according to Wood, at 
his house in Yorkshire ; but Pope says he died in the 
utmost misery, in a remote inn in Yorkshire, having run 
through a fortune of 50,000!. a year, and been possessed 
of some of the highest posts in the kingdom. 

" In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung, 
The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung ; 
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, 
With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw, 
The George and Garter dangling from that bed, 
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red ; 
Great Villiers lies, alas ! how changed from him, 
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim, 
Gallant and gay, in Cliefden's proud alcove, 
The bower of wanton Shrewsbury, and love : 
Or just as gay at council, in a ring 
Of mimick'd statesmen, and a merry king. 
No wit to flatter left, of all his store ! 
No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. 
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, 
And fame ; this lord of useless thousands ends." 

His grace was the author of several pieces of entertain- 
ment, but particularly the Rehearsal ; the Bayes of which 
he intended for Dryden, who has fully avenged himself in 
the character of Zimri, with this advantage, that the 
picture is an exact resemblance. Derrick. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



57 



But, in the course of one revolving moon, M9 

Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon : 
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, 
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 
Blest madman, who could every hour employ, 
With something new to wish, or to enjoy ! 
Railing and praising were his usual themes ; 5m 
And both, to show his judgment, in extremes : 
So over violent, or over civil, 
That every man with him was God or Devil. 
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art : 
Nothing went unrewarded but desert. M0 

Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late ; 
He had his jest, and they had his estate. 
He laugh'd himself from court ; then sought relief 
By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief : 
For, spite of him, the weight of business fell 6M 
On Absalom, and wise Achitophel : 
Thus, wicked, but in will, of means bereft, 
He left no faction, but of that was left. 

Titles and names 'twere tedious to rehearse 
Of lords, below the dignity of verse. 5 "° 

Wits, warriors, commonwealth's-men, were the 

best : 
Kind husbands, and mere nobles, all the rest. 
And therefore, in the name of dulness, be 
The well-hung Balaam and cold Caleb free : 
And canting Nadab let oblivion damn, 5 " 5 

Who made new porridge for the paschal lamb. 



Ver. 550. Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon :] 

" Schtenobates, augur, medicus, magus, omnia novit." 
John Warton. 

Vcr. 569. Titles and names'] Fourscore years ago it 
might have been interesting and entertaining to have 
known the particular histories of the persons here enume- 
rated. Who inquires anything relating to Balaam, who 
was the Earl of Huntingdon ; to Nadab, Lord Howard of 
Escrick ; to bull-faced Jonas, meaning Sir William Jones, 
a great lawyer of his time, and mentioned by Burnet as 
having refused the great seal ; to SJiimei, who was Slingsby 
Bethel, Esq., famous for his avarice, of whom our poet 
says coarsely, 

" Cool was his kitchen, though his brains were hot." 
The only person of whom we wish to know more was Caleb, 
who was Ford, Lord Grey, whose memoirs are very curious. 
Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 574. cold Caleb] Lord Grey, who was child- 
less — MS. Note by Mr. Luttrell. M alone. 

Ver. 575. And canting Nadab let oblivion damn, 

Who made new porridge for the paschal lamb.] 
Nadab is Lord Howard of Escrick, who took the sacra- 
ment in lambswool. — MS. Note by Mr. Luttrell. Malone. 
Ford, Lord Grey of Work, was strongly attached to the 
Duke of Monmouth, a zealous promoter of Lord Shaftes- 
bury's measures, and a constant opponent of the court, 
lb- was a smooth talker, possessed of a large estate, both 
which accomplishments gave him influence among the 
people. Being concerned in the Ryehouse-plot, he was 
arrested, and examined before the Privy-council, who 

red him to the Tower; but when the messenger, who 
had the care of him, brought him thither, the gates were 
shut, it being late, and they could not get in ; so that 
they spent the whole night together, and drank pretty 
freely. In the morning they came to the Tower again 
very early, the doors not being as yet opened ; and his 
keeper, who was very drunk, falling asleep, he turned 
flown towards the wharf, and, taking oars, got off to 
Holland. Here he joined his old friend Monmouth, whom 
be contributed to spirit up to the rebellion in the ensuing 
Mign, that brought that unhappy nobleman to the block. 

The duke is said to have relied much upon him to very 
little purpose ; for he was charged with having made a 
poor ami cowardly figure at Sedgemore, where he headed 
the duke's cavalry, which was, by his dastardly behaviour, 

iwn into contusion, and the King's forces obtained a 
complete victory. Lord Grey was taken at Holtbridgfl in 



Let friendship's holy band some names assure ; 
Some their own worth, and some let scorn secure. 
Nor shall the rascal rabble here have place, 67 ' J 
Whom kings no titles gave, and God no grace : 
Not bull-faced Jonas, who could statutes draw 
To mean rebellion, and make treason law. 
But he, though bad, is follow'd by a worse, 
The wretch who Heaven's anointed dared to curse ; 
Shirnei, whose youth did early promise bring 585 
Of zeal to God and hatred to his king ; 



a shepherd's habit; and the duke himself was soon after 
seized in a ditch, disguised like a peasant, with a few 
peas in his pocket; neither of them behaved with com- 
posure or equanimity, and both were brought prisoners 
together to London. Monmouth's fate has been already 
taken notice of, but Lord Grey's life was saved by a 
proper application of several sums of money ; Lord 
Rochester having touched 16,00OZ. He was, besides, mean 
enough to confess every thing that he knew relative to 
Monmouth, or his designs, and even appeared as an evi- 
dence against several persons : however, he had before 
stipulated for their lives. 

Lord Howard was bred up in republican principles ; he 
was a professed enemy to monarchical government, stuck 
fast to all Shaftesbury's seditious undertakings, and was 
very active in promoting riots, and opposing the Tory 
interest in the City. He had been committed to the 
Tower for endeavouring to persuade Fitz-Harris, who was 
tried for being concerned in a seditious libel, to accuse 
the King, Queen, and Duke, of some designs against the 
people's liberty ; and was actually engaged so far in the 
Kyehouse-plot as to have listened to a scheme proposed 
for murdering the King. Lord Kussel and some other 
men of honour, linked in this conspiracy, knew of nothing 
but a design of securing his royal person, till such time 
as they should have obtained from him a certainty of the 
support and firm establishment of the Protestant religion, 
which these patriots, not without reason, supposed to be 
in some danger. 

A warrant being issued out against him on this account, 
he was found hid in a chimney in his own house, and when 
dragged down, behaved in the most contemptible manner, 
bewailing his misfortune with tears, promising to reveal 
every thing he knew ; and he kept his word, being used 
as a witness against the good Lord Kussel, and many 
other people in great estimation : nor did the succeeding 
reign excuse his being still called upon to do their dirty 
work, a drudgery of which he complained in heavy terms. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 576. Who made new porridge] I have avoided in 
these remarks the irksome, and, perhaps, useless task, of 
pointing out, from time to time, the many vulgar, 
familiar, flat, coarse, and prosaic expressions, into which 
our author so frequently and unexpectedly falls, in the 
midst of passages remarkably beautiful : 

" medio de fonte leporum 

Surgit amari aliquid." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 581. ■ — - — Jonas, who could statutes draw] Sir 
William Jones. He drew the Habeas Corpus Act. — MS. 
Luttrell. Malone. 

Ver. 585. Shirnei, whose youth did early promise bring 
In the first edition : 

Shirnei, whose early youth did promise bring 
Ibid. Shirnei, whose youth did early promise bring 
Of zeal to God and hatred to his king ;] 
Shirnei, Slingsby Bethel, Esq., by poll chosen one of the 
sheriffs for the city of London, on Midsummer-day, 1680, 
was a zealous fanatic, and had been formerly one of the 
Committee of Safety ; however, to render himself fit for 
his olhce, he received the sacrament, and renounced the 
covenant, but not his factious principles. Burnet calls 
him a man of knowledge, and says he wrote a learned 
book about the interest of princes; but that his miserable 
way of living, and miserly disposition, was very preju- 
dicial to his party, and rendered him disagreeable to 
every body. 

When the King, as usual in such cases, bad changed 
Lmd Stafford's sentence from hanging to beheading, he 
offlciously and impudently petitioned the House of Com- 
mons, to know whether Bach a right was vested In the 
King? And he and bis colleague, Henry Cornish, tam- 
pered with Fitz-Harris, while in Newgate, about intro- 
ducing the names of the King, the Queen, or the Duke 



58 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Did wisely from expensive sins refrain, 

And never broke the sabbath, but for gain : 

Nor ever was he known an oath to vent, 

Or curse, unless against the government. 590 

Thus heaping wealth, by the most ready way 

Among the Jews, which was to cheat and pray : 

The city, to reward his pious hate 

Against his master, chose him magistrate. 

His hand a vare of justice did uphold ; 595 

His neck was loaded with a chain of gold. 

During his office treason was no crime ; 

The sons of Belial had a glorious time : 

For Shimei, though not prodigal of pelf, 

Yet loved his wicked neighbour as himself. m 

When two or three were gather'd to declaim 

Against the monarch of Jerusalem, 

Shimei was always in the midst of them : 

And if they cursed the king when he was by, 

Would rather curse than break good company. 6M 

If any durst his factious friends accuse, 

He pack'd a jury of dissenting Jews ; 

Whose fellow-feeling in the godly cause 

Would free the suffering saint from human laws. 

For laws are only made to punish those 610 

Who serve the king, and to protect his foes. 

If any leisure time he had from power, 

(Because 'tis sin to misemploy an hour,) 

His business was, by writing to persuade, 

That kings were useless, and a clog to trade : 615 

And, that his noble style he might refine, 

No Rechabite more shunn'd the fumes of wine. 

Chaste were his cellars, and his shrieval board 

The grossness of a city feast abhorr'd : 

His cooks with long disuse their trade forgot ; 620 

Cool was his kitchen, though his brains were hot. 



as concerned in the Popish plot ; and promising him, in 
case he could only trump up a formal story to that pur- 
pose, not only his life, but restitution of his estate, "Which 
had been forfeited in the Irish rebellion, for Fitz-Harris 
was an Irish Roman Catholic 

Cornish was a plain-spoken honest republican, who 
temporised for the good of his party ; he was unjustly 
accused, in 1685, of high treason, and hurried out of the 
world without being allowed time sufficient to prepare for 
his defence, for he was tried, condemned, and executed, in 
a week; but King James was shortly after so well con- 
vinced of his innocence, that he restored his estate to his 
family, and condemned the two witnesses that had appeared 
against him, Colonel Eumsey and Goodenough the 
attorney, to perpetual imprisonment. Derrick. 

Ver. 594. Against his master, chose him magistrate^] Sheriff. 
—MS. Luttrell. Malone. 

Ver. 595. His hand a vare of justice did uphold ;] Doubts 
have been entertained concerning the word vare in this 
line, which some persons have supposed an error of the 
press ; and Derrick substituted vase for it. But the text 
is perfectly correct, and vare is the true reading; the 
meaning of which uncommon word is ascertained by the 
following passage in Howell's Letters, p. 161, edit. 1728, 
which has been communicated by James Boswell, of the 
Inner Temple, Esq. 

" He [the Spaniard] is wonderfully obedient to govern- 
ment ; for the proudest Don of Spain, when he is prancing 
upon his ginet in the street, if an alguazil (a Serjeant) 
show him his vare, that is, a little white staffe he carrieth 
as a badge of his office, my Don will presently off his 
horse, and yield himself his prisoner." 

Vara in Spanish signifies a wand. In a note on one of 
Dryden's Prose Pieces, Mr. Malone has observed, that he 
was a great reader of Spanish authors. 

Ver. 614. His business was, by writing to ■persuade, &c] 
See his " Interest of the several Protestant Powers." — MS. 
Note by Mr. Luttrell. Malone. 

Ver 618. Chaste were his cellars, and his shrieval board, 
&c] He kept a very poor and scandalous shrievalty.— 
MS. Note by Mr. Luttrell. Malone. 



Such frugal virtue malice may accuse ; 

But sure 'twas necessary to the Jews : 

For towns, once burnt, such magistrates require 

As dare not tempt God's providence by fire. 62S 

With spiritual food he fed his servants well, 

But free from flesh that made the Jews rebel : 

And Moses' laws he held in more account, 

For forty days of fasting in the mount. 

To speak the rest who better are forgot, ^ 

Would tire a well-breathed witness of the plot. 

Yet Corah, thou sbalt from oblivion pass ; 

Erect thyself, thou monumental brass, 

High as the serpent of thy metal made, 

While nations stand secure beneath thy shade. 635 

What, though his birth were base, yet comets 

rise 
From earthly vapours, ere they shine in skies. 
Prodigious actions may as well be done 
By weaver's issue, as by prince's son. 
This arch-attestor for the public good 
By that one deed ennobles all his blood. 
Who ever ask'd the witness's high race, 
Whose oath with martyrdom did Stephen grace 1 
Ours was a Levite, and as times went then, 
His tribe were God Almighty's gentlemen. Mb 

Sunk were his eyes, his voice was harsh and loud, 
Sure signs he neither choleric was, nor proud : 
His long chin proved his wit ; his saint-like grace 
A church-vermilion, and a Moses' face. 
His memory, miraculously great, 650 

Could plots, exceeding man's belief, repeat ; 
Which therefore cannot be accounted lies, 
For human wit could never such devise. 
Some future truths are mingled in his book ; 
But where the witness fail'd, the prophet spoke : 
Some things like visionary flights appear ; 656 

The spirit caught him up, the Lord knows where; 
And gave him his rabbinical degree, 
Unknown to foreign university. 
His judgment yet his memory did excel; 66 ° 

Which pieced his wonderous evidence so well, 
And suited to the temper of the times, 
Then groaning under Jebusitic crimes. 



Ver. 632. Yet Corah,'] This was Titu3 Oates, the in- 
former of the execrable Popish plot, which was so loaded 
with absurdities and inconsistencies, that to have believed 
it, is a lasting disgrace to the people of this country. He 
was himself the most infamous of men ; and among other 
crimes, had been indicted for perjury; and been expelled 
from a chaplainship in the fleet on complaint of some 
unnatural practices. So ample an account has been given 
of the intended murders, massacres, and cruelties, by 
Burnet, Echard, North, and Hume, that they need not, 
and cannot, be detailed in this place, and are, indeed, suf- 
ficiently known. Oates for his discovery was by the 
parliament recommended to the King, was lodged in 
Whitehall, and protected by guards, and had a pension of 
1200?. a year. But in the succeeding reign, 1685, this 
abandoned villain was convicted of the most atrocious 
perjury, on the fullest and clearest evidence, was fined a 
thousand marks on each of two indictments, and sentenced 
to be whipped on two different days from Aldgate to New- 
gate, to be imprisoned for life, and to be pilloried five times 
every year. All this he survived, and in the succeeding 
reign obtained a pension of 2002. a year. Dr. J. "Warton. 

Ver. 637. From earthly vapours] Earthy, first edition. 

Ver. 639. By weaver's issue, &c] Titus Oates was the 
son of a weaver. — MS. Note by Mr. Luttrell. Malone. 

Ver. 656. Some things like visionary flights appear ;] 
First edition. Derrick has flight. 

Ver. 659. UnJcnoion to foreign university.] He pretended 
to have taken a degree at Salamanca. — MS. Nole by 
Mr. Luttrell. Malone 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



59 



Let Israel's foes suspect his heavonly call, 

And rashly judge his writ apocryphal ; 60S 

Our laws for such affronts have forfeits made : 

He takes his life who takes away his trade. 

Were I myself in witness Corah's place, 

The wretch who did me such a dire disgrace, 

Should whet my memory, though once forgot, 6?0 

To make him an appendix; of my plot. 

11 is zeal to Heaven made him his prince despise, 

And load his person with indignities. 

Hut zeal peculiar privilege affords, 

Indulging latitude to deeds aud words : 6 ' 5 

And Corah might for Agag's murder call, 

Li terms as coarse as Samuel used to Saul. 

What others in his evidence did join, 

The best that could be had for love or coin, 



Ver. 676. And Corah might for Agag's murder mil,] 
Agag, sir Edmondbury Godfrey, a justice of peace, before 
whom Gates had made his first deposition, and who was, 
Boon alter, found murdered in a ditch near Primrose-hill, 
on the road to llampstead, his sword being run quite 
through his body, without any effusion of blood. This was 

d ■, as it was supposed, with a view to make people 

think he had murdered himself; whereas, in fact, his 
death was occasioned by strangling, a broad livid mark 
being plain round his neck, which was broken, and his 
breast bruised in several places, as if he had been kneeled 
or trampled upon. His gloves and cane lay near him, his 
■hoes were clean, and his money untouched. It is very 
surprising that his murderers were never discovered, 
though Bedloe, an infamous wretched incendiary, swore 
the crime against two or three innocent people, who suf- 
fered death. The Earl of Shaftesbury took prodigious 
pains to force some unhappy persons to swear it upon the 
PaplBts, offering them 5i)0l. reward, in case they acquiesced ; 
and menacing them in the severest manner, if they refused, 
lb' threatened one Mrs, Mary Gibbons, a relation of Sir 
Godfrey's, that she should be worried to death, as dogs 
worry cats, unless she confessed that Sir John Banks, 
Mr. l'epys, and Mr. De Puy, knew something of the 
murder : by his rude behaviour the woman was thrown 
Into fits, and her life endangered: he laboured hard to 
induce the two men who first found the corpse, to lay the 
murder upon some great Roman Catholic; but though 
they were both in mean circumstances, he could not pervert 
their honesty. Nor had he more success with Francis 
Carrol, an honest common hackney-coachman, whom some 
of his emissaries accused of having carried the corpse in 
his coach to the place in which it was found. Thio poor 
man was confined in Newgate near two months, loaded 
with irons, inclosed in a dungeon, the noisomeness of 
which «as contagious, and actually kept from Thursday 
to Sunday without victuals, in such misery, that he begged 
hard for a knife to end a wretched life, which he said he 
would rather forfeit than stain his soul with perjury. He 
was at length dismissed, after having given proofs of 
intimity, that would have done honour to the most refined 
understanding. 

The inconsistencies and contradictions of the witnesses, 

who [intended to know the circumstances of Sir Godfrey's 

death, sufficiently acquit the different persons who suffered 

up. m their testimony. Perhaps he was despatched in reality 

by sniiie zealous Papist, who feared that Oates's information 

might be prejudicial to the Catholic interest, and that the 

ce might be hereafter summoned as a secondary 

nee; or may be, it was perpetrated by the contrivers 

and inventors of the Popish plot, to throw the greater 

odium on the court, and the party they meant to ruin : if 

succeeded to admiration. 

i Edmondbury Godfrey was a man of a very good 

character, of a reserved melancholy turn of mind, an 

all pi i '.'.edition, and rather a protector than 

persecutor of Nonconformists. He had, with reluctance, 

received Oates's information. As to the report that pre- 

I of his having been murdered by the Papists, 

.-■ their violent enemy, it was without any manner of 

ii for he was upon good terms with the party in 

il. It has been affirmed, that he hanged himself in 

M house, and that his two brothers, who were his 

next hrii's, linil llir lioily conveyed abroad, and tin- sword 

run tlirough it, that so it might he thought he was 

■ i unfed, and the crown thereby prevented from seizing 

on his effects."— Burnot, Echard, Smollett. Demuck. 



In Corah's own predicament will fall : wo 

For witness is a common name to all. 

Surrounded thus with friends of every sort, 
Deluded Absalom forsakes the court : 
Impatient of high hopes, urged with renown, 
And fired with near possession of a crown. CS5 

The admiring crowd are dazzled with surprise, 
And on his goodly person feed their eyes. 
His joy conceal'd, he sets himself to show; 
On each side bowing popularly low : 
His looks, his gestures, aud his words he frames, 
And with familiar ease repeats their names. 691 
Thus form'd by nature, furnish'd out with arts, 
He glides unfelt into their secret hearts. 
Then, with a kind compassionating look, 
And sighs, bespeaking pity ere he spoke, C95 

Few words he said ; but easy those and fit, 
More slow than Hybla-drops, and far more sweet. 

I mourn, my countrymen, your lost estate ; 
Though far unable to prevent your fate : 
Behold a banish'd man for your dear cause '°° 
Exposed a prey to arbitrary laws ! 
Yet oh ! that I alone could be undone, 
Cut off from empire, and no more a son ! 
Now all your liberties a spoil are made ; 
Egypt and Tyrus intercept your trade, ' 05 

And Jebusites your sacred rites invade. 



Ver. 683. Deluded Alsalcmi] I intended to have pointed 
out, as we passed along, the art and dexterityof the poet 
in adapting the Scripture-story to his design; but the 
parallel is so broken and disjointed, and so imperfectly 
pursued, that I was forced to drop that design. 

Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 686. The admiring crowd are dazzled with surprise, 
And on his goodly person feed their eyes.] 

Here the poet describes the tour taken by the Duke of 
Monmouth after his return from Holland, without the 
King's leave, and with the advice of Shaftesbury, to whose 
counsels he had fatally resigned himself. This progress, 
he justly observes, though couched under the notion of its 
being made for hunting, and the diversions of the country, 
was, in reality, to try how the people stood affected; 
whether the suspicions against the Queen and the Duke of 
York were sufficiently inculcated, to give Monmouth an 
opportunity of mounting the throne, in case of the King's 
death; and his ambition he disguised under the specious 
pretences of his being the King's lawful son, whose right 
was suppressed to make way for an uncle's usurpation ; of 
his being the avowed champion of the Protestant religion, 
and the only one of the royal family who had the 
courage openly to declare himself an enemy to Popery and 
slavery. 

"With regard to the make and outward graces of Mon- 
mouth's person, says Grammont, nature never formed a 
man more complete. Every feature of his face had a 
peculiar delicacy, and altogether exhibited a countenance, 
beautiful without effeminacy, manly, yet not robust. II is 
body was finely formed : he was extremely agile, fenced 
admirably, and was one of the best horsemen of his time; 
but he had a soul very unequal to such a tenement. He 
had no sentiments of his own; his voice was pleasing; his 
manner of expressing himself captivating; but these 
accomplishments were used only to deliver the thoughts 
and words of other people. He was rash in his under- 
takings; irresolute and uncertain in the execution; abject 
and cowering in distress; he begged his life of James II. 
with tears in his eyes. That monarch treated his sorrow 
slightly; the queen insulted it. When he found he had 
no hopes of life, he assumed an air of philosophic calmness, 
and met death with indifference. He was brave in tho 
field, felt for the distresses of humanity, was kind to his 
inferiors, and naturally rery generous, withthese virtues 

he might have proved a friend to his country, and a pillar 
of the throne, had fortune thrown him into the hands of 
honest men ; for his ruin was owing to his connections, 
not to himself. DBBBIOK. 

Ver. 6SS. His joy conceatd,] First edition: Diasanlling 
joy. 



33 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



715 



My father, whom with reverence yet I name, 
Charm'd into ease, is careless of his fame ; 
And, bribed with petty sums of foreign gold, 
Is grown in Bathsheba's embraces old ; 
Exalts his enemies, his friends destroys: 
And all his power against himself employs. 
He gives, and let him give, my right away : 
But why should he his own and yours betray ? 
He, only he, can make the nation bleed, 
And he alone from my revenge is freed. 
Take then, my tears, (with that he wiped his eyes,) 
"Tis all the aid my present power supplies : 
No court-informer can these arms accuse ; 
These arms may sons against their fathers use : 
And 'tis my wish, the next successor's reign 721 
May make no other Israelite complain. 

Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail ; 
But common interest always will prevail : 
And pity never ceases to be shown 725 

. To him who makes the people's wrongs his own. 
The crowd, that still believe their kings oppress, 
With lifted hands their young Messiah bless : 
Who now begins his progress to ordain 
With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous train : 
From east to west his glories he displays, 731 

And, like the sun, the promised land surveys. 
Fame runs before him as the morning-star, 
And shouts of joy salute him from afar : 
Each house receives him as a guardian god, " 35 
And consecrates the place of his abode. 
But hospitable treats did most commend 
Wise Issachar, his wealthy western friend. 
This moving court, that caught the people's eyes, 
And seem'd but pomp, did other ends disguise : 
Achitophel had form'd it, with intent 741 

To sound the depths, and fathom where it went 
The people's hearts, distinguish friends from foes; 
And try their strength, before they came to blows. 
Yet all was coloui*'d with a smooth pretence 745 
Of specious love and duty to their prince. 
Religion, and redress of grievances, 
Two names that always cheat, and always please, 
Are often ui'ged ; and good king David's life 
Endanger'd by a brother and a wife. 7S0 

Thus in a pageant show a plot is made ; 
And peace itself is war in masquerade. 
Oh, foolish Israel ! never warn'd by ill ! 
Still the same bait, and circumvented still ! 
Did ever men forsake their present ease, 755 

In midst of health imagine a disease ; 
Take pains contingent mischiefs to foresee, 
Make heirs for monarchs, and for God decree ? 
What shall we think 1 Can people give away, 
Both for themselves and sons, their native sway 1 
Then they are left defenceless to the sword 761 
Of each unbounded, arbitrary lord : 

Ver. 723. Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail ;] 

" Tutatur favor Euryalum, lachrymrcque decorae, 

Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore virtus." 

John Warton. 

Ver. 738. wealthy western friend.'] Issachar 

was Thomas Thynne, Esq., ancestor of the Marquis of 
Bath, one of the most opulent commoners in the kingdom, 
and therefore usually called Tom of Ten Thousand. He 
had once heen a favourite of the Duke of York, hut he 
afterwards magnificently entertained the Duke of Mon- 
mouth and all his attendants, when he made a progress 
into the west, at his noble honse at Lougleat. 

Dr. J. "Warton. 
Ver. 742. To sound the depths,] First edition: To 
sound the depth. 



And laws are vain, by which we right enjoy, 
If kings unquestion'd can those laws destroy. 
Yet if the crowd be judge of fit and just, 
And kings are only officers in trust, 
Then this resuming covenant was declared 
When kings were made, or is for ever barr'd. 
If those who gave the sceptre could not tie 
By their own deed their own posterity, 770 

How then could Adam bind his future race ? 
How could his forfeit on mankind take place 1 
Or how could heavenly justice damn us all, 
Who ne'er consented to our father's fall 1 
Then kings are slaves to those whom they 
command, 77S 

And tenants to their people's pleasure stand. 
Add, that the power for property allow'd 
Is mischievously seated in the crowd : 
For who can be secure of private right, 
If sovereign sway may be dissolved by might? 7S0 
Nor is the people's judgment always true : 
The most may err as grossly as the few, 
And faultless kings run down by common cry, 
For vice, oppression, and for tyranny. 
What standard is there in a fickle rout, 78S 

Which, flowing to the mark, runs faster out ? 
Nor only crowds but Sanhedrims may be 
Infected with this public lunacy, 
And share the madness of rebellious times, 
To murder monarchs for imagined crimes. 79C 

If they may give and take whene'er they please, 
Not kings alone, the Godhead's images, 
But government itself at length must fall 
To nature's state, where all have right to all. 
Yet grant our lords the people kings can make, 795 
What prudent men a settled throne would shake ? 
For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before, 
That change they covet makes them suffer more. 
All other errors but disturb a state ; 
But innovation is the blow of fate. 
If ancient fabrics nod, and threat to fall, 
To patch their flaws, and buttress up the wall, 
Thus far 'tis duty : but here fix the mark : 
For all beyond it is to touch the ark. 
To change foundations, cast the frame anew, S05 
Is work for rebels, who base ends pursue ; 
At once divine and human laws control, ' 
And mend the parts by ruin of the whole. 
The tampering world is subject to this curse, 
To physic their disease into a worse. 810 

Now what relief can righteous David bring ? 
How fatal 'tis to be too good a king ! 
Friends he has few, so high the madness grows ; 
Who dare be such must be the people's foes. 
Yet some there were, e'en in the worst of days ; 
Some let me name, and naming is to praise. 815 

In this short file Barzillai first appears ; 
Barzillai, crown'd with honour and with years. 



Ver. 777. Add, that the power for property allow'd] In 
the first edition : 

That power which is for property allow'd. 

Ver. 802. To patch their flaws,] First edition : the flaws 

Ver. 804. For all beyond it is to touch the ark.] The first 
edition reads less elegantly, our ark. 

Ver. 817. In this short file] For honour, integrity, con- 
sistency, greatness of mind, benevolence, and justice, the 
Duke of Ormond, Barzillai, seems to he the very first and 
most eminent character that ever adorned the English 
nobility. Dr. J. Warton. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Gl 



Long since, the rising rebels he withstood 
In regions waste beyond the Jordan's flood : ta > 
Unfortunately brave to buoy the state ; 
But sinking underneath his master's fate : 
In exile with his godlike prince he mourn'd ; 
For him he sufi'er'd, and with him return'd. 
The court he practised, not the courtier's art : 825 
Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart ; 
Which well the noblest objects knew to choose, 
The fighting warrior, and recording muse. 
His bed could once a fruitful issue boast ; 
Now more than half a father's name is lost. ^ 
His eldest hope, with every grace adorn'd, 
By me, so Heaven will have it, always moum'd, 
And always honour'd, snatch'd in manhood's prime 
By unequal fates, and providence's crime ; 
Yet not before the goal of honour won, ^ 

All parts fulfill'd of subject and of son : 
Swift was the race, but short the.time to run. 
Oh, narrow circle, but of power divine, 
Scanted in space, but perfect in thy line ! 
By sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known, 
Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own : wl 
Thy force infused the fainting Tyrians propp'd : 
And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stopp'd. 
Oh, ancient honour ! Oh, unconquer'd hand, 
Whom foes unpunish'd never could withstand ! 
But Israel was unworthy of his name ; W6 

Short is the date of all immoderate fame. 
It looks as Heaven our ruin had design'd, 
And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind. 
Now, free from earth, thy disencumber'd soul S50 
Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and 
starry pole : 



Ver. 819. 



the rising rebels he withstood 



In regions waste beyond the Jordan's flood:"] 
The Duke of Ormond adhered zealously to the interest 
of his sovereign Charles I. in Ireland, where, being 
chief of a noble, ancient, and wealthy family, his power 
and influence were, as long as possible, exerted against 
thi! arms of Cromwell. But being at length obliged to 
yield to the necessity of the times, he quitted that kingdom, 
and accompanied King Charles II. in his exile. After the 
Restoration, he was at one and the same time lord lieu- 
tenant of Ireland, steward of the household, groom of the 
ml privy-councillor for the three kingdoms. Per- 
haps no man was ever better beloved, and no man deserved 
it better : he was liberal, brave, loyal, and sincere ; a friend 
to the constitution, and a protector of the Protestants. On 
tliis account he was no favourite in the succeeding reign, 
and died in retirement, without post or employment, July, 
leventy-nine. Derrick. 

Ver. 831. His eldest hope, with evert/ grace adorn'd,^ 

nas, Earl of Ossory, Baron Butler of More. Park by 

i Idest son of the aforesaid duke, and one of the most 

gallant noblemen of his time. He behaved with great 

bravery in the first Dutch war, under Sir Edward Spragg; 

and in the second was rear-admiral of the blue. He was a 

reoua warrior, a prudent counsellor, a dutiful son, a 

kind friend, a liberal patron, and a generous man. He died 

BnlverBally lamented in 1G80. Derrick. 

Ver.812. Thy force infused the fainting Tyrians propp'd: 

And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stopp'd.'] 

I.nrd iism-y having married a Dutch lady, lived somo 

In Holland, and was of signal service in preventing 

th.- progress of tho French arms, by his knowledge and 

advice. Derrick. 

Ver. 844. Oh, ancient lumourl Oh, unconquer'd hand,] 

" II' ii i>i'i.i ., lieu prisca lidos, invictaque hello 
Dexteral" John VVahtus. 

Ver. 846. But Israel was unworthy of his name ; 

Short is the date of all immoderate fame.] 
In the first edition wo find: 

'■•"i Israel was unworthy of thy birth, 
Bhort Is the date of all immoderate worth. 



From thence thy kindred legions mayst thou 

bring, 
To aid the guardian angel of thy king. 
Plere stop, my muse, here cease thy painful 

flight : 
No pinions can pursue immortal height : m5 

Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more, 
And tell thy soul she should have fled before : 
Or fled she with his life, and left this verse 
To hang on her departed patron's hearse 1 
Now take thy steepy flight from heaven, and see 
If thou canst find on earth another he : 801 

Another he would be too hard to find ; 
See then whom thou canst see not far behind. 
Zadoc the priest, whom, shunning power and 

place, 
His lowly mind advanced to David's grace. m 
With him the Sagan of Jerusalem, 
Of hospitable soul, and noble stem ; 
Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense 
Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence. 
The prophets' sons, by such example led, s7 ° 

To learning and to loyalty were bred : 
For colleges on bounteous kings depend, 
And never rebel was to arts a friend. 
To these succeed the pillar's of the laws ; 
AVho best can plead, and best can judge a cause. 
Next them a train of loyal peers ascend ; ^ 6 

Sharp-judging Adriel, the muses' Mend. 

• and left this verse 



Ver. 858. 

To hang on her departed patron's hearse P] 
This alludes to the custom of affixing poems to the pall or 
hearse. See Milton's Lat. Eleg. ii. 22, and his epitaph 
on the Marchioness of Winchester, ver. 58, &c. Todd. 



Ver. 864. 



■ the priest,] Sancroft (Zadoc) was ad- 



vanced from the deanery of St. Paul's to the see of Canter- 
bury. He had considerable learning, but was a man of 
solemn and sullen gravity and deportment. He seldom 
mixed in company, but led a strict and ascetic life. He 
lived unmarried, and rather encouraged celibacy in his 
clergy. He was so cold, reserved, and peevish, that few 
loved him. He died in a state of separation from the 
church, but had not the courage to own it. His death, 
says Bumet, ought to have put an end to the schism that 
some were endeavouring to raise, on the pretence that a 
parliamentary deprivation was never to be allowed, and 
therefore they looked on Sancroft as the archbishop still, 
and reckoned Tillotson an usurper. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 866. the Sagan of Jerusalem,] This was 

Compton, brother to the Earl of Northampton. Having 
carried arms for some years, he was past thirty when he 
took orders. He applied himself more to his function than 
bishops, says Burnet, had commonly done. His preaching 
was without much life or learning. He was a great patron 
of the converts from Popery, and of those Protestants, whom 
the bad usage they were beginning to meet with in 
Prance drove over to us. The Duke of York hated him. 
This was the bishop that carried the Princess Anne to 
Nottingham, in order to join the party of the Prince of 
Orange. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 868. Mm of the western] This was Dolben, who 
was bishop of Rochester, and succeeded Sterne in the arch- 
bishopric of York ; a man, says Burnet, of more spirit 
than discretion, an excellent preacher, but of a free con- 
versation, which laid him open to much censure in a 
vicious court. During the rebellion be bore anus, and was 
made a major by Charles I. Dr. J. Warton. 

Vor. 875. Who best can plead, and best can judge a cause. . 
First edition : 

Who best could plead, and best can judge a cause. 

Ver. 877. Sharp-judging Adriel,'] Sheffield, Earl of Mul- 
grave, Adriel, was a man of line person, elegant manners, 
and insinuating address. When they were both young, ho 
paid his address to Queen Anne, and to prevent a I 
tion Charles II. is said to have contrived a cruel and 
unjustifiable scheme of sending him to Tangiers in a ship 
so crazy us to have drowned him. lie was always linn in 



02 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Himself a muse : in Sanhedrim's debate 
True to his prince, but not a slave of state : 
Whom David's love -with honours did adorn, 8S0 
That from his disobedient son were torn. 
Jotham of piercing wit, and pregnant thought : 
Endued by nature, and by learning taught, 
To move assemblies, who but only tried 
The worse awhile, then chose the better side : 8S5 
Nor chose alone, but turn'd the balance too ; 
So much the weight of one brave man can do. 
Hushai, the friend of David in distress ; 
In public storms, of manly stedfastness : 
By foreign treaties he inform'd his youth, 
And join'd experience to his native truth. 
His frugal care supplied the wanting throne ; 
Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own : 
'Tis easy conduct when exchequers flow ; 
But hard the task to manage well the low : 895 
For sovereign power is too depress'd or high, 
When kings are forced to sell, or crowds to buy. 



his attachment to James II., for which, with great 
liberality, King William once commended him, and after 
some years took him into favour, and gave him a pension 
of 3000Z. a-year. He was a man of wit and parts, not a 
genius. His poems are feehle and flimsy, notwithstanding 
Dryden has so profusely praised his Essay on Poetry. But 
the prose is terse, perspicuous, and elegant, and his memoirs 
so curious, that we must regret they were left unfinished. 
He imitated the Caesars of the Emperor Julian, a capital 
piece of satire, equal to any part of Lucian, in a piece called 
the Assembly of the Gods, where many contemporary 
princes are introduced. I cannot forbear mentioning a sly 
sarcasm on King William, to whom Jupiter himself is 
said to have shown great esteem ; but was suspected a 
little of some partiality, on account of his own proceeding 
with old father Saturn. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 882. Jotham of piercing an'*,] First edition : Jotham 
of ready wit. 

Ibid. of piercing wit,] The Marquis of Halifax, 

Jotham, was, in Hume's opinion, the man who possessed 
the finest genius and most extensive capacity o£ all em- 
ployed in public affairs by Charles II. Hume is of 
opinion, that the many variations he was guilty of in his 
political conduct, for he voted first for the exclusion bill, 
then for limitations, then for expedients, and was then on 
good terms with the Duke, might be the effects of his 
integrity, rather than of his ambition. Lord Orford in his 
Noble Authors, p. 86, vol.ii. is of a very different opinion. 
He wrote many pamphlets on topics then agitated, now 
forgotten. His Advice to a Daughter is still read. Not- 
withstanding the great change of manners, it would be 
amusing to compare it with Mrs. Hannah More's Stric- 
tures. His moral, political, and miscellaneous thoughts 
are full of penetration and a deep knowledge of men and 
manners. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 888. Hushai, the friend of David in distress;] 
Laurence Hyde, second son to Edward the great Earl of 
Clarendon, was advanced to the earldom of Rochester, and 
made treasurer in 1682, but removed from the treasury in 
1684, to the office of president of the council, a post of more 
rank but less advantage, which gave the lively Marquis of 
Halifax occasion to say, that " he had heard of many 
people being kicked down stairs, but the Earl of Rochester 
was the first he had ever known kicked up." He was 
incorrupt, sincere, warm, and violent ; writ well, but not a 
graceful speaker, though smooth and plausible. He de- 
fended his father in the House of Commons with strength 
of argument, and power of elocution, that showed him 
master of great abilities ; and yet with so much decency 
and discretion, as not to embroil himself with his opponents. 
Through the whole of King Charles's reign, he deported 
himself with so much real fidelity to his master, and such 
prudence, that he was not particularly pointed at, or 
ridiculed by any party. Derrick. 

Ver. 890. By foreign treaties he informed his youth,'] In 
1676 he went on an embassy to Poland, was one of the 
plenipotentiaries at the treaty of Nimeguen, and afterwards 
ambassador in Holland, where he acquitted himself with 
honour. He was strongly against the bill of exclusion. 
Derrick. 



Indulge one labour more, my weary muse, 
For Amiel : who can Amiel's praise refuse ? 
Of ancient race by birth, but nobler yet "G 

In his own worth, and without title great : 
The Sanhedrim long time as chief he ruled, 
Their reason guided, and their passion cool'd : 
So dexterous was he in the crown's defence, 
So form'd to speak a loyal nation's sense, 90S 

That, as their band was Israel's tribes in small, 
So fit was he to represent them all. 
Now rasher charioteers the seat ascend, 
Whose loose careers his steady skill commend : 
They, like the unequal ruler of the day, 910 

Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way : 
While he withdrawn at then- mad labours smiles, 
And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils. 

These were the chief, a small but faithful 
band 
Of worthies, in the breach who dared to stand, 915 
And tempt the united fury of the land ; 
With grief they view'd such powerful engines 

bent, 
To batter down the lawful government.. 
A numerous faction, with pretended frights, 
In Sanhedrims to plume the regal rights; xo 

The true successor from the court removed ; 
The plot, by hireling witnesses improved ; 
These ills they saw, and, as their duty bound, 
They show'd the king the danger of the wound; 
That no concessions from the throne would 
please, ^ 

But lenitives fomented the disease : 
That Absalom, ambitious of the crown, 
Was made the lure to draw the people down : 
That false Achitophel's pernicious hate 
Had turn'd the plot to ruin church and state : 93 ° 
The council violent, the rabble worse : 
That Shimei taught Jerusalem to curse. 

With all these loads of injuries oppress'd, 
And long revolving in his careful breast 
The event of things, at last his patience tired, 933 
Thus, from his royal throne, by Heaven inspired, 
The god-like David spoke ; with awful fear 
His train then Maker in their master hear. 

Thus long have I, by native mercy swayed, 
My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delayed : 940 



Ver. 899. who can AmieVs praise] Sir Edward 

Seymour, Amiel, was a man of high birth, being the elder 
branch of that family, of great boldness, vivacity of parts, 
and a graceful manner, though of insufferable pride. 
Burnet says, he was the first Speaker of the House of Com- 
mons that was not bred to the law. He knew the house 
and every man in it so well, that by looking about he 
could tell the fate of any question. Charles II. loved 
him personally, though he frequently voted against his 
measures. But once having voted for the court, the king 
said to him, " You were not against me to-day." He im- 
mediately answered, " No, sir, I was against my conscience 
to-day." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 914. These were the chiefs If this be considered, 
says Dr. Johnson, as a poem political and controversial, it 
will be found to comprise all the excellencies of which the 
subject is susceptible ; acrimony of censure, elegance of 
praise, artful delineations of characters, variety and vigour 
of sentiment, happy turns of language, and pleasing har- 
mony of numbers ; and all these raised to such a height, 
as can scarcely be found in any other English composition. 
On this exaggerated panegyric I will only beg leave to 
observe, that if this poem is of a nature purely and merely 
political and controversial, it does not partake of the 
essence of real poetry. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 937. The god-like David] This speech of the King 
is by no means equal to those of Shaftesbury and Momneuth. 
Dr. J. Warton. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



C3 



So willing to forgive the offending age ; 
So much the father did the king assuage. 
But now so far my clemency they slight, 
The offenders question my forgiving right : 
That one was made for many, they contend ; W5 
But 'tis to rule ; for that 's a monarch's end. 
They call my tenderness of blood, my fear : 
Though manly tempers can the longest bear. 
Yet, since they will divert my native course, 
'Tis time to show I am not good by force. 95 ° 

Those heap'd affronts that haughty subjects bring, 
Are burdens for a camel, not a king. 
Kings are the public pillars of the state, 
Bom to sustain and prop the nation's weight : 
If my young Samson will pretend a call 955 

To shake the column, let him share the fall : 
But oh, that yet he would repent and live ! 
How easy 'tis for parents to forgive ! 
With how few tears a pardon might be won 
From nature, pleading for a darling son ! 
Poor, pitied youth, by my paternal care, 
Raised up to all the height his frame could bear ! 
Had God ordain'd his fate for empire born, 
He would have given his soul another turn : 
Gull'd with a patriot's name, whose modern sense 
Is one that would by law supplant his prince ; 9M 
The people's brave, the politician's tool ; 
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool. 
Whence comes it, that religion and the laws 
Should more be Absalom's than David's cause'? 1 ' 70 
I!i old instructor, ere he lost his place, 
Was never thought indued with so much grace. 
Good heavens, how faction can a patriot paint ! 
My rebel ever proves my people's saint. 
Would they impose an heir upon the throne ! 97s 
Let Sanhedrims be taught to give their own. 
A king's at least a part of government ; 
And mine as requisite as their consent : 
Without my leave a future king to choose, 
Infers a right the present to depose. 9S0 

True, they petition me to approve their choice : 
But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice. 
My pious subjects for my safety pray; 
Which to secure, they take my power away. 
From plots and treasons Heaven preserve my 

years, 9S5 

But save me most from my petitioners ! 
Unsatiate as the barren womb or grave ; 
Sod cannot grant so much as they can crave. 
What then is left, but with a jealous eye 

iid the small remains of royalty ! ' m 

The law shall still direct my peaceful sway, 
And the same law teach rebels to obey : 



Ver. 957—9(50. These four verses were added in the 
second edition. 

Ver. 9GG. Is one that would by law supplant his prince;'] 
The first edition has, 

Is one that would by law destroy his prince. 

Ver. 991. The law shall still direct] "We cannot read 
words, put into the mouth of Charles II., without 
a degree of just indignation, when we reflect on some 
Striking transactions of his reign, particularly the appoint- 
ment of that ministry called the Cabal. 

All power in England, Scotland, and Ireland was com- 
mltted to six men. Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, 
Ashley Cooper, afterwards Earl of Shaftesbury, Lauder- 
dale, and Roberts, the three last of whom had drawn their 
' linst the King's father. Clifford had raised him- 
self by his great influence in the House of Commons; 
Ashley Coopor had still greater in the House of Lords : 



Votes shall no more established power control, 
Such votes as make a part exceed the whole. 
No groundless clamours shall my friends removo, 
Nor crowds have power to punish ere they 

prove ; 9 ' JC 

For Gods and god-like kings their care express, 
Still to defend their servants in distress. 
Oh, that my power to saving were confined ! 
Why am I forced, like Heaven, against my mind, 
To make examples of another kind ! ,uo1 

Must I at length the sword of justice draw? 
Oh, cursed effects of necessary law ! 
How ill my fear they by my mercy scan ! 
Beware the fury of a patient man. 10U5 

Law they require, let Law then show her face ; 
They could not be content to look on Grace, 
Her hinder parts, but with a daring eye 
To tempt the terror of her front and die. 
By their own arts 'tis righteously decreed, lm 
Those dire artificers of death shall bleed. 
Against themselves their witnesses will swear, 
Till viper-like their mother plot they tear ; 
And suck for nutriment that bloody gore, 
Which was their principle of life before. 1015 

Their Belial with their Beelzebub will fight ; 
Thus on my foes, my foes shall do me right. 
Nor doubt the event : for factious crowds engage, 
In their first onset, all their brutal rage. 
Then let 'em take an unresisted course : lu2 ° 

Retire, and traverse, and delude their force : 
But, when they stand all breathless, urge the 

fight, 
And rise upon them with redoubled might : 
For lawful power is still superior found ; 
When long driven back at length it stands the 

ground. 102S 

He said : The Almighty nodding gave consent ; 
And peals of thunder shook the firmament. 



Arlington, notwithstanding his secret inclinations to 
Popery, had maintained connections with the dissenters ; 
Buckingham, favouring all sects, because be was of no 
religion himself, was a favourite of the dissenters; Lander- 
dale had great interest with the presbyterians of Scotland ; 
and Shaftesbury and Buckingham were supported by the 
people, because they pretended a reverence for their rights. 
This ministry was the most extraordinary that ever was 
composed : for the King had an unconquerable distrust of 
Shaftesbury ; though diverted with the humours of Buck- 
ingham, he was shocked with an advice which that duke 
had given him to procure a parliamentary divorce from 
the Queen, and had once committed him to the Tower, for 
personal offences against himself : Arlington and Bucking- 
ham were mortal foes; and Buckingham, Shaftesbury, and 
Lauderdale were averse from the influence of the Duke of 
York with his brother, because, they thought it interfered 
with their own; or, at least, the Duke believed that they 
were so : but at the interview at Dover, the Duchess of 
Orleans reconciled Arlington and Buckingham, and the 
King to Buckingham, and knit the famous Cabal firmly 
together in the interests of the new alliance. See Echard 
and Dalrymple. 

The melancholy fate of the Duchess of Orleans, after 
her return from Dover, supposed to have been by poison, 
ordered to be given her by her husband, who was jealous of 
her intimacy with her own brother, Charles II., is too well 
known, but we hope too atrocious to obtain credit. Dr. J. 
Wanton. 

Ver. 1010. liy their own arts 'tis righteously decrced t 
Those dire artificers of death shall bleed. 

" noqne enini lex rpqnior ulla est, 

Quam necis artifices arte perire BuS." 

Jons Wartox. 

Ver. 1012. Against themselves their witnrssrs will swear,] 
Alluding to the inconsistencies and contradictions of l'r. 
Oatcs, Captain Bedloe, and other witnesses, made uso of to 
support the credit of the Popish plot. Dbbriox. 



64 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Henceforth a series of new time began, 
The mighty years in long procession ran : 



Ver. 1028. 



- a series of new time] It is an undoubted 



fact, though it may appear a strange assertion, that this 
poem, once so famous, is in the present age hut little read. 
I have met with many well-informed literary persons, who 
have frankly owned they never went through it, and knew 
little of it but from the report of its former celebrity. So 
short-lived and transitory ii personal and occasional satire. 



Once more the god-like David was restored, I 
And willing nations knew their lawful lord. 

TheDunciadofPopebeginstobeneglected. Dr.J.WAET ■ 
Ver. 1031. And willing nations'] Great is the readi 
disappointment at meeting with this feeble conclusi" 
having been led to expect that some important event wo 
he brought forward after such mighty preparations. 1 
the radical fault of the poem is, that it consists only 
characters and speeches, without any action. .Dr. J.Wabi I 



Part JEJE. 



Si quis tamen hsec quoque, si quis 

Captus amore leget 



TO THE READER. 



In the year 1680, Mi Dryden undertook the poem of Absalom and Achttophel, upon the desire of 
King Charles the Second. The performance was applauded by every one; and several persons 
pressing him to write a second part, he, upon declining it himself, spoke to Mr. Tate* to write one, 
and gave him his advice in the direction of it ; and that part beginning with 



and ending with 



" Next these, a troop of busy spirits press," 
" To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee.' 



containing near two hundred verses, were' entirely Mr. Dryden's compositions, besides some touches 
in other places. Derrick. 



Since men like beasts each other's prey were made, 
Since trade began, and priesthood grew a trade, 
Since realms were form'd, none sure so cursed as 

those 
That madly their own happiness oppose ; 
There Heaven itself and god-like kings in vain 6 
Shower down the manna of a gentle reign ; 
While pamper'd crowds to mad sedition run, 
And monarchs by indulgence are undone. 
Thus David's clemency was fatal grown, 
While wealthy faction awed the wanting throne. 
For now their sovereign's orders to contemn u 
Was held the charter of Jerusalem ; 
His rights to invade, his tributes to refuse, 
A privilege peculiar to the Jews ; 

* This second part was written by Mr. Nahum Tate, and 
is by no means equal to the first, though Dryden corrected 
it throughout, and added above two hundred lines, very 
easily distinguishable from the lame numbers of Tate. The 
characters introduced are fewer and of less importance, and 
require not so much illustration. Few authors have been 
friends, and wrote in conjunction; but Mr. Dryden did 
so with Lee and D'Avenant; Oolman with Thornton and 
Garrick; Gray with West; Lloyd with Churchill; and 
Boileau with Bacine. Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 9. Thus David's clemency was fatal grown,] In the 
first edition we find: 

Thus David's goodness was e'en fatal grown. 



As if from heavenly call this licence fell, ls 

And Jacob's seed were chosen to rebel ! 

Achitophel with triumph sees his crimes 
Thus suited to the madness of the times ; 
And Absalom, to make his hopes succeed, 
Of nattering charms no longer stands in need ; * 
While fond of change, though ne'er so dearly 

bought, 
Our tribes outstrip the youth's ambitious thought 
His swiftest hopes with swifter homage meet, 
And crowd their servile necks beneath his feet. 
Thus to his aid while pressing tides repair, a 

He mounts and spreads his streamers in th( 

air. 
The charms of empire might his youth mislead, 
But what can our besotted Israel plead? 
Sway'd by a monarch, whose serene command 
Seems half the blessing of our promised land ; 3 
Whose only grievance is excess of ease ; 
Freedom our pain, and plenty our disease ! 
Yet, as all folly would lay claim to sense, 
And wickedness ne'er wanted a pretence, 



Ver. 20. 
Ver. 33. 
folly. 



Of flattering charms'] First edition : flatterie's. 
Yet as all folly] First edition : Yet since all 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOrilEL. 



65 



Willi arguments they'd make their treason good, 
And righteous David's self with slanders load : *■ 
That arts of foreign sway he did affect, 
And guilty Jebusites from law protect, 
Whose very chiefs, convict, were never freed ; 
Nay, we have seen their sacrificers bleed ! 40 

Accusers' infamy is urged in vain, 
While in the bounds of sense they did contain ; 
But soon they launch'd into the unfathom'd tide, 
And in the depths they knew disdain'd to ride. 
For probable discoveries to dispense, 4r ' 

Was thought below a pension'd evidence ; 
Mere truth was dull, nor suited with the port 
Of pamper'd Corah when advanced to court. 
No less than wonders now they will impose, 
And projects void of grace or sense disclose. 60 
Such was the charge on pious Michal brought, 
Michal that ne'er was cruel even in thought, 
The best of queens, aud most obedient wife, 
Impeach'd of cursed designs on David's life ! 
His life, the theme of her eternal prayer, 65 

'Tis scarce so much his guardian angel's care. 
Not summer morns such mildness can disclose, 
The Ifermon lily, nor the Sharon rose. 
Neglecting each vain pomp of majesty, 
Transported Michal feeds her thoughts on high. co 
She lives with angels, and, as angels do, 
Quits heaven sometimes to bless the world below; 
Where, cherish'd by her bounties' plenteous 

spring, 
Reviving widows smile, and orphans sing. 
Oh ! when rebellious Israel's crimes at height 65 
Are threaten'd with her lord's approaching fate, 
The piety of Michal then remain 
In Heaven's remembrance, and prolong his reign ! 

Less desolation did the pest pursue 
That from Dan's limits to Beersheba slew, 70 

fatal the repeated wars of Tyre, 
And less Jerusalem's avenging fire. 
With gentler terror these our state o'er-ran, 
-ince our evidencing days began ! 
• cry cheek a pale confusion sat, 75 

Continued fear beyond the worst of fate ! 
Trust was no more ; art, science, useless made ; 
All occupations lost but Corah's trade. 
Meanwhile a guard on modest Corah wait, 
If not for safety, needful yet for state. 8n 

Well might he deem each peer and prince his 

slave, 
And lord it o'er the tribes which he could save : 



V'T.M. Such was the charge on pious Michal brought,'] 
• edition. Derrick incorrectly has change. 

Vcr. 53. n,e best of queens,'] Of all the nations in 
the Portuguese were, and still are, the most igno- 
rant and most bigotted. Of all persons that could he 
itharine of Portugal was the most improper wife 
for a gay and spirited prince. At her very first appearance 
at court, she retained and showed a strong tincture of the 
nt. sin even rejected the English dress, and the 
idance of the English ladies, and was only fond 
of her st i IV, reserved, and formal duennas, who were the scorn 
and the jest of the whole court. When she was married 
iter, by the Archbishop of Canterburv, she would 
n'.t repeat after him the words of the matrimonial service, 
the sight of the archbishop. She proved, says 
t, a barren wife, and was a woman of a mean appear- 
and of no agreeable temper; so that the king never 
tier much, and she made ever after but a very 
i gure. I cannot forbear adding, that Charles II. 
the merit of not listening to some proposals basely 
to him, either ofa divorce, or of sending her away to 
another country. Dr. J. Warton. 



Even vice in him was virtue — what sad fate 

But for his honesty had seized our state ? 

And with what tyranny had .we been cursed, e5 

Had Corah never proved a villain first 1 

To have told his knowledge of the intrigue in 

gross, 
Had been, alas ! to our deponent's loss : 
The travcll'd Levite had the experience got 
To husband well, and make the best of's plot; 9n 
And therefore, like an evidence of skill, 
With wise reserves secured his pension still ; 
Nor quite of future power himself bereft, 
But limbos large for unbelievers left. 
And now his writ such reverence had got, 8B 

'Twas worse than plotting to suspect his plot. 
Some were so well convinced, they made no doubt 
Themselves to help the founder'd swearers out. 
Some had their sense imposed on by their fear, 
But more for interest sake believe and swear: lu0 
Even to that height with some the frenzy grew, 
They raged to find their danger not prove true. 

Yet, than all these a viler crew remain, 
Who with Achitophel the cry maintain ; IW 

Not urged by fear, nor through misguided sense, 
Blind zeal and starving need had some pretence, 
But for the good old cause, that did excite 
The original rebels' wiles, revenge and spite. 
These raise the plot, to have the scandal thrown 
Upon the bright successor of the crown, uo 

Whose virtue with such wrongs they had pursued, 
As seem'd all hope of pardon to exclude. 
Thus, while on private ends their zeal is built, 
The cheated crowd applaud and share their guilt. 

Such practices as these, too gross to lie 115 

Long unobserved by each discerning eye, 
The more judicious Israelites unspell'd, 
Though still the charm the giddy rabble held. 
Even Absalom, amidst the dazzling beams 
Of empire, and ambition's flattering dreams, 12 ° 
Perceives the plot, too foul to be excused, 
To aid designs, no less pernicious, used. 
And, filial sense yet striving in his breast, 
Thus to Achitophel his doubts expressed : — 

Why are my thoughts upon a crown employ'd, 
Which once obtain'd can be but half enjoy 'd 1 126 
Not so when virtue did my arms require, 
And to my father's wars I flew entire. 
My regal power how will my foes resent, 
When I myself have scarce my own consent? 13 ° 
Give me a son's unblemish'd truth again, 
Or quench the sparks of duty that remain. 
How slight to force a throne that legions guard 
The task to me ; to prove unjust, how hard ! m 
And if the imagined guilt thus wound my thought, 
What will it when the tragic scene is wrought! 
Dire war must first be conjured from below, 
The realm we 'd rule we first must overthrow ; 



Vcr. 96. 'Twos worse than plotting to suspect his plot.} 
The tide of prejudice ran so strongly in favour of Oates and 
the. other witnesses, after the death of Sir Godfrey, that to 
speak slightingly of them, or their deposition, was as much 
as a man's life was worth; and even the king himself, who 
saw the trick from the beginning, did not dare to speak 
his sentiments freely. Hedid bis utmost to keep as private 
as possible such discoveries of the supposed plot as were 
communicated to him, the intention of which bis perspi- 
cuity soon canvassed; and he was very angry when Lord 
Danny, without his leave, laid them before the parliament: 

" Now," said he, "you have laid the foundation of your own 
ruin, and of niiK-li perplexity for me." The sequel proved 
his majesty a prophet. Derbh k. 



06 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



And, when the civil furies are on wing 

That blind and undistinguish'd slaughters fling, ' 40 

"Who knows what impious chance may reach the 

king? 
Oh ! rather let me perish in the strife, 
Than have my crown the price of David's life ! 
Or if the tempest of the war he stand, 
In peace, some vile officious villain's hand 145 

His soul's anointed -temple may invade, 
Or, press'd by clamorous crowds, myself be made 
His murtherer ; rebellious crowds, whose guilt 
Shall dread his vengeance till his blood be spilt ; 
Which if my filial tenderness oppose, 15 ° 

Since to the empire by their arms I rose, 
Those very arms on me shall be employ'd, 
A new usurper crown' d, and I destroy'd : 
The same pretence of public good will hold, 
And new Achitophels be found as bold 1!i5 

To urge the needful change, perhaps the old. 

He said. The statesman with a smile replies, 
A smile that did his rising spleen disguise : — 
My thoughts presumed our labours at an end, 
And are we still with conscience to contend ? 16 ° 
Whose want in kings as needful is allow'd, 
As 'tis for them to find it in the crowd. 
Far in the doubtful passage you are gone, 
And only can be safe by pressing on. 
The crown's true heir, a prince severe and wise, 165 
Has view'd your motions long with jealous eyes : 
Your person's charms, your more prevailing arts, 
And mark'd your progress in the people's hearts, 
Whose patience is the effect of stinted power, 
But treasures vengeance for the fatal hour : 17 ° 
And if remote the peril he can bring, 
Your present danger 's greater from the king. 
Let not a parent's name deceive your sense, 
Nor trust the father in a jealous prince ! 
Your trivial faults if he could so resent, 175 

To doom you little less than banishment, 
What rage must your presumption since-inspire ? 
Against his orders you return from Tyre ; 
Nor only so, but with a pomp more high, 
And open court of popularity, 180 

The factious tribes And this reproof from thee? 

The prince replies ; statesman's winding skill, 
They first condemn that first advised the ill ! 
Illustrious youth, return'd Achitophel, 
Misconstrue not the words that mean you well. 18S 
The course you steer I worthy blame conclude, 
But 'tis because you leave it unpursued. 
A monarch's crown with fate surrounded lies ; 
Who reach, lay hold on death that miss the prize. 
Did you for this expose yourself to show, 190 

And to the crowd bow popularly low ? 
For this your glorious progress next ordain, 
With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous train ; 
With fame before you like the morning star, 
And shouts of joy saluting from afar? 195 

Oh, from the heights you've reach 'd but take a 

view, 
Scarce leading Lucifer could fall like you ! 
And must I here my shipwreck'd arts bemoan ? 
Have I for this so oft made Israel groan ; 
Your single interest with the nation weigh'd, 200 
And turn'd the scale where your desires were laid? 
Even when at helm a course so dangerous moved 
To land your hopes, as my removal proved. 



Ver. 142. Oh ! rather let me perish] First edition Or. 
rather let me, &c 



I not dispute, the royal youth replies, 
The known perfection of your policies ; 
Nor in Achitophel yet grudge or blame 
The privilege that statesmen ever claim ; 
Who private interest never yet pursued, 
But still pretended 'twas for others' good. 
What politician yet e'er 'scaped his fate, 21 ° 

Who saving his own neck not saved the state ? 
From hence, on every humorous wind that veer'd, 
With shifted sails a several course you steer' d. 
What form of sway did David e'er pursue, 2!4 
That seem'd like absolute, but sprung from you ? 
Who at your instance quash'd each penal law, 
That kept dissenting factious Jews in awe ; 
And who suspends fix'd laws, may abrogate ; 
That done, form new, and so enslave the state. 
Even property, whose champion now you stand, 
And seem for this the idol of the land, ' 

Did ne'er sustain such violence before, 
As when your counsel shut the royal store ; 
Advice, that ruin to whole tribes procured, 
But secret kept till your own banks secured. i2b 
Recount with this the triple covenant broke, 
And Israel fitted for a foreign yoke ; 
Nor here your counsels' fatal progress staid, 
But sent our levied powers to Pharaoh's aid. 
Hence Tyre and Israel, low in ruins laid, 
And Egypt, once their scorn, their common ter- 
ror made. 
Even yet of such a season can we dream, 
When royal rights you made your darling theme ; 
For power unlimited could reasons draw, 
And place prerogative above the law ; 
Which, on your fall from office, grew unjust, 
The laws made king, the king a slave in trust : 
Whom with state-craft, to interest only true, 
You now accuse of ills contrived by you. 

To this Hell's agent — Royal youth, fix here ; 240 
Let interest be the star by which I steer. 
Hence to repose your trust in me was wise, 
Whose interest most in your advancement lies, 
A tie so firm as always will avail, 
When friendship, nature, and religion fail ; ^ 
On ours the safety of the crowd depends, 
Secure the crowd, and we obtain our ends, 
Whom I will cause so far our guilt to share, 
Till they are made our champions by their fear. 



Ver. 214. Wlia t form of sway did David e'er pursue^] So 
the first edition. Derrick absurdly has, 

What/rowi a sway, &c. 

Ver. 216. Who at your instance quash'd each penal law,'] 
Suspending the penal laws, and granting liberty of con- 
science, was owing to the advice of our Achitophel; and was 
an affair of dangerous tendency, as being one great step 
towards enslaving the state. Derrick. 

Ver. 223. stmt the royal store;] Or the exchequer, 

in the beginning of 1672, he being in great want of money; 
a transaction that occasioned much confusion, for there 
being thereby a stagnation of all public payments, the banks 
also stopped ; but the king having assured the bankers and 
merchants that the present deficiencies should be soon made 
good, matters flowed again in their proper channel, though 
it was a stretch of power not easily forgotten or digested. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 232. Even yet of such a season can we dream,"] First 
edition : Ev'n yet of such a season we can dream. 

Ver. 241. Let interest be the star by which 1 steer."] So 
the first edition. A reading evidently required by the 
context. Compare ver. 238 and 243. Derrick has, 

Let interest be the star by which you steer 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



67 



What opposition can your rival bring, *° 

While Sanhedrims are jealous of the king? 

His strength as yet in David's friendship lies, 

And what can David's self without supplies ? 

Who with exclusive bills must now dispense, 

Debar the heir, or starve in his defence ; 255 

Conditions which our elders ne'er will quit, 

And David's justice never can admit. 

Or forced by wants his brother to betray, 

To your ambition next he clears the way ; 

For if succession once to nought they bring, im 

Their next advance removes the present king : 

Persisting else his senates to dissolve, 

In equal hazard shall his reign involve. 

Our tribes, whom Pharaoh's power so much 

alarms, 
Shall rise without their prince to oppose his arms ; 
Nor boots it on what cause at first they join, 2M 
Their troops, once up, are tools for our design. 
At least such subtle covenants shall be made, 
Till peace itself is war in masquerade. 
Associations of mysterious sense, 2 "° 

Against, but seeming for, the king's defence : 
Even on their courts of justice fetters draw, 
And from our agents nmzzle up their law. 
By which a conquest, if we fail to make, 
'Tis a drawn game at worst, and we secure our 

stake. ^ 

He said, and for the dire success depends 
On various sects, by common guilt made friends. 
Whose heads, though ne'er so differing in their 

creed, 
I' the point of treason yet were well agreed. 
'Mongst these, extorting Ishban first appears, 2S0 
Pursued by a meagre troop of bankrupt heirs. 
Blest times, when Ishban, he whose occupation 
So long has been to cheat, reforms the nation ! 
Ishban of conscience suited to his trade, 
As good a saint as usurer ever made. ^ 

Yet Mammon has not so engross'd him quite, 
But Belial lays as large a claim of spite ; 
Who, for those pardons from his prince he draws, 
Returns reproaches, and ciies up the cause. 
That year in which the city he did sway, 29 ° 

He left rebellion in a hopeful way. 
Yet his ambition once was found so bold, 
To offer talents of extorted gold ; 
Could David's wants have so been bribed, to shame 
And scandalise our peerage with his name ; mi 
For which, his dear sedition he 'd forswear, 
And c'on turn loyal to be made a peer. 
Next him, let railing Rabsheka have place, 
So full of zeal, he has no need of grace ; 



Vcr.280. 



■ extorting Ishhan first appears. 



Pursuttd by a meagre troop of bankrupt heirs.] 
Sir Robert Clayton, an alderman of the city, and one of 
Iti members, who remarkably opposed the court. Though 
be »K vary avaricious, he had offered a large sum to be 
made ;i peer; and those who consider the king's wants will 
belli n with me, he was sorry the alderman's money was 
not tangible. Derrick. 

Ver. 2fl8. railing Rabshelri] Sir Thomas Player, 

one of the city representatives in Parliament; a factious 
■ring malecontent; one of the chief supporters of the 
Whigs in the city ; declared enemy of the Duke of York, 
and itrongly for the bill of exclusion. When he was ro- 
ll In 1680-1, together with Sir Robert Clayton, Thomas 
tnd William Love, esqrs., many of the Whig 
'Hi/,, us, in common hall assembled, drew up and presented 
to him and them an extraordinary paper, "giving them 
thanks for their former good services, more especially for 
Ihcir zeal in promoting the bill for excluding the Duke of 



A saint that can both flesh and spirit use, ' M ' 

Alike haunt conventicles and the stews : 
Of whom the question difficult appears, 
If most i' the preachers' or the bawds' arrears. 
What caution could appear too much in him 
That keeps the treasure of Jerusalem ! 3li 

Let David's brother but approach the town, 
Double our guards, he cries, we are undone. 
Protesting that he dares not sleep in 's bed, 
Lest he should rise next morn without his head. 
Next these, a troop of busy spirits press, •" 
Of little fortunes, and of conscience less; 
With them the tribe, whose luxury had drain'd 
Their banks, in former sequestrations gain'd ; 
Who rich and great by past rebellions grew, 
And long to fish the troubled streams anew. 3 ' 5 
Some future hopes, some present payment draws, 
To sell their conscience and espouse the cause. 
Such stipends those vile hirelings best befit, 
Priests without grace, and poets without wit. 
Shall that false Hebronite escape our curse, 3JJ 
Judas, that keeps the rebels' pension-purse ; 



York from the succession, and recommending that they 
would still literally pursue the same measures, and grant 
no supplies to the crown, till they saw themselves effectually 
secured from Popery and arbitrary power." And in pursuit 
of these measures, the subscribing persons promised to 
stand by them with their lives and fortunes. 

Indeed, addresses of the same nature were forwarded to 
their representatives from many other parts of the kingdom, 
which gave gTeat uneasiness to the court, and occasioned 
these lines, put into Achitophel's mouth, line 253 : 

what can David's self without supplies? 

Who with exclusive bills must now dispense, 
Debar the heir, or starve in his defence. Derrick. 

Ver. 301. conventicles') He accents the word again 

on the third syllable, in the Medal, line 285. Thus, in a 
Collection of Loyal Songs, written between 1639 and 1661, 
vol. ii. p. 16. 

" But all the parish see it plain, 
Since thou art in this pickle, 
Thou art an Independent quean, 
And lov'st a conventicle." Todd. 

Ver. 310. Next these] This was not the only poem 
written on the political transactions of those times. Duke 
wrote one also, entitled The Review, the best and most 
vigorous, perhaps, of his compositions. He begins with 
the Restoration, and passes on through great part of 
Charles II.'s reign, but left it unfinished. The characters 
of Shaftesbury and Vitliers are particularly laboured, bat 
veiy inferior to those given by Dryden. — He is particularly, 
and I think blameably, severe on Lord Clarendon, whom he 
calls Byrsa, accusing him of taking bribes to procure the 
pardon of many notorious rebels, and of being privy to, 
and promoting the marriage of his daughter with the 
Duke of York, which the chancellor always denied in the 
most solemn and most unequivocal terms. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 315. And long to fish the troubled streams anew.] 
First edition : troubled waves. 

Ver. 320. Shall that false Hebronite escape our curse,] 
Robert Ferguson, a Scotch Independent preacher, subtle, 
plausible, bold, and daring, had for many years preached and 
writ against the government with great animosity ; had 
weight among the Whigs in the city, and was a very 
proper instrument to stir up sedition. Shaftesbury knew 
his excellencies, made use of them by confiding in him, and 
he contributed much to the Buccess of his designs. 

Ferguson was one of the main springs that animated the 
Rye-house plot, for which he was outlawed both in England 
ami Prance, :' reward of five hundred pistoles being ottered 
for taking him. lie had openly approved of the conspira- 
tors' intention to murder the king and his brother; and a 
day being appointed for that parricide, which some of the 
assassins objected to as being Sunday, he told them, " The 
sanctity of the deed fitted the sanctity of the day." He 
was described thus remarkably : — " A tall thin man, dark 
brown hair, a great Roman nose, thin jawed, heal in his 
face, speaks in the Scotch tone, a sharp piercing eye, stoops 
a little in the shoulders, hath a shullling gait that differs 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Judas, that pays the treason-writer's fee, 

Judas, that well deserves his namesake's tree ; 

Who at Jerusalem's own gates erects 

His college for a nursery of sects ; 325 

Young prophets with an early care secures, 

And with the dung of his own arts manures? 

What have the men of Hebron here to do ? 

What part in Israel's promised land have you 1 

Here Phaleg, the lay Hebronite, is come, 33 ° 

'Cause, like the rest, he could not live at home ; 

Who from his own possessions could not drain 

An omer even of Hebronitish grain ; 

Here struts it like a patriot, and talks high 

Of injured subjects, alter'd property: 33s 

An emblem of that buzzing insect just, 

That mounts the wheel, and thinks she raises dust. 

Can dry bones live ? or skeletons produce 

The vital warmth of cuckoldising juice 1 

Slim Phaleg could, and, at the table fed, 34 ° 

Return'd the grateful product to the bed. 

A waiting-man to travelling nobles chose, 

He his own laws would saucily impose, 

Till bastinado'd back again he went, 

To learn those manners he to teach was sent. 345 

Chastised he ought to have retreated home, 

But he reads politics to Absalom. 

For never Hebronite, though kick'd and scorn'd, 

To his own country willingly return'd. 

■ — But leaving famish'd Phaleg to be fed, 350 

And to talk treason for his daily bread, 

Let Hebron, nay, let Hell, produce a man 

So made for mischief as Ben-Jochanan, 



from all men, wears his perriwig down almost over his 
eyes, and about forty-five years of age." He escaped to 
Holland, returned with Monmouth in 1685, had the good 
luck again to secure his retreat, and was rewarded with a 
good post on the Revolution ; hut being of a turbulent 
uneasy disposition, he turned tail, became a strenuous 
advocate for Jacobitism both in the reigns of King William 
and Queen Anne ; appeared more than once a champion for 
the banished king, and engaged in schemes for his restora- 
tion. Derrick. 

Robert Ferguson, here meant, says Mr. Granger, was a 
great dealer in plots, and a prostitute political writer for 
different parties, and particularly for the Earl of Shaftes- 
bury. He approached nearer to a parallel character with 
Oates than any of his contemporaries ; and was rewarded 
with a place in the reign of William, though it was well 
known he merited a halter. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 324. Who at Jerusalem's own gates erects 
His college for a nursery of sects ;] 
Ferguson had a chapel near Moorfields. Derrick. 

Ver. 334. Here struts it like a patriot, and talks high 
Of injured subjects, alter 'd property : 
An emblem of that buzzing insect just, 
That mounts the wheel, and thinks she raises dust."} 

" MUSCA, TROCHILUS, ET TltOSSULUS. 

"^Estate media concitati sex equi, 
Curram trahentes, putre quatiebant solum, 
Claramque denso pulvere tegebant diem. 
Temone in ipso tenuis interea sedens, 
• O quantus, inquit Musca, premit equos labor, 
Quantusque sudor irrigat, dum me trahunt ! 
Sic praivalenti cum sedere vult trabe, 
Quae quinque opiraos facile sustineat boves, 
Pusillus ille, ex alitum gente infim&, 
Prastentat illam Trochilus, et supersilit 
Similis timenti, ferre ne se non queat. 
Sic impudenti Trossulorum de grege 
Aliquis, ineptus, administris imperi 
Multum exhibere se negotii putat, 
Qui, vivat ille an mortuus sit, nesciunt." 

Desbillon's Fab. JEs. Lib. iv. Fab. 14. 
John Warton. 
Ver. 353. So made for mischief] Ben-Jochanan was 
Samuel Johnson, author of the famous pamphlet entitled 



A Jew of humble parentage was he, 

By trade a Levite, though of low degree : 355 

His pride no higher than the desk aspired, 

But for the drudgery of priests was hired 

To read and pray in linen ephod brave, 

And pick up single shekels from the grave. m 

Married at last, but finding charge come faster, 

He could not live by God, but changed his 

master : 
Inspired by want, was made a factious tool ; 
They got a villain, and we lost a fool. 
Still violent, whatever cause he took, 
But most against the party he forsook. 366 

For renegadoes, who ne'er turn by halves, 
Are bound in conscience to be double knaves. 
So this prose prophet took most monstrous pains 
To let his master see he earn'd his gains. 
But as the devil owes all his imps a shame, ^ 
He chose the apostate for his proper theme ; 
With little pains he made the picture true, 
And from reflection took the rogue he drew. 
A wondrous work, to prove the Jewish nation 
In every age a murmuring generation ; ^ 

To trace 'em from their infancy of sinning, 
And show 'em factious from their first beginning ; 
To prove they could rebel, and rail, and mock, 
Much to the credit of the chosen flock ; 
A strong authority, which must convince 380 

That saints own no allegiance to their prince. 
As 'tis a leading-card to make a whore, 
To prove her mother had turn'd up before. 
But, tell me, did the drunken patriarch bless 
The son that shov/d his father's nakedness 1 3S5 
Such thanks the present church thy pen will give, 
Which proves rebellion was so primitive. 
Must ancient failings be examples made 1 
Then murtherers from Cain may learn their trade. 
As thou the heathen and the saint hast drawn, 
Methinks the apostate was the better man : 391 
And thy hot father, waiving my respect, 
Not of a mother-church, but of a sect. 
And such he needs must be of thy inditing ; 
This comes of drinking asses' milk and writing. 
If Balak should be call'd to leave his place, 3X 
As profit is the loudest call of grace, 
His temple, dispossess'd of one, would be 
Replenished with seven devils more by thee. 

Levi, thou art a load ; I '11 lay thee down, 40 ° 
And show rebellion bare, without a gown ; 
Poor slaves in metre, dull and addle-pated, 
Who rhymebelow even David's Psalms translated ; 
Some in my speedy pace I must outrun, 
As lame Mephibosheth, the wizard's son ; 
To make quick way, I '11 leap o'er heavy blocks, 
Shun rotten Uzza, as I would the pox ; 
And hasten Og and Doeg to rehearse, 
Two fools that crutch their feeble sense on verse ; 



Julian, in which he drew a parallel betwixt that apostate 
and James II. And also of another still more often 
sive, called An Address to the English Protestants in King 
James's Army. For which he was sentenced to stand in 
the pillory three several times, at Westminster, Charing 
cross, and the Royal Exchange, to pay a fine of five 
hundred marks, and be whipped from Newgate to Tyburn. 
The last part of the punishment was mildly executed, and 
he was degraded from his ecclesiastical functions before it 
was inflicted. Of all the seditious writers here proscribed 
by Dryden, he was a man of the greatest learning and 
best morals. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver.384. But, tell me, did the drunken patriarch bless] The 
first edition, by a strange error of the press, has patriot. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



C9 



Who, by my muse, to all succeeding times 41 ° 
Shall live, in spite of their own doggrel rhymes. 

Doeg, though without knowing how or why, 
Made still a blundering kind of melody ; 
Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and 

thin, 
Through .sense and nonsense, never out nor in ; 4l5 
Free from all meaning, whether good or bad, 
And, in one word, heroically mad : 
He was too warm on picking-work to dwell, 
But fagotted his notions as they fell, 
And if they rhymed and rattled, all was well. * 20 

ill be is not, though he wrote a satire, 
For still there goes some thinking to ill-nature : 
He needs no more than birds and beasts to think, 
All his occasions are to eat and drink. 
If he call rogue and rascal from a garret, 4M 

He means you no more mischief than a parrot : 

words for friend and foe alike were made, 
To fetter 'em in verse is all his trade. 
For almonds he '11 cry whore to his own mother : 
An J call young Absidom king David's brother. 43 ° 
Let him be gallows-free by my consent, 
And nothing suffer since he nothing meant ; 
Hanging supposes human soul and reason ; 
• animal 's below committing treason. 

he be hang'd who never could rebel? ^ 

's a preferment for Achitophel. 
The woman that committed buggary 
Was rightly sentenced by the law to die ; 
But 'twas hard fate that to the gallows led 

log that never heard the statute read. 44 ° 
Hauling in other men may be a crime, 

ight to pass for mere instinct in him : 
hisiinct he follows, and no farther knows, 

i write verse with him is to transprose. 
■ pity treason at his door to lay, 443 

Who makes heaven's gate a lock to its own key: 

a rail on, let his invective muse 
Have four-and-twenty letters to abuse, 
Which, if he jumbles to one line of sense, 
Indict him of a capital offence. 4i0 

In fireworks give him leave to vent his spite, 
Those are the only serpents he can write ; 
The height of his ambition is, we know, 
But to be master of a puppet-show, 



Ver. 412. Dcrg, though without knowing'] This character of 

Elkanah Settle, which is exquisitely satirical, particularly 

lints 415, 120, 422, 427, 428, was certainly inserted by 

n. whom he had offended by writing pamphlets for 

I iiough he afterwards suddenly changed sides, 

and was as violent a defender of Tory principles, and wrote 

a poem of high panegyric on the coronation of James II. 

5. He was the author of seventeen plays, now totally 

'n. lie had a pension from the city for writing an 

annual panegyric on the lord mayor. Towards the end of 

his life he was reduced to great poverty, and wrote low 

for Bartholomew Fair, and was reduced in his old 

age to act in farce a dragon enclosed in a green leather of his 

own invention. To which our witty satirist, Dr. Young, 

alludes in his epistle to Pope, on the authors of the age : — 

! lkanah, all other changes past, 
1 or bn ad in Smith-field dragon9 hiss'd at last: 
Spit streams of fire to make the butchers gape, 
And found his manners suited to his shape.'' 

Og, mentioned afterwards, who was ShadweU, we must 

I to a more important occasion. I can- 

adding, that Dryden was so much mortified at 

icoess of the Emperor o/iforocco, a tragedy of Settle's, 

which was even acted at Whitehall by the court-ladies, 

that lie wrote a most virulent and even brutal criticism "ii 

ictated by envy, rage, ami jealousy, from which 

hnson has given a long extract of eight pages, which 

disgrace the pen ot Dryden. Dr. J. Wabton. 



On that one stage his works may yet appear, 4i '> 
And a month's harvest keeps him all the year. 
Now stop your noses, readers, all and some, 
For here 's a tun of midnight work to come, 
Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home ; 
Round as a globe, and liquor'd every chink, 4eo 
Goodly and great, he sails behind his link. 
With all this bulk there 's nothing lost in Og, 
For every inch that is not fool, is rogue : 
A monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter, 4W 
As all the devils had spew'd to make the batter. 
When wine has given him courage to blaspheme, 
He curses God, but God before cursed him ; 
And if man could have reason, none has more, 
That made his paunch so rich, and him so poor. 
With wealth he was not trusted, for Heaven knew 
What 'twas of old to pamper up a Jew ; 4 ' 1 

To what would he on quail and pheasant swell, 
That even on tripe and carrion could rebel ) 
But though Heaven made him poor (with reve- 
rence speaking), 
He never was a poet of God's making ; 4 '' 5 

The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull 
With this prophetic blessing — Be thou, dull ! 
Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight, 
Fit for thy bulk ; do anything but write : 
Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men, 
A strong nativity — but for the pen ; 481 

Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, 
Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink. 
I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain, 
For treason botch'd in rhyme will be thy bane ; 4S5 
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck ; 
"lis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck : 
Why should thy metre good king David blast ] 
A psalm of his will surely be thy last. 
Darest thou presume in verse to meet thy foes, 490 
Thou whom the penny pamphlet foil'd in prose 1 
Doeg, whom God for mankind's mirth has made, 
O'ertops thy talent in thy very trade ; 
Doeg to thee, thy paintings are so coarse, 
A poet is, though he 's the poet's horse. 49i 

A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull, 
For writing treason, and for writing dull. 
To die for faction is a common evil, 
But to be hang'd for nonsense is the devil. 
Hadst thou the glories of thy king express'd, ia > 
Thy praises had been satire at the best : 
But thou, in clumsy verse, unlick'd, unpointed, 
Hast shamefully defied the Lord's anointed. 
I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes, 
For who would read thy life that reads thy 
rhymes .' *" 

But of king David's foes, be this the doom, 
May all be like the young man Absalom ; 
And, for my foes, may this their blessing be, 
To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee. 

Achitophel each rank, degree, and age, 5, ° 

For various ends neglects not to engage; 
The wise and rich, for purse and counsel brought, 
The fools and beggars, for their number sought : 
Who yet not only on the town depends, 
For even in court the faction had its friends ; 515 
These thought the places they posscss'd too small, 
And in their hearts wish'd court and king tc fall ; 
Whose names the muse disdaining, holds i' the 

dark, 
Thrust in the villain herd without a mark ; 
With parasites and libel-spawning imps, ** 

Intriguing fops, dull jc.-tcrs, and worse pimps. 



70 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Disdain the rascal rabble to pursue, 
Their set cabals are yet a viler crew. 
See where involved in common smoke they sit, 
Some for our mirth, some for our satire fit : 525 
These gloomy, thoughtful, and on mischief bent, 
While those for mere good fellowship frequent 
The appointed club, can let sedition pass, 
Sense, nonsense, anything to employ the glass ; 
And who believe, in their dull honest hearts, 53u 
The rest talk treason but to show their parts ; 
Who ne'er had wit or will for mischief yet, 
But pleased to be reputed of a set. 

But in the sacred annals of our plot, 
Industrious Arod never be forgot : ssi 

The labours of this midnight magistrate, 
May vie with Corah's to preserve the state. 
In search of arms he fail'd not to lay hold 
On war's most powerful, dangerous weapon, gold. 
And last, to take from Jebusites all odds, 64 ° 

Their altars pillaged, stole their very gods. 
Oft would he cry, when treasure he surprised, 
'Tis Baalish gold in David's coin disguised ; 
Which to his house with richer reliques came, 
While lumber idols only fed the flame : 545 

For our wise rabble ne'er took pains to inquire, 
What 'twas he burnt, so 't made a rousing fire. 
With which our elder was enrich'd no more 
Than false Gehazi with the Syrian's store ; 
So poor, that when our choosing-tribes were met, 
Even for his stinking votes he ran in debt ; 651 
For meat the wicked, and, as authors think, 
The saints he choused for his electing drink ; 
Thus every shift and subtle method past, 
And all to be no Zaken at the last. 555 

Now, raised on Tyre's sad ruins, Pharaoh's 
pride 
Soar'd high, his legions threatening far and wide ; 
As when a battering storm engender'd high, 
By winds upheld, hangs hovering in the sky, 
Is gazed upon by every trembling swain, 66U 

This for his vineyard fears, and that his grain ; 



Ver. 534. But in the sacred annals of our plot, 
Industrious Arod never be forgot :] 

Arod, Sir William "Waller, son to him who had done so 
much service to the long parliament. He upheld the 
exclusion bill with all his might, and took every oppor- 
tunity of showing his hatred to Popery, by seeking out and 
dispersing the Papists, when assembled to celebrate divine 
service in their way. To which, if he was not much mis- 
represented, he was stimulated rather in hopes of spoil, 
their altars being generally rich, than out of respect to his 
country, or love for religion. Derrick. 

Ver. 555. all to be no Zaken at the last] At the 

choosing a new parliament in the beginning of the year 
1679, Sir William had, to no purpose, endeavouied to get 
himself chosen into the house; and the publicans, who 
trusted him at this time in such entertainments as he 
ordered, found it difficult to get their money from him. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 556. Now, raised on Tyre's sad ruins, Pharaoh's pride 
Soar'd high.] 
The success of Louis XIV. 's arms, particularly in Hol- 
land, rendered him formidable all over Europe; while 
England, who has it so much in her power to command 
respect, was scarcely regarded. Weakened by domestic 
disputes, her king always wanting money, and opposed and 
kept bare by her parliament, her mediation was of no 
consequence, and she had little or no influence abroad. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 560. As when a battering storm engender'd high, 
By winds upheld, hangs hovering in the shy, 
Is gazed upon by every trembling swain, 
This for his vineyard fears, and thathis grain;] 



For blooming plants, and flowers new opening, 

these 
For lambs yean'd lately, and far-labouring bees : 
To guard his stock each to the gods does call, 
Uncertain where the fire-charged clouds will fall : 
Ev'n so the doubtful nations watch his arms, 568 
With terror each expecting his alarms. 
Where, Judah, where was now thy lion's roar? 
Thou only couldst the captive lands restore ; 
But thou, with inbred broils and faction press'd, wo 
From Egypt need'st a guardian with the rest. 
Thy prince from Sanhedrims no trust allow'd, 
Too much the representee of the crowd, 
Who for their own defence give no supply, 
But what the crown's prerogatives must buy : 57 ° 
As if their monarch's rights to violate 
More needful were, than to preserve the state ! 
From present dangers they divert their care, 
And all their fears are of the royal, heir ; 
Whom now the reigning malice of his foes se0 
Unjudged would sentence, and ere crown'd depose. 
Religion the pretence, but their decree 
To bar his reign, whate'er his faith shall be ! 
By Sanhedrims and clam'rous crowds thus press'd, 
What passions rent the righteous David's breast ? 
Who knows not how to oppose or to comply, S86 
Unjust to grant, and dangerous to deny ! 
How near in this dark juncture Israel's fate, 
•Whose peace one sole expedient could create, 
Which yet the extremest virtue did require, 59 ° 
Even of that prince whose downfal they conspire ! 
His absence David does with tears advise 
To appease their rage. Undaunted he complies. 
Thus he, who, prodigal of blood and ease, 
A royal life exposed to winds and seas, 5M 

At once contending with the waves and fire, 
And heading danger in the wars of Tyre, 
Inglorious now forsakes his native sand, 
And like an exile quits the promised land ! 
Our monarch scarce from pressing tears refrains, 
And painfully his royal state maintains, ct " 

Who now embracing on the extremest shore 
Almost revokes what he enjoin'd before : 
Concludes at last more trust to be allow'd 
To storms and seas than to the raging crowd ! ^ 
Forbear, rash muse, the parting scene to draw, 
With silence charm'd as deep as theirs that saw ! 
Not only our attending nobles weep, 
But hardy sailors swell with tears the deep ! 
The tide restrain'd her course, and more amazed 
The twin-stars on the royal brothers gazed : 6U 

While this sole fear 

Does trouble to our suffering hero bring, 
Lest next the popular rage oppress the king ! 
Thus parting, each for the other's danger grieved, 616 
The shore the king, and seas the prince received. 
Go, injured hero, while propitious gales, 
Soft as thy consort's breath, inspire thy sails ; 
Well may she trust her beauties on a flood, 
Where thy triumphant fleets so oft have rode ! 62() 



" Qualis ubi ad terras abrupto sidere nimbus 
It mare per medium, miseris heu prasscia longe 
Horrescunt corda agricolis : dabit ille ruinas 
Arboribus, stragemque satis, met omnia late." 

Virgil. Mn. xii.451. 

Johu Warton. 
Ver. 592. His absence David does with tears advise] 
This alludes to the Duke of York's quitting the court, 
and retiring to Brussels, and afterwards to Scotland. 
Derrick. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



71 



Safe on thy breast reclined, her rest be deep, 

Rock'd like a Nereid by the waves asleep ; 

Wliil e happiest dreams her fancy entertain, 

And to Elysian fields convert the main ! 

( to, injured hero, while the shores of Tyre 6 ' 25 

At thy approach so silent shall admire, 

Who on thy thunder still their thoughts employ, 

And greet thy landing with a trembling joy. 

On heroes thus the prophet's fate is thrown, 
Admired by every nation but their own ; 63 ° 

Yet while our factious Jews his worth deny, 
Their aching conscience gives their tongue the lie. 
Even in the worst of men the noblest parts 
Confess him, and he triumphs in their hearts, 
Whom to his king the best respects commend 635 
Of subject, soldier, kinsman, prince and friend; 
All sacred names of most divine esteem, 
And to perfection all sustain'd by him, 
Wise, just, and constant, courtly without art, 
Swift to discern and to reward desert ; wo 

No hour of his in fruitless ease destroy'd, 
But on the noblest subj ects still employ'd : 
Whose steady soul ne'er learnt to separate 
Between his monarch's interest and the state, 
But heaps those blessings on the royal head, M5 
Which he well knows must be on subjects shed. 

On what pretence could then the vulgar rage 
Against his worth, and native rights engage? 
Religious fears their argument are made, 
Religious fears his sacred rights invade ! 650 

Of future superstition they complain, 
And Jebusitic worship in his reign : 
With such alarms his foes the crowd deceive, 
With dangers fright which not themselves believe. 

Since nothing can our sacred rites remove, M5 
Whate'er the faith of the successor prove : 
Our Jews their ark shall undisturb'd retain, 
At least while their religion is their gain, 
Who know by old experience Baal's commands 65 ' J 
Not only claim'd their conscience, but their lands ; 
They grudge God's tithes; how therefore shall 

they yield 
An idol full possession of the field ? 
Grant such a prince enthroned, we must confess 
The people's sufferings than that monarch's less, 
Who must to hard conditions still be bound, 666 
And for his quiet with the crowd compound ; 
Or should his thoughts to tyranny incline, 
Where are the means to compass the design ] 
Our crown's revenues are too short a store, 
And jealous Sanhedrims would give no more. 67 ° 

As vain our fears of Egypt's potent aid, 
Not so has Pharaoh learnt ambition's trade, 
Nor ever with such measures can comply 
As shock the common rules of policy ; 
None dread like him the growth of Israel's king, 
And he alone sufficient aids can bring; 6 ' G 

Who knows that prince to Egypt can give law, 
That on our stubborn tribes his yoke could draw : 
A t such profound expense he has not stood, 
Nor dyed for this his hands so deep in blood ; Bao 
Would ne'er through wrong and right his progress 

take, 
Grudge his own rest, and keep the world awake, 
To fix a lawless prince on Judah's throne, 
I" I to invade our rights, and then his own; 
His dear-gain'd conquests cheaply to despoil, 6S6 
And reap the harvest of his crimes and toil. 
We grant his wealth vast as our ocean's sand, 
And curse its fatal influence on our land, 



Which our bribed Jews so numerously partake, 
That even an host his pensioners would make. C9 " 
From these deceivers our divisions spring, 
Our weakness, and the growth of Egypt's king ; 
These, with pretended friendship to the state, 
Our crowd's suspicion of their prince create, 
Both pleased and frighten'd with the specious 

cry, M5 

To guard their sacred rites and property. 
To ruin, thus, the chosen flock are sold, 
While wolves are ta'en for guardians of the fold ; 
Seduced by these we groundlessly complain, 
And loathe the manna of a gentle reign. 7 °° 

Thus our forefathers' crooked paths are trod ; 
We trust our prince no more than they their God. 
But all in vain our reasoning prophets preach 
To those whom sad experience ne'er could teach, 
Who can commence new broils in bleeding scars, 
And fresh remembrance of intestine wars ; '<* 
When the same household mortal foes did yield, 
And brothers stain'd with brothers' blood the 

field; 
When sons' cursed steel the fathers' gore did stain, 
And mothers mourn'd for sons by fathers slain ! 
When, thick as Egypt's locusts on the sand, 711 
Our tribes lay slaughter'd through the promised 

land, 
Whose few survivors with worse fate remain 
To drag the bondage of a tyrant's reign : 
Which scene of woes, unknowing, we renew, ~ 13 
And madly, even those ills we fear, pursue ; 
While Pharaoh laughs at our domestic broils, 
And safely crowds his tents with nations' spoils. 
Yet our fierce Sanhedrim, in restless rage, 
Against our absent hero still engage, "- 

And chiefly urge, such did their frenzy prove, 
The only suit their prince forbids to move, 
Which till obtain'd, they cease affairs of state, 
And real dangers waive for groundless hate. 
Long David's patience waits relief to bring, ? 25 
With all the indulgence of a lawful king, 
Expecting till the troubled waves would cease, 
But found the raging billows still increase. 
The crowd, whose insolence forbearance swells, 
While he forgives too far, almost rebels. ™ 

At last his deep resentments silence broke ; 
Th' imperial palace shook, while thus he spoke : — 

Then Justice wake, and Rigour take her time, 
For, lo ! our mercy is become our crime. 
While halting Punishment her stroke delays, 7M 
Oui' sovereign light, Heaven's sacred trust, decaj's ! 
For whose support even subjects' interest calls; 
Woe to that kingdom where the monarch falls ! 
That prince who yields the least of regal sway, 
So far his people's freedom does betray. ? 4 ' J 

Right lives by law, and law subsists by power ; 
Disarm the shepherd, wolves the flock devour. 
Hard lot of empire o'er a stubborn race, 
Which Heaven itself in vain has tried with grace ! i 
When will our reason's long-charm'd eyes unclose, I 
And Israel judge between her friends and foes ! '*' 



Ver. 705.] " Sanguine civili rem conflant : divitiasque 

Conduplicant avicli, ciudem ca?di accuiniiluntcs. 
Crudelus gnudciit in tiisti funere fratris: 
Kt consanguineum mensas odere, tlmentque.'' 
John Wartox. 
Ver. 735. While 'halting Punishnu nt I r stroke delays,] 
" Rari) antecedentem scelestum 
Deseruit pudo Poena claudo." 

John Wabtok. 



72 



ABSALOM AND ACHIT.OPHEL. 



When shall we see expired deceivers' sway, 
And credit what our God and monarchs say ? 
Dissembled patriots bribed with Egypt's gold, 
Even Sanhedrims in blind obedience hold ; ' so 
Those patriots falsehood in their actions see, 
And judge by the pernicious fruit the tree : 
If aught for which so loudly they declaim, 
Religion, laws, and freedom, were their aim ; 
Our senates in due methods they had led 755 

To avoid those mischiefs which they seem'd to 

dread ; 
But first, ere yet they propp'd the sinking state, 
To impeach and charge, as urged by private hate, 
Proves that they ne'er believed the fears they 

press'd, 
But barbarously destroy'd the nation's rest ! 7m 
Oh ! whither will ungovern'd senates drive, 
And to what bounds licentious votes arrive ? 
When their injustice we are press'd to share, 
The monarch urged to exclude the lawful heir ; 
Are princes thus distinguished from the crowd, 76i 
And this the privilege of royal blood 1 
But grant we should confirm the wrongs they 

press, 
His sufferings yet were than the people's less ; 
Condemn'd for life the murdering sword to wield, 
And on their heirs entail a bloody field : 7 '° 

Thus madly their own freedom they betray, 
And for the oppression which they fear make way ; 
Succession fix'd by Heaven, the kingdom's bar, 
Which once dissolved, admits the flood of war ; 
Waste, rapine, spoil, without the assault begin, 775 
And our mad tribes supplant the fence within. 
Since then their good they will not understand, 
'Tis time to take the monarch's power in hand ; 
Authority and force to join with skill, 
And save the lunatics against their will. 7S0 

The same rough means that 'suage the crowd, 

appease 
Our senate's raging with the crowd's disease. 
Henceforth unbiass'd measures let them draw 
From no false gloss, but genuine text of law ; 
Nor urge those crimes upon religion's score, 78S 
Themselves so much in Jebusites abhor. 
Whom laws convict, and only they, shall bleed, 
Nor Pharisees by Pharisees be freed. 
Impartial justice from our throne shall shower, 
All shall have right, and we our sovereign power. 
He said, the attendants heard with awful joy, 791 
And glad presages their fix'd thoughts employ ; 
From Hebron now the suffering heir return'd, 
A realm that long with civil discord moum'd ; 
Till his approach, like some arriving god, ? 95 

Composed and heal'd the place of his abode ; 
The deluge check'd, that to Judea spread, 
And stopp'd sedition at the fountain's head. 
Thus in forgiving David's paths he drives, 
And chased from Israel, Israel's peace contrives. 
The field confess'd his power in arms before, 801 
And seas proclaimed his triumphs to the shore ; 
As nobly has his sway in Hebron shown, 
How fit to inherit godlike David's throne. 

Ver. 752. And judge by the pernicious fruit the tree;} 
A scriptural allusion. John Warton. 

Ver. 803. nobly has his sway in Bebron shown,'] 

When the Duke of York returned from Scotland, in the 
beginning of 1682, the murmurs against him seemed to 
have, in a good measure, subsided. He had shown 
himself so well inclined to support the reformed religion in 
that kingdom, that he was thanked for it by seven bishops 



Through Sion's streets his glad arrival 's spread, 805 
And conscious Faction shrinks her snaky head ; 
His train their sufferings think o'erpaid to see 
The crowd's applause with virtue once agree. 
Success charms all, but zeal for worth distress'd, 
A virtue proper to the brave and best ; 81 ° 

'Mongst whom was Jothran, Jothran always bent 
To serve the crown, and loyal by descent, 
Whose constancy so firm, and conduct just, 
Deserved at once two royal masters' trust ; 
Who Tyre's proud arms had manfully withstood 
On seas, and gather'd laurels from the flood ; 816 
Of learning yet no portion was denied, 
Friend to the muses and the muses' pride. 
Nor can Benaiah's worth forgotten lie, 
Of steady soul when public storms were high ; 82 ° 
Whose qonduct, while the Moor fierce onsets 

made, 
Secured at once our honour and our trade. 
Such were the chiefs who most his sufferings 

mourn'd, 
And view'd with silent joy the prince return'd ; 
While those that sought his absence to betray, s 25 
Press first their nauseous false respects to pay ; 
Him still the officious hypocrites molest, 
And with malicious duty break his rest. 

While real transports thus his friends employ, 
And foes are loud in their dissembled joy, 83 ° 
His triumphs so resounded far and near, 
Miss'd not his young ambitious rival's ear ; 
And as when joyful hunters' clam'rous train 
Some slumbering lion wakes in Moab's plain, 
Who oft had forced the bold assailants yield, 835 
And scatter'd his pursuers through the field, 
Disdaining, furls his mane and tears the ground, 
His eyes inflaming all the desert round, 
With roar of seas directs his chasers' way, 
Provokes from far, and dares them to the fray ; si0 
Such rage storm'd now in Absalom's fierce breast, 
Such indignation his fired eyes confess'd. 
Where now was the instructor of his pride ? 
Slept the old pilot in so rough a tide? 
Whose wiles had from the happy shore betray' d, W5 
And thus on shelves the credulous youth convey'd. 



in an address which was published, to the satisfaction of 
all ranks of people ; and the citizens of London, particu- 
larly, treated him on that account with vast respect. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 806. And conscious Faction shrinks her snaky head;} 
An energetic line, the imagery of which Pope seems to 
have dilated, and perhaps weakened. 

" Then hateful Envy her own snakes shall feel, 
And Persecution mourn her broken wheel ; 

Then Faction roar " 

John Warton. 

Ver. 811. Jothran always bent 

To serve the crown, and loyal by descent^} 
Jothran, the Lord Dartmouth, a nobleman of great honesty, 
who, though inviolably attached to the Duke of York, had 
always the courage to tell him freely when he disliked any 
of his proceedings ; and his highness was discreet enough 
to take his representations as they were meant. Derrick. 

Ver. 819. Nor can Benaiah's worth forgotten lie,} Benaiah, 
Colonel, afterwards General Sackville, a gentleman of tried 
courage, and known good sense : he was of the Dorset 
family ; had served at Tangier with reputation ; and on 
account of his having expressed a disbelief of the Popish 
plot, was expelled the House of Commons, and committed 
to the Tower. He obtained his liberty, rank, and command, 
in a very short time, but not his seat in the house. 
Derrick. 

Ver. 833. And as when joyful hunters' &c] This is a 
faint imitation of Dryden, and abounds with what Quintilian 
calls " otiosa epitheta." John Warton. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



73 



In deep revolving thoughts he weighs his state, 
Secure of craft, nor doubts to baffle fate ; 
At least, if his storm'd bark must go adrift, 
To baulk his charge, and for himself to shift. 850 
In which his dextrous wit had oft been shown, 
And in the wreck of kingdoms saved his own ; 
But now with more than common danger press'd, 
Of various resolutions stands possess'd, 
Perceives the crowd's unstable zeal decay, So5 
Lest their recanting chief the cause betray, 
Who on a father's grace his hopes may ground, 
And for his pardon with their heads compound. 
Him, therefore, ere his fortune slip her time, 
The statesman plots to engage in some bold crime 
Past pardon, whether to attempt his bed, m 

Or threat with open arms the royal head, 
Or other daring method, and unjust, 
That may confirm him in the people's trust. 
But failing thus to ensnare him, nor secure SG5 
How long his foil'd ambition may endure, 
Plots next to lay him by as past his date, 
And try some new pretender's luckier fate ; 
Whose hopes with equal toil he would pursue, 
Nor cares what claimer 's crown'd, except tho 

true. 870 

Wake, Absalom, approaching ruin shun, 
And see, oh, see, for whom thou art undone ! 
How are thy honours and thy fame betray'd, 
The property of desperate villains made ? 
Lost power and conscious fears their crimes create, 
And guilt in them was little less than fate ; S ' G 
But why shouldst thou, from every grievance free, 
Forsake thy vineyards for their stormy sea ] 
For thee did Canaan's milk and honey flow, 
Love dress'd thy bowers, and laurels sought thy 

brow, ^ 

Preferment, wealth, and power thy vassals were, 
And of a monarch all things but the care. 
Oh, should our crimes again that curse draw down, 
And rebel-arms once more attempt the crown, 
Sure ruin waits unhappy Absalon, *» 

Alike by conquest or defeat undone ! 
Who could relentless see such youth and charms 
Expire with wretched fate in impious aims '.' 
A prince so form'd, with earth's and Heaven's 

applause, 
To triumph o'er crown'd heads in David's cause : s9 ° 
Or grant him victor, still his hopes must fail, 
Who conquering would not for himself prevail ; 
The faction, whom he trusts for future sway, 
Him and the public would alike betray; 
Amongst themselves divide the captive state, 895 
And found their hydra-empire in his fate ! 
Thus having beat the clouds with painful flight, 
The pitied youth, with sceptres in his sight, 
(So have their cruel politics decreed,) 
Must by that crew, that made him guilty, bleed ! 900 
For, could their pride brook any prince's sway, 
Whom but mild David would they choose to 

obey? 
Who once at such a gentle reign repine, 
The fall of monarchy itself design ; 
From hate to that their reformations spring, m 
And David not their grievance, but the king. 
Sei/.cd now with panic fear the faction lies, 
Lest this clear truth striko Absalom's charm'd 

eyes, 

Vcr. 804. That may confirm him] First editiou : That 
may sixure him. 



Lest he perceive, from long enchantment free, 
What all beside the flatter'd youth must see. 91 ° 
But whate'er doubts his troubled bosom swell, 
Fair carriage still became Achitophel ; 
Who now an envious festival installs, 
And to survey their strength the faction calls, 
Which fraud, religious worship too must gild ; 915 
But, oh, how weakly does sedition build ! 
For, lo ! the royal mandate issues forth, 
Dashing at once their treason, zeal, and mirth ! 
So have I seen disastrous chance invade, 
Where careful emmets had their forage laid, 9:0 
Whether fierce Vulcan's rage the furzy plain 
Had seized, engender'd by some careless swain, 
Or swelling Neptune lawless inroads made, 
And to their cell of store his flood convey'd ; 
The commonwealth broke up, distracted go, xs 
And in wild haste their loaded mates o'erthrow : 
Even so our scatter'd guests confusedly meet, 
With boil'd, baked, roast, all justliiig in the 

street ; 
Dejected all, and ruefully dismay 'd, 
For shekel, without treat, or treason, paid. 93u 

Sedition's dark eclipse now fainter shows, 
More bright each hour the royal planet grows, 
Of force the clouds of envy to disperse, 
In kind conjunction of assisting stars. 
Here, labouring muse, those glorious chiefs relate, 
That turn'd the doubtful scale of David's fate ; 936 
The rest of that illustrious band rehearse, 
Immortalised in laurell'd Asaph's verse : 
Hard task ! yet will not I thy flight recall, 
View heaven, and then enjoy thy glorious fall. 94 ° 

First write Bezaliel, whose illustrious name 
Forestalls our praise, and gives his poet fame. 
The Kenites' rocky province his command, 
A barren limb of fertile Canaan's land ; 
Which for its generous natives yet could be 945 
Held worthy such a president as he ! 
Bezaliel with each grace and virtue fraught, 
Serene his looks, serene his life and thought ; 
On whom so largely nature heap'd her store, 
There scarce reniain'd for arts to give him more ! 
To aid the crown and state his greatest zeal, 951 
His second care that service to conceal ; 



Ver.912. 



■ AchitGpheL; 



Who now an tnuious festival installs, 
And to survey their strength the faction calls,] 
The Duke of York being invited to dine at Merchant 
Tailors' Hall with the Company of Artillery, of which he 
was captain-general, on the 21st of April, 16S2, tickets were 
dispersed in opposition to, and contempt of, this meeting ; 
inviting the nobility, gentry, and citizens, who wished 
well to the Protestant religion, to convene the same day at 
St. Michael's church, CornhiU, and thence proceed to dine at 
Haberdashers' Hall : but this association was stopped 
by an order of council. Dkrkick. 

Ver. 917. lo I the royal mandate issues forth,"] 

The substance of which was, that the power of appointing 
public days of fasts and thanksgivings being vested in the 
crown, a particular meeting, pretended to that end, and 
advertised to be held on the 21st of April, 1GS2, at St. 
Michael's, CornhiU, must be of a seditious tendency, as 
not having the royal sanction; and therefore the lord 
mayor and aldermen of London arc, at their peril, ordered 
to hinder it as an unlawful assembly. DBBBICE. 

Ver. 929. Dejected all,] First edition : Derrick incor- 
rectly, Defecting. 

Ver. 941. First write Ilrzalkl,] Bezaliel, the Marquis of 
Worcester, created Duke of Beaufort in 1682, a noblemen 
of great worth and honour, who had always taken part with 
the king, and one of those whom the Commons, in 1680, 
prayed his majesty t» remove from about bis person, aa 
being a favourer of Popery. Dekuick. 



74 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Of dues observant, firm to every trust : 
And to the needy always more than just : 
Who truth from specious falsehood can divide, 955 
Has all the gownsmen's skill without their pride; 
Thus crown d with worth from heights of honour 

won, 
Sees all his glories copied in his son, 
Whose forward fame should every muse engage ; 
Whose youth boasts skill denied to others' age. 90 ° 
Men, manners, language, books of noblest kind, 
Already are the conquest of his mind. 
Whose loyalty before its date was prime ; 
Nor waited the dull course of rolling time : 
The monster faction early he dismayed, 965 

And David's cause long since confess'd his aid. 
Brave Abdael o'er the prophets' school was 

placed ; 
Abdael with all his father's virtue graced ; 
A hero, who, while stars look'd wondering down, 
Without one Hebrew's blood restored the crown. 
That praise was his; what therefore did remain 971 
For following chiefs, but boldly to maintain 
That crown restored ; and in this rank of fame, 
Brave Abdael with the first a place must claim. 
Proceed, illustrious, happy chief, proceed, 9 ' 5 

Foreseize the garlands for thy brow decreed, 
While the inspired tribe attend with noblest 

strain 
To register the glories thou shalt gain : 
For sure the dew shall Gilboah's hills forsake, 
And Jordan mis his stream with Sodom's lake, 
Or seas retired their secret stores disclose, 9S1 

And to the sun their scaly brood expose, 
Or swell'd above the clifts their billows raise, 
Before the muses leave their patron's praise. 

Eliab our next labour does invite, 9a5 

And hard the task to do Eliab right : 



Ver. 933. firm to every trust,'] First edition : 

firm in e/ery trust. 

Ver. 958. Sees all his glories copied in his son,~\ Charles 
Somerset, Lord Herbert of Ragland in Monmouthshire, 
who, according to Wood, was entered of Christ Church, 
Oxford, ind took his degree as a master of arts in 1681. 

DEERIC!. 

Ver. 9*J8. Abdael with all his father's virtue graced;] 
Abdael, the Duke of Albemarle, son to the brave General 
Monk, and president of Wales. He was liberal and loyal, 
and a leading man among the friends of the King and the 
Duke, on which account he was severely stigmatised by the 
Whig writers. In 1687 he was sent abroad governor of 
Jamaica, where he died. Deeeick. 

Ver. 985. Eliab] Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, wrote 
a most severe satire on Lord Arlington, here introduced 
under the name of Eliab, called " Advice to a Painter." 
This 1-U-ary Bennet was a younger son of a private gentle- 
man, had followed the royal family into exile; at whose 
restoration lie was made first privy purse, then secretary of 
state, earl of Arlington, knight of the garter, and at last 
lord chamberlain to King Charles II. and to his brother 
King James II. afterwards. He was for some years a kind 
of favourite minister. I mean conversant in his master's 
pleasures, as well as entrusted with his business : notwith- 
standing the constant enmity both of the Dnke of York 
and Chancellor Clarendon, whose superior power, especially 
in state affairs, was yet unable to shake King Charles's 
inclination to this gentleman, who, therefore, at the other's 
banishment, remained, if not sole minister, at least the 
principal one for some time. He met with one thing very 
peculiar in his fortune, which I have scarce known happen 
to any man else : with all his advancement (which is wont 
to create malice, but seldom contempt) he was believed in 
England, by most people, a man of much less abilities than 
he really had. For this unusual sort of mistake, I can only 
imagine two causes : first, his over-cautious avoiding to 
speak in parliament, as having been more conversant in 
affairs abroad ; though nobody performed it better when 



Long with the royal wanderer he roved, 

And firm in all the turns of fortune proved ! 

Such ancient service and desert so large, 

Well claim'd the royal household for his charge. 

His age with only one mild heiress bless'd, m 

In all the bloom of smiling nature dress'd, 

And bless'd again to see his flower allied 

To David's stock, and made young Othniel's 

bride ! 
The bright restorer of his father's youth, 995 

Devoted to a son's and subj ect's truth : 
Kesolved to bear that prize of duty home, 
So bravely sought, while sought by Absalom. 
Ah prince : the illustrious planet of thy birth, 
And thy more powerful virtue guard thy worth ; 
That no Achitophel thy ruin boast ! 10111 

Israel too much in one such wreck has lost. 

Even envy must consent to Helon's worth, 
Whose soul, though Egypt glories in his birth, 
Could for our captive ark its zeal retain, 1005 

And Pharaoh's altars in their pomp disdain : 
To slight his gods was small ; with nobler pride, 
He all the allurements of his court defied : 
Whom profit nor example could betray, 
But Israel's friend, and true to David's sway. 101 ° 
What acts of favour in his province fall, 
On merit he confers, and freely all. 

Our list of nobles next let Amri grace, 
Whose merits claim'd the Abethdin's high place; 



obliged to give account of some treaties to the House of 
Lords, or to defend himself in the House of Commons ; by 
which last he once brought himself off with great dexterity. 
The other reason of it I fancy to have come from the Duke 
of Buckingham, who being his rival in court, after the fall 
of Clarendon, and having an extraordinary talent for turn- 
ing any thing into ridicule, exercised it sufficiently on this 
lord, both with the king and every body else ; which had 
its effect at last, even to his being left out of his master's 
business, but not his favour, which in some measure con- 
tinued stitl ; and long after this his supplanter was totally 
discarded. Dr. J. Waetox. 

Ver. 988. And firm in all the turns of fortune proved !] 
First edition : fortunes. 

Ver. 991. His age with only one mild heiress bles'd, 
young OthiueVs bride.\ 

Othniel, Henry Duke of Grafton, one of the King's 
natural sons, begotten upon the body of the Duchess of 
Cleveland. She was averse to his marrying Lord Arlington's 
daughter, though a considerable heiress. I have seen a 
letter from her to Lord Treasurer Danby, dated from Paris, 
(I think in 1675) thanking him for his care in endea- 
vouring to prevent this match. It is in her own hand- 
writing. 

This Duke of Grafton soon joined the Prince of Orange 
at the revolution, and was killed at the siege of Cork, in 
the year 1690. He had great natural bravery, was very 
sincere, but rough as the sea, of which he was fond, and 
whereon, had he lived, he promised to make a gallant 
figure. Deeeick. 

Ver. 999. Ah prince I] First edition. Derrick erro- 
neously, A prince ! 

Ver. 1003. Even envy must consent to Helon's worthy 
Helon, the Earl of Feversham, a Frenchman by birth, and 
nephew to Mareschal Turenne : he was honest, brave, 
and good-natured, but precipitate and injudicious. Deeeick. 

Ver. 1007. To slight his gods was small ; with nobler pride, 
He all the allurements of his court defied:] 

His lordship professed himself a Protestant, though 
Burnet says there was reason to suspect his sincerity. 
Affection for King Charles II., who really esteemed him, 
made him prefer Englaud to his own country, where he had 
great interest, and might have expected to be nobly provided 
for. Deeeick. 

Ver. 1013. Our list of '.nobles next let Amri grace,] Amri, 
Sir Heneage Finch, constituted lord keeper of the great 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



75 



Who, with a loyalty that did excel, 1M5 

Brought all the endowments of Achitophel. 
Sincere was Amri, and not only knew, 
But Israel's sanctions into practice drew ; 
Our laws, that did a boundless ocean seem, 
Were coasted all, and f'athom'd all by him. 1(co 
No rabbin speaks like him their mystic sense, 
So just, and with such charms of eloquence : 
To whom the double blessing does belong, 
With Moses' inspiration, Aaron's tongue. 

Than Sheva none more loyal zeal have shown, 
Wakeful as Judah's lion for the crown, W2S 

Who for that cause still combats in his age, 
For which his youth with danger did engage. 
In vain our factious priests the cant revive ; 
In vain seditious scribes with libel strive 1030 

To inflame the crowd; while he with watchful 

eye 
Observes, and shoots their treasons as they fly ; 
Their weekly frauds his keen replies detect ; 
He undeceives more fast than they infect. 
So Moses when the pest on legions preyed, lo;i5 
Advanced his signal, and the plague was stay'd. 

Once more, my fainting muse, thy pinions try, 
And strength's exhausted store let love supply. 
What tribute, Asaph, shall we render thee '.' 
Wc '11 crown thee with a wreath from thy own 
tree ! lwo 

Thy laurel grove no envy's flash can blast ; 
The song of Asaph shall for ever last. 

With wonder late posterity shall dwell 
On Absalom and false Achitophel : 
Thy strains shall be our slumbering prophets' 
dream, lws 

And when our Sion virgins sing their theme, 
Our jubilees shall with thy verse be graced ; 
The song of Asaph shall for ever last. 

How fierce his satire loosed; restrain'd, how 
tame ; llMa 

How tender of the offending young man's fame ! 
How well his worth, and brave adventures styled ; 
Just to his virtues, to his error mild. 
No page of thine that fears the strictest view, 
But teems with just reproof, or praise as due ; 
Not Eden could a fairer prospect yield, I0i5 

All paradise without one barren field : 
Whose wit the censure of his foes has pass'd ; 
The song of Asaph shall for ever last. 

What praise for such rich strains shall we 
allow 2 
What just rewards the grateful crown bestow? 10GO 

seal on Shaftesbury's dismission, and soon after advanced 
to a peerage and the chancellorship. He was a zealous 
Protestant, and yet conducted himself with such steadiness 
■ i"i integrity, as to give offence to no party ; which was a 
little surprising, as lie held this important station at a time 
When party-feuds raged witli unlicensed fury. His abilities 
were very great; he was judicious, eloquent, and industrious, 
an able lawyer, and a statesman, endued with strong 
veracity and inflexible integrity. Derrick. 

Ver. 1025. Than Sheva none] Meaning Sir Roger 
L Estrange, who of all venal and sordid scribblers that ever 
defended any administration, in any country or time, seems 
i e gone the greatest length in striving to defend any 
grievance and injustice that a government can be guilty 
Of His style is the masterpiece of what may be called, 
the /'. rtrDull, and was vitiated by cant and atl'ectcd vulgar 
08, and coffee-house expressions. In this sort of 
diction he translated, or rather travestied, the Offices of 
I'ulh , ill,. Morals of Seneca, the Visions of Quevedo, and 
the History of Josephus ; and gave a nauseous caricatura 
of the simplicity of ^lisop in his Fables. Dr. J. Wakton. 



While bees in flowers rejoice, and flowers in dew, 
While stars and fountains to their course are true ; 
While Judah's throne, and Sion's rock stand fast 
The song of Asaph and the fame shall last. 

Still Hebron's honour'd happy soil retains 106S 
Our royal hero's beauteous dear remains ; 
Who now sails off with winds nor wishes slack, 
To bring his sufferings' bright companion back. 
But ere such transport can our sense employ, 
A bitter grief must poison half our joy ; ln?0 

Nor can our coasts restored those blessings see 
Without a bribe to envious destiny ! 
Cursed Sodom's doom for ever fix the tide 
Where by inglorious chance the valiant died 
Give not insulting Askalon to know, 1(| 7 5 

Nor let Oath's daughters triumph in our woe ! 
No sailor with the news swell Egypt's pride, 
By what inglorious fate our valiant died ! 
Weep, Anion ! Jordan, weep thy fountains dry ! 
While Sion's rock dissolves for a supply. 10so 

Calm were the elements, night's silence deep, 
The waves scarce murmuring, and the winds 

asleep ; 
Yet fate for ruin takes so still an hour, 
And treacherous sands the princely bark devour ; 
Then death unworthy seized a generous race, 1083 
To virtue's scandal, and the stars' disgrace ! 
Oh ! had the indulgent Powers vouchsafed to 

yield, 
Instead of faithless shelves, a listed field ; 
A listed field of Heaven's and David's foes, 
Fierce as the troops that did his youth oppose, loso 
Each life had on his slaughter'd heap retired, 
Not tamely, and unconquering thus expired : 
But destiny is now their only foe, 
And dying, even o'er that they triumph too ; 
With loud last breaths their master's 'scape 
applaud, mb 

Of whom kind force could scarce the fates defraud; 
Who for such followers lost, oh, matchless mind 
At his own safety now almost repined ! 
Say, royal Sir, by all your fame in arms, 
Your praise in peace, and by Urania's charms ; 110 ° 
If all your sufferings past so nearly press'd, 
Or pierced with half so painful grief your breast ) 

Thus some diviner muse her hero forms, 
Not soothed with soft delights, but toss'd in 
storms. 

Ver. 1061. While lees in flowers rejoice, &c] Virg. 
Eel. v. 76. 

" Dum juga montis aper, flurios dum piscis amabit, 
Dumque thymo pascentur apes," &c. &c. 

Todd. 
Ver. 1065. Still Hebron's honour'd happy soil retains 

Our royal hero's beauteous dear remains ; &c] 
The duko seeming to have now got the better of his 
enemies, the Popish plot having lost its credit, and the 
fears of Popery greatly subsided, he embarked for Scotland 
in the Gloster yacht on the 3rd of May, to bring up his 
family; but here 

A bitter grief must poison half his joy. 
For early in the morning on the 5th, she struck upon a 
sand-bank, and soon went to the bottom, carrying with her 
one hundred and thirty stout men, several young people of 
quality, and many of the duke's servants, who 

With loud last breaths their master's 'scape applaud. 
For so well was he beloved, that it is said, even when they 
saw themselves sinking without hope of relief, thej ex- 
pressed their joy at beholding their master safe. And lie 
was highly complimented for his resolution, raininess, and 
humanity, on this melancholy occasion, in whlofa he 
seemed less solicitous for himself than any other person. 
Derrick. 



Nor stretch'd on roses in the myrtle grove, 11M 
Nor crowns his days with mirth, his nights with 

love, 
But far removed in thundering camps is found, 
His slumbers short, his bed the herbless ground : 
In tasks of danger always seen the first, 
Feeds from the hedge, and slakes with ice his 

thirst. m0 

Long must his patience strive with fortune's rage, 
And long opposing gods themselves engage, 
Must see his country flame, his friends destroyed, 
Before the promised empire be enjoy'd : 
Such toil of fate must build a man of fame, 1115 
And such, to Israel's crown, the godlike David 

came. 
What sudden beams dispel the clouds so fast, 
Whose drenching rains laid all our vineyards 

waste 1 
The spring so far behind her course delay 'd, 
On the instant is in all her bloom array'd ; 1I20 
The winds breathe low, the element serene ; 
Yet mark what motion in the waves is seen ! 
Thronging and busy as Hyblaean swarms, 
Or straggled soldiers summon'd to their arms. 
See where the princely bark, in loosest pride, 1125 
With all her guardian fleet, adorns the tide ! 



Ver. 1105. Nor stretch'd on roses] First edition : Not. 
Ver. 1107. 
But far removed in thundering camps is found, 
His slumbers short, his bed the herbless ground : 
In taslcs of danger always seen the first, 
Feeds from the hedge, and slakes with ice his thirst^ 
So Livy of Hannibal, lib. 19. cap. i. 

" Nnllo labore aut corpus fatigari, aut animus vinci ■ 
poterat : caloris ac frigoris patientia par : cibi potionisque 
desiderio naturali, non voluptate modus finitus : vigiliarum 
somnique nee die nee nocte discriminata tempora ; id quod 
gerendis rebus superesset quieti datum : ea neque molli 
strato, neque silentio accersita : multi ssepe militari sagulo 
opertum nunc jaeentem inter eustodias, stationesque 
militum conspexerant : vestitus nihil inter sequales excel- 
lens : arma atque equi conspiciebantur : equitum pedi- 
tumque idem longe primus erat : princeps in praaliiim ibat : 
ultimus conserto pra?lio excedebat." John Wakton. 

Ver. 1125. See wliere the princely bark, in loosest pride, 
With all her guardian fleet, adorns the tide / 
High on her deck the royal lovers stand, &c] 
Having settled the government of Scotland, the Duke of 
York, with his duchess and household, returned to England, 
arriving safely in the Gun-fleet on the 6th of May. They 
were met at Erith by the King and court, whom they 
accompanied by water to "Whitehall, being saluted, as they 



High on her deck the royal lovers stand, 
Our crimes to pardon ere they touch'd our land. 
Welcome to Israel and to David's breast ! 
Here all your toils, here all your sufferings rest. 
This year did Ziloah rule Jerusalem, n31 

And boldly all sedition's surges stem, 
Howe'er encumber'd with a viler pair 
Than Ziph or Shimei to assist the chair ; 
Yet Ziloah's loyal labours so prevail'd, 1135 

That faction at the next election fail'd, 
When even the common cry did justice sound, 
And merit by the multitude was crown'd : 
With David then was Israel's peace restored, 
Crowds mourn'd their error, and obey'd their 
lord. H40 



came up, by the Tower guns, and by all the ships in the 
river. From Whitehall they went to Arlington-house in 
the Park, where they were sumptuously entertained ; and 
his royal highness received the congratulations of the city 
on his happy escape and return, and London and West- 
minster blazed with bonfires, and echoed with rejoicing for 
this happy event. Deeeick. 

Ver. 1129. Welcome to IsraeX] The Duke of Buckingham 
gave this character of the two royal brothers; that Charles 
could see things if he would, and James would see things 
if he could. The conduct of James, and his behaviour in 
his visit to Oxford, is marvellously weak, preposterous, and 
absurd It is recorded in Anthony Wood's Life. Charles II. 
used to say with respect to the mistresses of his brother, 
which were plain and homely, that his confessor had 
imposed such mistresses upon him as Mrs. Williams, Lady 
Bellasyse, Mrs. Sedley, and Mrs. Churchill, by way of 
penance. Charles II.'s favourite mistress retained her 
beauty till near seventy years of age. Sir Peter Lely, in a 
high strain of flattery, drew her portrait, and that of her 
son the Duke of Richmond, as a Madonna, and Child, for 
a convent in France. Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 1131. This year did Ziloah rule Jerusalem, &c.] Sir 
John Moor, lord mayor of London in 1681, and one of the 
representatives cf the city in Parliament, was a most 
zealous and corrupt partisan of the court. He nominated 
two sheriffs whom he knew would be perfectly subservient 
to the ministry and the arbitrary measures of the King. 
Dr. J. Waetost. 

In a congratulatory poem, addressed to Sir William 
Pritchard, (the successor of Sir John Moor,) published on a 
half-sheet in 1682, the humble bard hurls his indignation, 
not without an allusion to Dryden's poem, against 
" That long-ear'd rout, and their Achitophel, 
That think it sin to live and not rebel ; 
Those pious elders, that Geneva rabble, 
. That hope, once more, to make old Paul's a stable." 

Todd. 
Ver. 1132. And boldly all sedition's surges stem,'} First 
edition: Syrges. Derrick, Syrtes. 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



77 



KEY TO ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. 



Abdael General Monk, Duke of Albemarle. 

("The name given, through this 
Abethdin -I Poem, to a Lord Chancellor in 

(_ general. 

Absalom Duke of Monmouth. 

Achitophel .... The Earl of Shaftesbury. 

Adriel Earl of Mulgrave. 

Aqag Sir Edmondbury Godfrey. 

, f Mr. Seymour, Speaker of the House 

AMIEL \ of Commons. 

, ( Sir Heneage Finch, Earl of Win- 

AUEI - • • - ■{ Chelsea, and Lord Chancellor. 

Anxabel . . . Duchess of Monmouth. 
Arod Sir William Waller. 

f A Charactei drawn by Tate for 
Asaph .-< Dryden, in the Second Part of 

( this Poem. 

Balaam Earl of Huntingdon. 

Balak Barnet. 

Barzillai .... Duke of Ormond. 
Bathsheba .... Duchess of Portsmouth. 

Bexaiah General Sackville. 

Ben Jochanan . . . Rev. Mr. Samuel Johnson. 

Bezaliel Duke of Beaufort. 

Caleb Lord Grey. 

Corah Dr. Oates. 

David Charles II. 

Doeo Elkanah Settle. 

Egypt France. 

PlT .„ /Sir Henry Bennet, Earl of Arling- 

tLIAB \ ton. 

Ethnic Plot . . . The Popish Plot. 

f The Land of Exile, more particu- 
Gath .-< larly Brussels, where King 

^ Charles II. long resided. 

Hebron Scotland. 

Hebrew Priests . . The Church of England Clergy. 



Helox Earl of Feversham. 

Hushai Hyde, Earl of Rochester. 

Jebusites Papists. 

Jerusalem .... London. 

Jews ...... English. 

Jonas Sir William Jones. 

Jordan Dover. 

Jotham Marquis of Halifax. 

Jothran Lord Dartmouth. 

Isqbosheth .... Richard Cromwell. 

Israel England. 

Issachar Thomas Thynne, Esq. 

Judas Mr. Ferguson, a canting Teacher. 

Ishban Sir Robert Clayton. 

Mephibosheth . . . Pordage. 

Michal Queen Catharine. 

Naoab Lord Howard of Escrick. 

Og Shadwell. 

Phaleo Forbes. 

Pharaoh King of France. 

Rabsheka Sir Thomas Player. 

Sag an of Jerusalem . Dr. Compton, Bishop of London. 

Sanhedrim .... Parliament. 

Saul Oliver Cromwell. 

Shimei Sheriff Bethel. 

Sheva Sir Roger Lestrange. 

Solymean Rout . . London Rebels. 

Tyre Holland, 

Uzza Jack Hall. 

., , „„„ f Sancroft, Archbishop of Canter- 

ZADO ° X bury. 

Zaken 1 A *' ern be r °f tne House of Com- 

'( mons. 

Zimri Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. 

Ziloah Sir John Moor. 



THE MEDAL. A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION". 



THE MEDAL 

A SATIEE AGAINST SEDITION. 

AN EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS. 



For to whom can I dedicate this poem, with so much justice as to you? 'Tis the representation of 
your own hero : 'tis the picture drawn at length, which you admire and prize so much in little. 
None of your ornaments are wanting ; neither the landscape of the Tower, nor the rising sun ; nor 
the Anno Domini of your new sovereign's coronation. This must needs be a grateful undertaking to 
your whole party ; especially to those who have not been so happy as to purchase the original. I 
hear the graver has made a good market of it : all his kings are bought up already ; or the value of the 
remainder so inhanced, that many a poor Polander who would be glad to worship the image, is not 
able to go to the cost of him, but must be content to see him here. I must confess I am no 
great artist ; but sign-post painting will serve the turn to remember a friend by, especially when 
better is not to be had. Yet for your comfort the lineaments are true ; and though he sat not five 
times to me, as he did to B., yet I have consulted history, as the Italian painters do, when they 
would draw a Nero, or a Caligula ; though they have not seen the man, they can help their imagina- 
tion by a statue of him, and find out the colouring from Suetonius and Tacitus. Truth is, you might 
have spared one side of your Medal : the head would be seen to more advantage if it were placed on 
a spike of the Tower, a little nearer to the sun, which would then break out to better purpose. 

You tell us in your preface to the No-protestant Plot,* that you shall be forced hereafter to 
leave off your modesty : I suppose you mean that little which is left you ; for it was worn to rags 
when you put out this Medal. Never was there practised such a piece of notorious impudence in the 
face of an established government. I believe when he is dead you will wear him in thumb-rings, as 
the Turks did Scanderbeg ; as if there were virtue in his bones to preserve you against monarchy. 
Yet all this while you pretend not only zeal for the public good, but a due veneration for the person 
of the king. But all men who can see an inch before them, may easily detect those gross fallacies. 
That it is necessary for men in your circumstances to pretend both, is granted you ; for without them 
there could be no ground to raise a faction. But I would ask you one civil question, what right has 
any man among you, or any association of men, (to come nearer to you), who, out of parliament, 
cannot be considered in a public capacity, to meet as you daily do in factious clubs, to vilify the 
government in your discourses, and to libel it in all your writings? Who made you judges in Israel? 
Or how is it consistent with your zeal to the public welfare to promote sedition ? Does your defini- 
tion of loyal, which is to serve the king according to the laws, allow you the licence of traducing the 
exscutive power with which you own he is invested? You complain that his Majesty has lost the love 
and confidence of his people ; and by your very urging it, you endeavour what in you lies to make 
him lose them. All good subjects abhor the thought of arbitrary power, whether it be in one or many : 
if you were the patriots you would seem, you would not at this rate incense the multitude to assume 
it ; for no sober man can fear it, either from the king's disposition, or his practice, or even where you 
would odiously lay it, from his ministers. Give us leave to enjoy the government and the benefit of 
laws under which we were born, and which we desire to transmit to our posterity. You are not the 

* A folio pamphlet with this title, vindicating Lord Shaftesbury from being concerned in any plotting design against 
the king, was published in two parts, the first in 1681, the second in 1682. Wood says, that the general report was, that 
they were written by the earl himself, or that, at least, he found the materials; and his servant, who put it into the 
printer's hands, was committed to prison. Deerick. 



AN EPISTLE TO THE WHIGS. 



trustees of the public liberty ; and if you have not right to petition in a crowd, much less have you to 
intermeddle in the management of affairs, or to arraign what you do not like, which in effect is every 
thing that is done by the king and council. Can you imagine that any reasonable man will believe 
you respect the person of his Majesty, when 'tis apparent that your seditious pamphlets are stuffed 
with particular reflections on him ? If you have the confidence to deny this, 'tis easy to be evinced 
from a thousand passages, which I only forbear to quote, because I desire they should die, and be 
forgotten. I have perused many of your papers ; and to show you that I have, the third part of your 
No-protestant Plot* is much of it stolen from your dead author's pamphlet, called the Growth of 
Popery ; as manifestly as Milton's Defence of the English People is from Buchanan De jure regni apud 
Scotos ; or your first Covenant and new Association from the holy league of the French Guisards. 
Any one who reads Davila, may trace your practices all along. There were the same pretences for 
reformation and loyalty, the same aspersions of the king and the same grounds of a rebellion. I know 
not whether you will take the historian's word, who says it was reported, that Poltrot, a Hugonot, 
murdered Francis, duke of Guise, by the instigations of Theodore Beza, or that it was a Hugonot 
minister, otherwise called a Presbyterian, (for our Church abhors so devilish a tenet) who first writ a 
treatise of the lawfulness of deposing and murdering kings of a different persuasion in religion : but 
I am able to prove, from the doctrine of Calvin, and principles of Buchanan, that they set the people 
above the magistrate ; which, if I mistake not, is your own fundamental, and which carries your 
loyalty no farther than your liking. When a vote of the House of Commons goes on your side, you 
are as ready to observe it as if it were passed into a law ; but when you are pinched with any former, 
and yet unrepealed Act of Parliament, you declare that in some cases you will not be obliged by it. 
The passage is in the same third part of the No-protestant Plot, and is too plain to be denied. The 
late copy of your intended association, you neither wholly justify nor condemn ; but as the papists, 
when they are unopposed, fly out into all the pageantries of worship ; but in times of war, when they 
are hard pressed by arguments, lie close entrenched behind the Council of Trent : so now, when your 
affairs are in a low condition, you dare not pretend that to be a legal combination, but whensoever 
you are afloat, I doubt not but it will be maintained and justified to purpose. For indeed there is 
nothing to defend it but the sword : 'tis the proper time to say any thing when men have all things 
in their power. 

In the mean time, you would fain be nibbling at a parallel betwixt this association,-)- and that in 
the time of Queen Elizabeth. But there is this small difference betwixt them, that the ends of the 
one are directly opposite to the other : one with the Queen's approbation and conjunction, as head of 
it, the other without either the consent or knowledge of the King, against whose authority it is 
manifestly designed. Therefore you do well to have recourse to your last evasion,^ that it was 
contrived by your enemies, and shuffled into the papers that were seized ; which yet you see the 
nation is not so easy to believe as your own jury ; but the matter is not difficult, to find twelve men 
in Newgate who would acquit a malefactor. 

I have one only favour to desire of you at parting, that when you think of answering this poem, you 
would employ the same pens against it, who have combated with so much success against Absalom 
and Achitophel : for then you may assure yourselves of a clear victory without the least reply. Rail 
at me abundantly ; and, not to break a custom, do it without wit : by this method you will gain a 
considerable point, which is, wholly to waive the answer of my arguments. Never own the bottom 
of your principles, for fear they should be treason. Fall severely on the miscarriages of government ; 

* This third part, printed in quarto, was supposed to be mitten by Ferguson, under my lord's eye. It reflects on 
the proceedings against him in the points of high treason, whereof he stood accused; and strives to depreciate the 
characters of the wituesses, by painting them in the most odious colours. The Growth of Popery was written by 
Mr. Man-el, who published it a little before his death, which happened in 1678. A second part of it was written by 
Mr. Ferguson above mentioned ; for which, and other seditious practices, his body was demanded of the states of Holland, 
he being then at Brill, but refused ; though Sir Thomas Armstrong had been given up by them a little before. This is 
the same man who was concerned in the Ryebouse-plot; and it is remarkable, that when the Secretary of State was 
giving out orders for the seizing of the rest of the conspirators, ho privately bade the messenger to let Ferguson escape. 
Derrick. 

t When England, in the sixteenth century, was supposed in danger from the designs of Spain, the principal people, 
with the Queen at their head, entered into an association for the defence of their country, and of the Protestant religion, 
against popery, invasion, and innovation. Derrick. 

\ The friends of the Earl of Shaftesbury insinuated everywhere, that the draught of that association, which was said 
to be found among his papers, was put there by the person who seized them, to advance the credit of the Tories, and give 
greater weight to the court charge Derrick. 



so 



THE MEDAL. 



for if scandal be not allowed, you are no free-born subjects. If God has not blessed you with the 
talent of rhyming, make use of my poor stock and welcome ; let your verses run upon my feet ; and 
for the utmost refuge of notorious blockheads, reduced to the last extremity of sense, turn my own 
lines upon me, and in utter despair of your own satire, make me satirize myself. Some of you have 
been driven to this bay already ; but, above all the rest, commend me to the non-conformist parson, 
who writ the Whip and Key. I am afraid it is not read so much as the piece deserves, because the 
bookseller is every week crying help at the end of his Gazette, to get it off. You see I am charitable 
enough to do him a kindness, that it may be published as well as printed ; and that so much skill in 
Hebrew derivations may not lie for waste paper in the shop. Yet I half suspect he went no further 
for his learning than the index of Hebrew names and etymologies, which is printed at the end of 
some English bibles. If Achitophel signify the brother of a fool, the author of that poem will pass 
with his readers for the next of kin. And perhaps it is the relation that makes the kindness. 
Whatever the verses are, buy them up, I beseech you, out of pity ; for I hear the conventicle is shut 
up, and the brother of Achitophel out of service. 

Now footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a purse for a member of their society who 
nas had his livery pulled over his ears ; and even Protestant socks are bought up among you, out of 
veneration to the name. A dissenter in poetry from sense and English will make as good a Protestant 
rhymer, as a dissenter from the Church of England a Protestant parson. Besides, if you encourage 
a young beginner, who knows but he may elevate his style a Utile above the vulgar epithets of pro- 
fane, and saucy Jack, and atheistical scribbler, with which he treats me, when the fit of enthusiasm 
is strong upon him : by which well-mannered and charitable expressions I was certain of his sect 
before I knew his name. What would you have "more of a man 1 He has damned me in your cause 
from Genesis to the Kevelations; and has half the texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will 
be so civil to yourselves as to take him for your interpreter, and not to take them for Irish witnesses. 
After all, perhaps you will tell me, that you retained him only for the opening of your cause, and that 
your main lawyer is yet behind. Now if it so happen he meet with no more reply than his prede- 
cessors, you may either conclude that I trust to the goodness of my cause, or fear my adversary, or 
disdain him, or what you please, for the short on't is, 'tis indifferent to your humble servant, 
whatever your party says or thinks of him. 



THE MEDAL. 



Of all our antic sights and pageantry, 
Which English idiots run in crowds to see, 



Ver. 1. Of all our antic sights] The most candid and 
impartial account of Lord Shaftesbury's trial and acquittal, 
on which occasion this medal was struck, is given by Mr. 
Hume. " After the dissolution of the Parliament, and the 
subsequentvictory of the Royalists, Shaftesbury's evidences, 
with Turberville, Smith, and others, addressed themselves 
to the ministers, and gave information of high treason 
against their former patron. It is sufficiently scandalous, 
that intelligence, conveyed by such men, should be attended 
to ; but there is some reason to think, that the court-agents, 
nay, the ministers, nay, the king himself, went further, 
and were active in endeavouring, though in vain, to find 
more reputable persons to support the blasted credit of the 
Irish witnesses. Shaftesbury was committed to prison, 
and his indictment was presented to the Grand Jury. The 
new Sheriffs of London, Shute and Pilkington, were en- 
gaged as deeply as their predecessors in the country party ; 
and they took care to name a Jury extremely devoted to 
the same cause : a precaution quite requisite, when it was 
scarce possible to find men attached to neither party. As 
far as swearing could go, the treason was clearly proved 
against Shaftesbury, or rather so clearly as to merit no 
kind of credit or attention. That veteran leader of a party, 
enured from his early youth to faction and intrigue to 



The Polish Medal bears the prize alone : 
A monster, more the favourite of the town 



cabals and conspiracies, was represented as opening, with- 
out reserve, his treasonable intentions to these obscure 
banditti, and throwing out such violent and outrageous re- 
proaches upon the king, as none but men of low education, 
like themselves, could be supposed to employ. The draught 
of an association, it is true, against Popery and the duke 
was found in Shaftesbury's cabinet, and dangerous infer- 
ences might be drawn from many clauses of that paper ; 
but it did not appear that it had been framed by Shaftes- 
bury, or so much as approved by him ; and as projects of 
an association had been proposed in Parliament, it was 
very natural for that nobleman to be thinking of some 
plan, which it might be proper to lay before that assembly. 
The Grand Jury, therefore, after weighing all these cir- 
cumstances, rejected the indictment, and the people, who 
attended the hall, testified their joy by the loudest acclama- 
tions, which were echoed through the whole city." 

Dr. J. Waktok. 
Ver. 3. The Polish Medat] The allusion is to the ex- 
pectation, which, it was pretended, Lord Shaftesbury en- 
tertained, of being elected king of Poland, when John 
Sobieski was chosen. — This ridiculous report gave rise to 
several squibs, both in poetry and prose; hut in none of 
the poetical pieces is the joke employed with advantage. 



A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION. 



81 



Than either fairs or theatres have shown. 5 

Never did art so well with nature strive ; 

Nor ever idol seem'd so much alive : 

So like the man ; so golden to the sight, 

So base within, so counterfeit and light. 

One side is fill'd with title and with face ; 10 

And, lest the king should want a regal place, 

On the reverse, a tower the town surveys ; 

O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays. 

Tho word, pronounced aloud by shrieval voice, 

Lwtamw, which, in Polish, is Rejoice. 1B 

The day, month, year, to the great act are join'd : 

And a new canting holiday design'd. 

Five days he sat, for every cast and look ; 

Four more than God to finish Adam took. 

But who can tell what essence angels are, 20 

Or how long Heaven was making Lucifer ? 

Oh, could the style that copied every grace, 

And plough'd such furrows for an eunuch face, 

Could it have form'd his ever-changing will, 

The various piece had tired the graver's skill ! :5 

A martial hero first, with early care, 

Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war. 

A beardless chief, a rebel, ere a man : 

So young his hatred to his prince began. 

Next this, (how wildly will ambition steer I) 30 

A vermin wriggling in the Usurper's ear. 

Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold, 

He cast himself into the saint-like mould ; 

Groan'd, sigh'd, and pray'd, while godliness was 

gain, 
The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train. *° 
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes, 
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise. 
There split the saint : for hypocritic zeal 
Allows no sins but those it can conceal. 
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope : 40 
Saints must not trade ; but they may interlope. 
The ungodly principle was all the same ; 
But a gross cheat betrays his partner's game. 
Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack ; 
His nimble wit outran the heavy pack. *> 

Yet still he found his fortune at a stay ; 
Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way; 
They took, but not rewarded, his advice ; 
Villain and wit exact a double price. 
Power was his aim : but, thrown from 

pretence, 

The wretch turn'd loyal in his own defence ; 
And malice reconciled him to his prince. 
Him in the anguish of his soul he served ; 
Rewarded faster still than he deserved. 

The reader would derive no satisfaction from " The last 
Will and Testament of Anthony, King of Poland," or from 
"The King of Poland's last Speech to his Countrymen," or 
from "Tony's Lamentation, or Potapslcfe City-Case, heing 
his last farewell to the consecrated Whigs," all published 
in 1682, although to the last of them the tune is prefixed, in 
musical characters, Let Oliver now be forgotten! The close 
of 1682, or rather the beginning of 1683, produced also 
" Dagon's Fall, or tho Whigs' Lament for Anthony, King 
of Poland ;'•' and iu 1683 was also published, " The Case is 
altered now, or the Conversion of Anthony, King of Poland, 
published for satisfaction of the Sanctifyed Brethren." 

Todd. 

Ver. 19. Four more than GorP\ This line is very offen- 
sively profane, as is a succeeding one, 

How long was Heaven in making Lucifer? 

There are too many such in this poem. See also lino 



that 
so 



216: 



his thunder could they shun, 

He should be forced to crown another son. 

Dr. J. Waiiton. 



Behold him now exalted into trust ; 6S 

His counsel 's oft convenient, seldom just. 

Even in the most sincere advice he gave, 

He had a grudging still to be a knave. 

The frauds he learn'd in his fanatic years 

Made him uneasy in his lawful gears. r, ° 

At best as little honest as he could, 

And, like white witches, mischievously good. 

To his first bias longingly he leans ; 

And rather would be great by wicked means. 

Thus framed for ill, he loosed our triple hold ; w 

Advice unsafe, precipitous and bold. 

From hence those tears ! that Ilium of our woe ! 

Who helps a powerful friend, fore-arms a foe. 

What wonder if the waves prevail so far, 

When he cut down the banks that made the 

bar? 70 

Seas follow but their nature to invade ; 
But ho by art our native strength betray'd. 
So Samson to his foe his force confess'd ; 
And to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast. 
But when this fatal counsel, found too late, 75 

Exposed its author to the public hate ; 
When his just sovereign, by no impious way 
Could be seduced to arbitrary sway ; 
Forsaken of that hope he shifts the sail, 
Drives down the current with a popular gale ; m 
And shows the fiend confess'd without a veil. 
He preaches to the crowd, that power is lent, 
But not convey'd to kingly government ; 
That claims successive bear no binding force, 
That coronation oaths are things of course ; ffi 
Maintains the multitude can never err ; 
And sets the people in the papal chair. 
The reason 's obvious ; interest never lies ; 
The most have still their interest in their eyes ; 
The power is always theirs, and power is ever 

wise. 90 

Almighty crowd, thou shortenest all dispute ; 
Power is thy essence, wit thy attribute ! 
Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay, 
Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths in thy Pindaric 

way ! 
Athens no doubt did righteously decide, 95 

When Phocion and when Socrates were tried ; 
As righteously they did those dooms repent ; 
Still they were wise whatever way they went : 
Crowds err not, though to both extrernes they 

mn; 
To kill the father, and recal the son. 10 ° 

Some think the fools were most as times went 

then, 
But now the world 's o'erstock'd with prudent 

men. 
The common cry is even religion's test, 
The Turk's is at Constantinople best ; 
Idols in India ; Popery at Rome ; l0h 

And our own worship only true at home. 
And true, but for the time 'tis hard to know 
How long we please it shall continue so. 
This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns ; 
So all are God-a'mighties in their turns. 
A tempting doctrine, plausible and new ; 
What fools our fathers were, if this be true 
Who, to destroy the seeds of civil war, 
Inheront right in monarchs did decline : 
And, that a lawful power might never cease, "■'* 
Secured succession to secure our peace. 
Thus property and sovereign sway, at lost, 
In equal balances were Justly cast : 



82 



THE MEDAL. 



But this new Jehu spurs the hot-mouth'd horse ; 
Instructs the beast to know his native force ; l20 
To take the bit between his teeth, and fly 
To the next headlong steep of anarchy. 
Too happy England, if our good we knew, 
Would we possess the freedom we pursue ! 
The lavish government can give no more : 
Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor. 
God tried us once ; our rebel-fathers fought, 
He glutted them with all the power they sought : 
Till master'd by their own usurping brave, 
The free-born subject sunk into a slave. 13 ° 

We loathe our manna, and we long for quails ; 
Ah, what is man when his own wish prevails ! 
How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill ! 
Proud of his power, and boundless in his will ! 
That kings can do no wrong we must believe ; 135 
None can they do, and must they all receive? 
Help, Heaven ! or sadly we shall see an hour, 
When neither wrong nor right are in their power ! 
Already they have lost their best defence, 
The benefit of laws which they dispense : 14 ° 

No justice to their righteous cause allow'd : 
But baffled by an arbitrary crowd : 
And medals graved their conquest to record, 
The stamp and coin of their adopted lord. 

The man who laugh'd but once, to see an ass 
Mumbling to make the cross - grain'd thistles 

pass, 146 

Might laugh again to see a jury chaw 
The prickles of unpalatable law. 
The witnesses, that leech-like lived on blood, 
Sucking for them were med'cinally good ; 15 ° 

But when they fasten'd on their fester'd sore, 
Then justice and religion they forswore; 
Their maiden oaths debauch'd into a whore. 
Thus men are raised by factions, and decried ; 
And rogue and saint distinguish'd by their side. 155 
They rack even Scripture to confess their cause, 
And plead a call to preach in spite of laws. 
But that 's no news to the poor injured page, 
It has been used as ill in every age : 
And is constrain'd with patience all to take, 16 ° 
For what defence can Greek and Hebrew make ? 
Happy who can this talking trumpet seize ; 
They make it speak whatever sense they please ; 
'Twas framed at first our oracle to enquire ; 
But since our sects in prophecy grow higher, 165 
The text inspires not them, but they the text 

inspire. 
London, thou great emporium of our isle, 

thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile ! 
How shall I praise or curse to thy desert? 

Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted part ? 

1 call'd thee Nile ; the parallel will stand ; 17i 
Thy tides of wealth o'erfiow the fatten'd land ; 
Yet monsters from thy large increase we find, 
Engender'd on the slime thou leaVst behind. 
Sedition has not wholly seized on thee, V s 
Thy nobler parts are from infection free. 

Ver. 167. London, thou great emporium of our isle,] So 
Cowper in his usual nervous and animated strains : — 
" O thou, resort and mart of all the earth, 
Chequer'd with all complexions of mankind, 
And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I see 
Much that I love, and more that I admire, 
And all that I abhor ; thou freckled fair, 
That pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh, 
And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, 
Feel wrath, and pity, when I think on thee ! " 

John Waetos. 



Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band, 

But still the Canaanite is in the land. 

Thy military chiefs are brave and true ; 

Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few. 180 

The head is loyal which thy heart commands, 

But what 's a head with two such gouty hands? 

The wise and wealthy love the surest way, 

And are content to thrive and to obey. 

But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave ; 18 ° 

None are so busy as the fool and knave. 

Those let me curse; what vengeance will they 

urge, 
Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge 1 
Nor sharp experience can to duty bring, 
Nor angry Heaven, nor a forgiving king ! m 

In gospel phrase their chapmen they betray ; 
Their shops are dens, the buyer is their prey. 
The knack of trades is living on the spoil ; 
They boast even when each other they beguile. 
Customs to steal is such a trivial thing, "* 

That 'tis their charter to defraud their king. 
All hands unite of every jarring sect ; 
■They cheat the country first, and then infect. 
They for God's cause their monarchs dare de- 
throne, 1W 
And they'll be sure to make his cause their own. 
Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan 
Of murdering kings, or the French Puritan, 
Our sacrilegious sects their guides outgo, 
And kings and kingly power would murder too. 
What means their traitorous combination less, 
Too plain to evade, too shameful to confess ! 20Q 
But treason is not own'd when 'tis descried; 
Successful crimes alone are justified. 
The men, who no conspiracy would find, 
Who doubts, but had it taken, they had join'd, 21U 
Join'd in a mutual covenant of defence ; 
At first without, at last against their prince ? 
If sovereign right by sovereign power they scan, 
The same bold maxim holds in God and man : 
God were not safe, his thunder could they shun, 
He should be forced to crown another son. 2I6 
Thus when the heir was from the vineyard thrown, 
The rich possession was the murderers' own. 
In vain to sophistry they have recourse : 
By proving theirs no plot, they prove 'tis worse; ^ 
Unmask'd rebellion, and audacious force : 
Which though not actual, yet all eyes may see 
'Tis working in the immediate power to be ; 
For from pretended grievances they rise, 
First to dislike, and after to despise. iX 
Then Cyclop-like in human flesh to deal, 
Chop up a minister at every meal : 
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the king ; 
But clip his regal rights within the ring : 
From thence to assume the power of peace and 
war, 2 80 
And ease him by degrees of public care. 
Yet to consult his dignity and fame, 
He should have leave to exercise the name ; 
And hold the cards while commons play'd the 

game. 
For what can power give more than food and 
drink, 235 

To live at ease, and not be bound to think ? 
These are the cooler methods of their crime, 
But their hot zealots think 'tis loss of time ; 
On utmost bounds of loyalty they stand, 
And grin and whet like a Croatian band, S40 

That waits impatient for the last command. 



A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION. 



83 



Thus outlaws open villany maintain, 

They steal not, but in squadrons scour the plain : 

And if their power the passengers subdue, 

The most have right, the wrong is in the few. 2W 

Such impious axioms foolishly they show, 

For in some soils republics will not grow : 

Our temperate isle will no extremes sustain, 

Of popular sway or arbitraiy reign : 

But slides between them both into the best, 25 ° 

Secure in freedom, in a monarch blest : 

And though the climate, vex'd with various winds, 

Works through our yielding bodies on our minds; 

The wholesome tempest purges what it breeds, 

To recommend the calmness that succeeds. 2M 

But thou, the pander of the people's hearts, 
crooked soul and serpentine in arts, 
Whose blandishments a loyal land have whored, 
And broke the bond she plighted to her lord ; 
What curses on thy blasted name will fall ! 2C0 
Which age to age their legacy shall call; 
For all must curse the woes that must descend 

on all. 
Religion thou hast none : thy Mercury , 

Has pass'd through every sect, or theirs through 

thee. iM 

But what thou giv'st, that venom still remains ; 
And the pox'd nation feels thee in their brains. 
What else inspires the tongues and swells the 

breasts 
Of all thy bellowing renegado priests, 



Ver. 260. curses on thy Hasted name] Can this 

verse, or verse 270, 277, 296, 60, 65, 81, and indeed many 
others, he called just satire ? and ought they not rather to 
be deemed offensive, gross, and downright ribaldry ? 

" Hie snecus nigrae loliginis, hasc est 
-ffirugo rcera " 

Neither the Shaftesbury of Dryden, nor the Harvey of 
Pope, give us any favourable idea of their hearts and 
tempers. The author of the Characteristics, the grandson 
of Shaftesbury, did not let Dryden escape for this usage of 
his ancestor. "To see," says he, "the incorrigibleness of 
our poets, in tiieir pedantic manner, their vanity, their 
defiance of criticism, their rhodomontade, and poetical 
bravado, we need only turn to our famous poet laureat, the 
very Bayes himself, in one of his latest and most valued 
pieces, his Don Sebastian, writ many years after the in- 
genious author of the Rehearsal had drawn his picture." 
—Vol. III., p. 276. Dr. J. Wabton. 

Ver. 267. 

What else inspires the tongues and swells the breasts 
Of all thy bellowing renegado priests, &c.] 

Dryden seems to have borrowed some of these severe 
remarks upon the fanatical ministers from The Geneva 
Ballad, published on a single half sheet in 1674, which 
equals in bitterness (and is not deficient in poetical spirit) 
the passage before us. I select a stanza or two in unison 
with Dryden. 

"lie whom the Sisters so adore, 
Counting his actions all divine ! 
Who, when the Spirit hints, can roar, 
And, if occasion serres, can whine; 
Nay, he can bellow, bray, or bark. 
Was ever sike a beuk-lam'd clerk, 
That speaks all linguas of the ark I 

" To draw in proselytes like bees, 

With pleasing twang he tones his prose, 
He gives his handkerchief a squeeze, 
And draws John Calvin through his nose. 
Motive on motive he obtrudes, 
With slip-stocking similitudes, 
Eight uses more, and so concludes. 

" When monarchy began to bleed, 

And treason had a fine new name; 
Win n Thames was balderdash'd with Tweed, 
And pulpits did like beacons flame ; 



That preach up thee for God; dispense thy 

laws ; 
And with thy stum ferment thy fainting cause ? 
Fresh fumes of madness raise ; and toil and 

sweat 2 ? 1 

To make the formidable cripple great. 
Yet should thy crimes succeed, should lawless 

power 
Compass those ends thy greedy hopes devour, 
Thy canting friends thy mortal foes would be, %* 
Thy God and their's will never long agree ; 
For thine (if thou hast any) must be one 
That lets the world and human-kind alone : 
A jolly god, that passes hours too well 
To promise heaven, or threaten us with hell : 2i0 
That unconcem'd can at rebellion sit, 
And wink at crimes he did himself commit. 
A tyrant their's ; the heaven their priesthood 

paints 
A conventicle of gloomy sullen saints ; 
A heaven like Bedlam, slovenly and sad ; tss 

Fore-doom'd for souls, with false religion mad. 

Without a vision poets can foreshow 
What all but fools by common sense may know : 
If true succession from our isle should fail, 2S9 
And crowds profane with impious arms prevail, 
Not thou, nor those thy factious arts engage, 
Shall reap that harvest of rebellious rage, 
With which thou fiatterest thy decrepit age. 
The swelling poison of the several sects, i9i 

Which, wanting vent, the nation's health infects, 
Shall burst its bag ; and fighting out their way, 
The various venoms on each other prey. 
The presbyter, puff 'd up with spiritual pride, 
Shall on the necks of the lewd nobles ride : 
His brethren damn, the civil power defy; 3U0 

And parcel out republic prelacy. 
But short shall be his reign : his rigid yoke 
And tyrant power will puny sects provoke ; 
And frogs and toads, and all their tadpole train, 
Will croak to heaven for help, from this devouring 

crane. s 05 

The cut-throat sword and clamorous gown shall 

jar, 
In sharing their ill-gotten spoils of war : 
Chiefs shall be grudged the part which they 

pretend ; 
Lords envy lords, and friends with every friend 
About their impious merit shall contend. 310 

The surly commons shall respect deny, 
And justle peerage out with property. 
Their general either shall his trust betray, 
And force the crowd to arbitrary sway ; 
Or they, suspecting his ambitious aim, 31S 

When Jeroboam's calves were rear'd, 
And Laud was neither loved nor fear'd, 
This Gospel-Comet first appear'd." Todd. 

Ver. 293. thy decrepit age.] This appearance of 

Shaftesbury, who however was now little more than sixty, 
is also described in " Tony's Lamentation," published about 
the same time as " The Medal" was. 

" Alas I poor unfortunate Tony, 

Where now must thou hide thy old headi 
That has not so much as one crony 
Dares own the great things thou hast said. 



" Ungrateful, unsensible cullies, 

To leav,e your decrepit patmon 

To the merciless rage of the bullies 

And tories in every lampoon 1 " 



Tonn. 
a-i 



84 RELIGIO LAICI; 



In hate of kings shall cast anew the frame ; 
And thrust out Collatine that bore their name. 

Thus inborn broils the factions would engage, 
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage, 
Till halting vengeance overtook our age : 



And our wild labours wearied into rest, 
Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast. 

Pudet haec opprobria, vobis 

Et dici potuisse, & non potuisse refelli. 



EELIGIO LAICI; 

OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 



THE PEEEACE. 



A Poem with so bold a title, and a name prefixed from which the handling of so serious a subject 
would not be expected, may reasonably oblige the author to say somewhat in defence, both of himself 
and of his undertaking. In the first place, if it be objected to me that, being a layman, I ought not to 
have concerned myself with speculations, which belong to the profession of divinity ; I could answer/ 
that perhaps laymen, with equal advantages of parts and knowledge, are not the most incompetent 
judges of sacred things ; but in the due sense of my own weakness and want of learning I plead not 
this : I pretend not to make myself a judge of faith in others, but only to make-a-con fession o f my 
own. I lay no unhallowed hand upon the ark, but wait on it with the reverence that becomes me at 
a distance. In the next place I will ingenuously confess, that the helps I have used in this small 
treatise, were many of them taken from the works of our own reverend divines of the Church of 
England ; so that the weapons with which I combat irreligion, are already consecrated ; though I 
suppose they may be taken down as lawfully as the sword of Goliah was by David, when they are to 
be employed for the common cause against the enemies of piety. I intend not by this to entitle them 
to any of my errors, which yet I hope 'are only those of charity to mankind; and such as my own 
charity has caused me to commit, that of others may more easily excuse. Being naturally inclined to 
scepticism in philosophy, I have no reason to impose my opinions in a subject which is above it ; but 
whatever they are, I submit them with all reverence to my mother Church, accounting them no 
further mine, than as they are authorised, or at least uncohdemned by her. And, indeed, to secure 
myself on this side, I have used the necessary precaution of showing this paper before it was published 
to a judicious and learned friend, a man indefatigably zealous in the service of the Church and State; 
and whose writings have highly deserved of both. He was pleased to approve the body of the 
discourse, and I hope he is more my friend than to do it out of complaisance : it is true he had too 
good a taste to like it all ; and, amongst some other faults, recommended to my second view, what I 
have written perhaps too boldly on St. Athanasius, which he advised me wholly to omit. I am 
sensible enough that I had done more prudently to have followed his opinion : but then I could not 
have satisfied myself that I had done honestly not to have written what was my own. It has always 
been my thought, that heathens who never did, nor without miracle could, hear of the name of Christ, 
were yet in a possibility of salvation. Neither will it enter easily into my belief, that before the 
coming of our Saviour, the whole world, excepting only the Jewish nation, should he under the 
inevitable necessity of everlasting punishment, for want of that revelation, which was confined to so 
small a spot of ground as that of Palestine. Among the sons of Noah we read of one only who was 
accursed ; and if a blessing in the ripeness of time was reserved for Japheth (of whose progeny we 
are) it seems unaccountable to me, why so many generations of the same offspring, as preceded our 
Saviour in the flesh, shoxild be all involved in one common condemnation, and yet that their posterity 
should be entitled to the hopes of salvation : as if a bill of exclusion had passed only on the fathers, 
which debarred not the sons from their succession. Or that so many ages had been delivered over 
to hell, and so many reserved for heaven, and that the devil had the first choice, and God the next. 



OK, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 



Truly I am apt to think, that the revealed religion which was taught by Noah to all his sons, might 
continue for some ages in the whole posterity. That afterwards it was included wholly in the family 
of Shem is manifest ; but when the progenies of Cham and Japheth swarmed into colonies, and those 
colonies were subdivided into many others, in process of time their descendants lost by little and 
little the primitive and purer rites of divine worship, retaining only the notion of one deity ; to which 
succeeding generations added others : for men took their degrees in those ages from conquerors to 
gods. Revelation being thus eclipsed to almost all mankind, the light of nature as the next in dignity 
was substituted ; and that is it which St. Paul concludes to be the rule of the heathens, and by which 
they are hereafter to be judged, (if my supposition be true, then the consequence which I have 
assumed in my poem may be also true ; namely, that Deism, or the principles of natural worship, are 
only the faint remnants or dying flames of revealed religion in the posterity of Noah : and that our 
modern philosophers, nay and some of our philosophising divines, have too much exalted the faculties 
of our souls, when they have maintained that, by their force, mankind has been able to find out that 
there is one supreme agent or intellectual being which we call God : that praise and prayer are his 
due worship ; and the rest of those deducements, which I am confident are the remote effects of 
revelation, and unattainable by our discourse, I mean as simply considered, and without the benefit 
of divine illumination. So that we have r\nt li fted up ourselves to God, by the weak pinions of our 
reason, but he has been pleased to descend to us ; and what Socrates said of him, what Plato writ, 
and the rest of the heathen philosophers of several nations, is all no more than the twilight of revela- 
tion, after the sun of it was set in the race of Noah. \ That there is something above us, some principle 
of motion, our reason can apprehend, though it cannot discover what it is by its own virtue. And 
indeed 'tis very improbable, that we, who by the strength of our faculties cannot enter into the 
knowledge of any Being, not so much as of our own, should be able to find out, by them, that supreme 
nature, which we cannot otherwise define than by saying it is infinite ; as if infinite were definable, 
or infinity a subject for our narrow understanding. (They who would prove religion by reason, do 
but weaken the cause which they endeavour to support ; it is to take away the pillars from our faith, 
and to prop it only with a twig ; it is to design a tower like that of Babel, which, if it were possible, 
as it is not, to reach heaven, would come to nothing by the confusion of the workmen. For every 
man is building a several way ; impotently conceited of his own model and his own materials : 
reason is always striving, and always at a loss ; and of necessity it must so come to pass, while it is 
exercised about that which is not its own proper object. Let us be content at last to know God by 
his own methods ; at least, so much of him as he is pleased to reveal to us in the sac red Jaeriptares : 
to apprehend them to be the word of God is all our reason has to do ; for all beyond it is the work 
of faith, which is the seal of heaven impressed upon our human understanding. 

And now for what concerns the holy bishop Athanasius, the preface of whose creed seems incon- 
sistent with my opinion ; which is, that heathens may possibly be saved : in the first place I desire 
it may be considered that it is the preface only, not the creed itself, which, till I am better informed, 
is of too hard a digestion for my charity. 'Tis not that I am ignorant how many several texts of 
Scripture seemingly support that cause ; but neither am I ignorant how all those texts may receive a 
kinder, and more mollified interpretation. Every man who is read in Church history, knows that 
belief was drawn up after a long contestation with Arms, concerning the divinity of our blessed 
Saviour, and Iris being one substance with the Father ; and that thus compiled it was sent abroad 
among the Christian Churches, as a kind of test, which whosoever took was looked on as an orthodox 
believer. It is manifest from hence, that the heathen part of the empire was not concerned in it ; 
for its business was not to distinguish betwixt Pagans and Christians, but betwixt Heretics and true 
Believers. This, well considered, takes off the heavy weight of censure, which I would willingly 
avoid, from so venerable a man ; for if this proportion, "whosoever will be saved," be restrained only 
to those to whom it was intended, and for whom it was composed, I mean the Christians ; then the 
anathema reaches not the Heathens, who had never heard of Christ, and were nothing interested in 
that dispute. After all I am far from blaming even that prefatory addition to tho creed, and as far 
from cavilling at the continuation of it in thediturgy of the Church, where on the days appointed it 
tblicly read : for I suppose there is the same reason for it now, in opposition to the Socinians, as 
there was then against the Arians; the ono being a Heresy, which seems to have been refined out of 
the other ; and with how much plausibility of reason it combats our religion, with so much more 
caution to be avoided : and therefore the prudence of our Church is to be commended, which has 






RELIGIO LAICI; 



interposed her authority for the recommendation of this creed. Yet to such as are grounded in the 
true belief, those explanatory creeds, the Nicene and this of Athanasius, might perhaps be spared ; 
for what is supernatural, will always be a mystery in spite of exposition, and for my own part, the 
j>lain Apostles' creed is most suitable to my weak understanding, as the simplest diet is the most easy 
of digestion. 

I have dwelt longer on this subject than I intended, and longer than perhaps I ought; for having 
laid down, as my foundation, that the ScriptureJs-a- rule ; that in all things needful to salvation it is 
clear, sufficient, and ordained by God Almighty for that purpose, I have left myself no right to 
interpret obscure places, such as concern the possibility of eternal happiness to heathens : because 
whatsoever is obscure is concluded not necessary to be known. 

But, by asserting the Scripture to be the canon of our faith, I have unavoidably created to myself 
two sorts of enemies : the Papists indeed, more directly, because they have kept the Scripture from 
us what they could ; and have reserved to themselves a right of interpreting what they have delivered 
under the pretence of infallibility : and the Fanatics more collaterally, because they have assumed 
what amounts to an infallibility, in the private spirit : and have detorted those texts of Scripture 
which are not necessary to salvation, to the damnable uses of sedition, disturbance, and destruction of 
the civil government. To begin with the Papists, and to speak freely, I think them the less 
dangerous, at least in appearance, to our present state, for not only the penal laws are in force against 
them, and their number is contemptible ; but also their peerage and commons are excluded from 
parhamenV and consequently those laws in no probability of being repealed. A general and 
uninterrupted plot of their Clergy, ever since the Reformation, I suppose all Protestants believe ; for 
it is not reasonable to think but that so many of their orders, as were outed from their fat possessions, 
would endeavour a re-entrance against those whom they account heretics. As for the late design, Mr. 
Coleman's letters, for aught I know, are the best evidence ; and what they discover, without wire- 
drawing their sense, or malicious glosses, all men of reason conclude credible. If there be anything 
more than this required of me, I must believe it as well as I am able, in spite of the witnesses, and 
out of a decent conformity to the votes of parliament ; for I suppose the Fanatics will not allow the 
private spirit in this case. Here the infallibility is at least in one part of the government ; and our 
understandings as well as our wills are represented. But to return to Roman Catholics, how can we 
be secure from the practice of Jesuited Papists in that religion ? For not two or three of that order, 
as some of them would impose upon us, but almost the whole body of them are of opinion, that their 
infallible master has a right over kings, not only injpirituals but temporals. Not to name Mariana, 
Bellarmine, Emanuel Sa, Molina, Santarel, Simancha, and at least twenty others of foreign countries ; 
we can produce of our own nation, Campian, and Doleman or Parsons, besides many are named 
whom I have not read, who aU of them attest this doctrine, that the Pope can depose and give away 
the right of any sovereign prince, si vel paulum deflexerit, if he shall never so little warp : but if he 
once comes to be excommunicated, then the bond of obedience is taken off from subjects; and they 
may and ought to drive him, like another Nebuchadnezzar, ex hominum Chrwtianorwm dommatu, from 
exercising dominion over Christians ; and to this they are bound by virtue of divine precept, and by 
all the ties of conscience under no less penalty than damnation. If they answer me, as a learned 
priest has lately written, that this doctrine of the Jesuits is not defide; and that consequently they 
are not obliged by it, they must pardon me, if I think they have said nothing to the purpose ; for it is 
a maxim in their Church, where points of faith are not decided, and that doctors are of contrary 
opinions, they may follow which part they please; but more safely the most received and most 
authorized. And their champion Bellarmine has told the world, in his apology, that the king of 
England is a vassal to the Pope, ratione directi dominii, and that he holds in villanage of his Roman 
andlord. Which is no new claim put in for England. Our chronicles are his authentic witnesses, 
that king John was deposed by the same plea, and Philip Augustus admitted tenant. And which 
makes the more for Bellarmine, the French king was again ejected when our king submitted to the 
Church, and the crown received under the sordid condition of a vassalage. 

It is not sufficient for the more moderate and well-meaning Papists, of which I doubt not there are 
many, to produce the evidences of their loyalty to the late king, and to declare their innocency in 
this plot : I will grant their behaviour, in the first, to have been as loyal and as brave as they desire ; 
and will be willing to hold them excused as to the second, I mean when it comes to my turn, and 
after my betters ; for it is a madness to be sober alone, while the nation continues drunk : but that 






OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 87 



saying of their father Cres. is still running in my head, that they may he dispensed with in their 
obedience to an heretic prince, while the necessity of the times shall oblige them to it : for that, as 
another of them tells us, is only the effect of Christian prudence ; but when once they shall get power 
to shake him off, an heretic is no lawful king, and consequently to rise against him is no rebellion. I 
should be glad, therefore, that they would follow the advice which was charitably given them by a 
reverend prelate of our Church ; namely, that they would join in a public act of disowning and detest- 
ing those Jesuitic principles ; and subscribe to all doctrines which deny the Pope's authority of 
deposing kings, and releasing subjects from then - oath of allegiance : to which I should think they 
might easily be induced, if it be true that this present Pope has condemned the doctrine of king- 
killing, a thesis of the Jesuits, amongst others, ex catltedrd, as they call it, or in open consistory. 

Leaving them therefore in so fair a way, if they please themselves, of satisfying all reasonable men 
of their sincerity and good meaning to the government, I shall make bold to consider that other 
extreme of our religion, I mean the Fanatics, or Schismatics, of the English Church. Since the Bible 
has been translated into our tongue, they have used it so, as if their business was not to be saved but 
to be damned by its contents. If we consider only them, better had it been for the English nation 
that it had still remained in the original Greek and Hebrew, or at least in the honest Latin of 
St. Jerome, than that several texts in it should have been prevaricated to the destruction of that govern- 
ment which put it into so ungrateful hands. 

How many heresies the first translation of Tindal produced in few years, let my lord Herbert's 
history of Henry the Eighth inform you ; insomuch, that for the gross errors in it, and the great 
mischiefs it occasioned, a sentence passed on the first edition of the Bible, too shameful almost to be 
repeated. After the short reign of Edward the Sixth, who had continued to carry on the Reformation 
on other principles than it was begun, every one knows that not only the chief promoters of that 
work, but many others, whose consciences would not dispense with Popery, were forced, for fear of 
persecution, to change climates : from whence returning at the beginning of queen Elizabeth's reign, 
many of them who had been in France, and at Geneva, brought back the rigid opinions and imperious 
discipline of Calvin, to graft upon our Reformation. Which, though they cunningly concealed at 
first, as well knowing how nauseously that drug would go down in a lawful Monarchy, which was 
prescribed for a rebellious Commonwealth, yet they always kept it in reserve; and were never 
wanting to themselves either in court or parliament, when either they had any prospect of a numerous 
party of fanatic members of the one, or the encouragement of any favourite in the other, whose 
covetousness was gaping at the patrimony of the Church. They who will consult the worts of our 
venerable Hooker, or the account of his life, or more particularly the letter written to him on this 
subject, by George Cranmer, may see by what gradations they proceeded; from the dislike of cap 
and surplice, the very next step was admonitions to the parliament against the whole government 
ecclesiastical : then came out volumes in Enghsh and Latin in defence of their tenets : and immediately 
practices were set on foot to erect their discipline without authority. Those not succeeding, satire 
and railing was the next : and Martin Mar-prelate, the Marvel of those times, was the first presbyterian 
scribbler, who sanctified libels and scurrility to the use of the good old cause. Which was done 
says my author, upon this account ; that their serious treatises having been fully answered and 
refuted, they might compass by railing what they had lost by reasoning ; and, when their cause was 
sunk in court and parliament, they might at least hedge in a stake amongst the rabble : for to their 
ignorance all things are wit which are abusive ; but if Church and State were made the theme, then the 
doctoral degree of wit was to be taken at Billingsgate : even the most saintlike of the party, though 
they durst not excuse this contempt and vilifying of the government, yet were pleased, and grinned 
at it with a pious smile ; and called it a judgment of God against the hierarchy. Thus sectaries, we 
may see, were born with teeth, ford-mouthed aud scurrilous from their infancy : and if spiritual pride 
venom, violence, contempt of superiors, and slander, had been the marks of orthodox belief ; the 
presbytery and the rest of our- schismatics, which are their spawn, were always the most visible 
church in the Christian world. 

It is true, the government was too strong at that time for a rebellion ; but to show what proficiency 
they had made in Calvin's school, even then their mouths watered at it : for two of their gifted 
brotherhood, Hacket and Coppinger, as the story tells us, got irp into a pease-cart, and harangued the 
people, to dispose them to an insurrection, and to establish their discipline by force : so that 
however it comes about, that now they celebrate queen Elizabeth's birth-night, as that of then- saint 



88 RELIGIO LAICI ; 



and patroness ; yet then they were for doing the work of the Lord by arms against her ; and in all 
probability they wanted but a fanatic lord mayor and two sheriffs of their party, to have com- 
passed it. 

Our venerable Hooker, after many admonitions which he had given them, towards the end of his 
preface, breaks out into this prophetic speech : " There is in every one of these considerations most 
just cause to fear, lest our hastiness to embrace a thing of so perilous consequence," (meaning the 
presbyterian discipline,) " should cause posterity to feel those evils, which as yet are more easy for us 
to prevent, than they would be for them to remedy." 

How fatally this Cassandra has foretold we know too well by sad experience : the seeds were sown 
in the time of queen Elizabeth, the bloody harvest ripened in the reign of king Charles the Martyr : 
and because all the sheaves could not be carried off without shedding some of the loose grains, 
another crop is too likely to follow ; nay, I fear it is unavoidable if the conventiclers be permitted still 
to scatter. 

A man may be suffered to quote an adversary to our religiot, when he speaks truth : and it is the 
observation of Maimbourg, in his History of Calvinism, that wherever that discipline was planted and 
embraced, rebellion, civil war, and misery, attended it. And how indeed should it happen otherwise 1 
Reformation of Church and State has always been the ground of our divisions in England. While we 
were Papists, our holy father rid us, by pretending authority out of the Scriptures to depose princes ; . 
when we shook off his authority, the sectaries furnished themselves with the same weapons ; and out 
of the same magazine, the Bible : so that the Scriptures, which are in themselves the greatest security 
of governors, as commanding express obedience to them, are now turned to their destruction ; and never 
since the Reformation has there wanted a text of their interpreting to authorise a rebel. And it is to 
be noted by the way, that the doctrines of king-killing and deposing, which have been taken up only 
by the worst party of the Papists, the most frontless flatterers of the Pope's authority, have been 
espoused, defended, and are still maintained by the whole body of Nonconformists and republicans. 
It is but dubbing themselves the people of God, which it is the interest of their preachers to tell them 
they are, and their own interest to believe ; and after that, they cannot dip into the Bible, but one 
text or other will turn up for their purpose : if they are under persecution, as they call it, then that 
is a mark of their election ; if they flourish, then God works miracles for their deliverance, and the 
saints are to possess the earth. 

They may think themselves to be too roughly handled in this paper ; but I who know best how far 
I could have gone on this subject, must be bold to tell them they are spared : though at the same time 
I am not ignorant that they interpret the-mildness of a writer to them, as they do the mercy of the 
government ; in the one they think it fear, and conclude it weakness in the other. The best way for 
them to confute me is, as I before advised the Papists, to disclaim their principles and renounce their 
practices. We shall all be glad to think them true Englishmen when they obey the King, and true 
Protestants when they conform to the Church-discipline. 

It remains that I acquaint the reader, that these verses were written for an ingenious young 
gentleman my friend, upon his translation of The Critical History of the Old Testament, composed 
by the learned father Simon : the verses therefore are addressed to the translator of that work, and 
the style of them is, what it ought to be, epistolary. 

If any one be so lamentable a critic as to require the smoothness, the numbers, and the turn of 
heroic poetry in this poem ; I must tell him, that if he has not read Horace, I have studied him, and 
hope the style of his epistles is not ill imitated here. The expressions of a poem designed purely for 
instruction, ought to be plain and natural, and yet majestic; for here the poem is presumed to be a 
kind of lawgiver, and those three qualities which I have named, are proper to the legislative style. 
The florid, elevated, and figurative way is for the passions ; for love and hatred, fear and anger, are 
begotten in the soul, by showing their objects out of their true proportion, either greater than the 
life or less : but instruction is to be given by showing them what they naturally are. A man is to be 
cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth. 



OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 



RELIGIO LAiCI. 






Dim as the borrow' d beams of moon and stars 

To lonely, weary, wandering travellers, 

Is Reason to the soul : and as on high, 

Those rolling fires discover but the sky, 

Not light us here : so Reason's glimmering ray 6 

Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, 

But guide us upward to a better day. 

And as those nightly tapers disappear, 

When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere ; 

So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight ; 10 

So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light. 

Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been 

led 
From cause to cause, to nature's secret head ; 
And found that one first principle must be : 
But what, or who, that universal He ;— -~ ls 
Whether some soul incompassing this ball, 
Unmade, unmoved ; yet making, moving all ; 
Or various atoms' interfering dance 
Leap'd into form, the noble work of chance ; 
Or this great all was from eternity ; M 

Not even the Stagirite himself could see ; 
And Epicurus guess'd as well as he : 
As blindly groped they for a future state ; 
As rashly judged of providence and fate : 
But least of all could their endeavours find* 25 
What most concem'd the good of human kind : 
For happiness was never to be found ; 
But vanish'd from 'em like enchanted ground. 
One thought Content the good to be enjoy'd : 
This eveiy little accident destroyed : 30 

The wiser madmen did for Virtue toil, 
A thorny or at best a barren soil : 



Ver. 5. Reason's glimmering ray] If man was 

really corrupted, and had lost in great measure the know- 
ledge of the true religion of nature ; then, the expediency 
and the usefulness of a revelation was not the less, merely 
because reason, if rightly exercised, (and it was not) was 
capable of discovering all the necessary principles of mo- 
rality: nay, indeed, the advantage of revelation is as 
evident, as it would have been, if men were actually and 
unavoidably ignorant of the great truths of religion. 

Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 15. ■ that universal Re;] In the valuable 

and curious translations lately given us from the Sanskreet 
language, we find many wonderful and sublime descriptions 
of the Deity, particularly in the Ilaghvat-Geeta, an episode 
in the Mababarat, a poem of the highest antiquity in 
India; where are the following words; pages 94 and 95, 
translated by Mr. Wilkins. 

"O mighty being," says Arjoon, "who art the prime 
Creator, eternal God of gods, the world's mansion. Thou 
art the Incorruptible being, distinct from all things tran- 
Bient. Thou art before all gods, the ancient Poorosh and 
the supreme supporter of the universe. Thou knowest all 
things, and art worthy to be known ; thou art the supreme 
mansion, and by thee, infinite form, the universe was 
spread abroad. Reverence he unto thee before and behind; 
erence be unto thee on all sides : thou who art all in 
all. Infinite is thy power and thy glory. Thou art the 
father of all things, animate and inanimate." Dr. J. 
"Wakton. 

• Opinions of the several sects of philosophers concerning 
the mmmum lonum. Marginal Note, orig. edit. 



In Pleasure some their glutton souls would steep, 
But found their line too short, the well too deep ; 
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. 35 
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll, 
Without a centre where to fix the soul : 
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end : 
How can the less the greater comprehend 1 
Or finite reason reach Infinity 1 *> 

For what could fathom God were more than He. 

The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;* 
Cries Hvpzica, the mighty secret 's found : 
God is that spring of good ; supreme, and best ; 
We made to serve, and in that service blest ; M 
If so, some rules of worship must be given, 
Distributed alike to all by Heaven : 
Else God were partial, and to some denied 
The means his justice should for all provide. 
This general worship is to praise and pray : M 
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay : 
And when frail nature slides into offence, 
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence. 
Yet since the effects of providence, we find, 
Are variously dispensed to human kind ; si 

That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here, 
A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear ; 
Our_reiisoa-prompts us to a future state : 
The last appeal from fortune and from fate : 
Where God's all-righteous ways will be declared ; 
The bad meet punishment, the good reward. 61 

Thus man by his own strength to heaven would 
soar : f 
And would not be obliged to God for more. 
Vain, wretched creature, how art thou misled 
To think thy wit these god-like notions bred ! M 
These truths are not the product of thy mind, 
But dropt from Heaven, and of a nobler kind. 
Reveal'd Religion first inform'd thy sight, 
And Reason saw not, till Faith sprung the light. 

• System of Deism. Marginal Note, orig. edit. 

Ver. 42. The Deist thinks] To a serious and religious 
deist, who should say, he cannot embrace Christianity, on 
account of the many difficulties and seeming absurdities 
with which it is overloaded, we might surely reply — first, 
Are you certain that these seeming absurdities are the true 
and genuine doctrines of Christianity, and not added to it 
by fantastic and fanatical commentators ? and secondly, 
Are there no such difficulties and absurdities as you com- 
plain of in revelation, to be found also in deism? "What 
can you say, of an uncaused cause of every thing? of a 
being who has no relation to time or space ? of a being 
whose infinite goodness lay dormant for so many agesr 
and, as Milton says, who built so late? How do you re- 
concile omniscience and prescience with the contingency 
and freedom of the human will? How will you fully and 
adequately account for the introduction and existence of 
moral and natural evil, under the government of a being 
infinitely powerful, good and wise ? What clear ideas have 
you on these subjects? If you reject Christianity on the 
score of the difficulties which yon complain of, you ought, 
to act consistently, to reject deism also. 

Dr. J. Warton. 

t Of revealed religion. Marginal Note, orig edit. 



90 



RELIGIO LAICI; 



Hence all thy natural worship takes the source : 
Tis revelation what thou think'st discourse. 71 
Else how com'st thou to see these truths so clear, 
Which so obscure to Heathens did appear ? 
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found : 
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown'd.* ? 5 

Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime, 
Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb ? 
Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know 
tt'han Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero ? 
Those giant wits in happier ages born, m 

(When arms and arts did Greece and Rome 

adorn,) 
Knew no such system : no such piles could raise 
Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise 
To one sole God. 

Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe : 85 

But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe : 
The guiltless victim groan'd for their offence ; 
And cruelty and blood was penitence. 
If sheep and oxen could atone for men, 
Ah ! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin ; 90 
And great oppressors might Heaven's wrath 

beguile, 
By offering his own creatures for a spoil ! 

Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity ? 
And must the terms of peace be given by thee ? 
Then thou art Justice in the last appeal; D5 

Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel : 
And, like a king remote, and weak, must take 
What satisfaction thou art pleased to make. 

But if there be a power too just and strong, 
To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish'd wrong; 10 ° 
Look humbly upward, see his will disclose. 
The forfeit first, and then the fine impose : 
A mulct thy poverty could never pay, 
Had not eternal wisdom found the way : 
And with celestial wealth supplied thy store : 105 
His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the 

score. 
See God descending in thy human frame ; 
The offended suffering in the offender's name ; 
All thy misdeeds to him imputed see, 
And all his righteousness devolved on thee. no 
For granting we have sinn'd, and that the 

offence 
Of man is made against Omnipotence, 
Some price that bears proportion must be paid ; 
And infinite with infinite be weigh'd. 
See then the Deist lost : remorse for vice, 115 

Not paid ; or paid, inadequate in price : 
What farther means can Reason now direct, 
Or what relief from human wit expect 1 

* Socrates. Marginal Note, orig. edit. 

Ver. 76. Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime, 

Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb ? 
Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know, &c] 

Although, in the manner of these interrogations, Dryden 
has obviously bomo in mind the solemn language of Scrip- 
ture, it is also plain that in his application of it he has de- 
tracted from its grandeur and impressiveness. From the 
conceit of the poet we turn with admiration to the words of 
the patriarch :— " Canst thou by searching find out God ? 
canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection? It is as 
high as heaven ; what canst thou do ? deeper than hell ; 
what canst thou know?" Job xi. 7, 8. Todd. 

Ver. 98. What satisfaction] "Though by the light of 
nature it was indeed exceeding probable and to be hoped 
for, that God would forgive sin upon true and real repent- 
ance ; yet it could not he proved, that he was absolutely 
obliged to do so, or that he would certainly do so. Hence 
arises the importance, utility, and comfort of revelation." 
Ur. J. Wanton. — 



That shows us sick ; and sadly are we sure 
Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure : 12 ° 
If then Heaven's will must needs be understood, 
(Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be 

good,) 
Let all records of will reveal'd be shown ; 
With Scripture all in equal balance thrown, 
And our one sacred book will be that one. 125 

Proof needs not here, for whether we compare 
That impious, idle, superstitious ware 
Of rites, lustrations, offerings, (which before, 
In various ages, various countries bore,)' 
With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find 130 
None answering the great ends of human kind, 
But this one rule of life, that shows us best 
How God may be appeased, and mortals blest. 
Whether from length of time its worth we draw, 
The world is scarce more ancient than the law : 
Heaven's early care prescribed for every age ; 136 
First, in the soul ; and after, in the page. 
Or, whether more abstractedly we look, 
Or on the writers, or the written book, 
Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill'd 
in arts, 14 ° 

In several ages born, in several parts, 
Weave such agreeing truths 1 or how, or why, 
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie ? 
Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice, 
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price. 145 

If on the book itself we cast our view, 
Concurrent heathens prove the story true : 
The doctrine, miracles ; which must convince, 
For Heaven in them appeals to human sense : 
And though they prove not, they confirm the 
cause, I0 

When what is taught agrees with nature's laws. 

Then for the style, majestic and divine, 
It speaks no less than God in every line : 
Commanding words; whose force is still the 

same 
As the first fiat that produced our frame. 155 

All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend, 
Or sense indulged has made mankind their friend : 
This only doctrine does our lusts oppose : 
Unfed by nature's soil, in which it grows ; 
Cross to our interests, curbing sense and sin ; 16n 
Oppress'd without, and undermined within, 
It thrives through pain ; its own tormentors tires ; 
And with 4 stubborn patience still aspires. 
To what can Reason such effects assign 
Transcending nature, but to laws divine ? . 1M 

Which in that sacred volume are contain'd ; 
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain'd. 

But stay : the Deist here will urge anew, * 
\No supernatural worship can be true : 
Because a general law is that alone a " 

Which must to all, and every where, be known : 



Ver. 162. its own tormentors tires ;] Origen says 

clearly and decisively, that but few persons died for their 
faith in Christ ; a passage that of itself is sufficient to show, 
that the number of martyrs has been greatly exaggerated, 
and confirms the famous opinion of Dodwell, in his Dissert. 
Cyprianicsa. But Dodwell has been frequently answered. 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

* Objection of the Deist. M.N. Orig. edit. 

Ver. 170. Because a general law] The objections, which 
are futile enough, that are urged against Christianity, from 
the want of its universality, are all of them fully answered 
by Law, in his " Considerations on the Theory of Religion," 
and by that close reasoner, Mr. Soame Jenyns, in his "Trea- 
tise of the Origin of Evil," p. 168, where he demonstrates 



OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 



91 



A style bo large as not this book can claim, 

Nor aught that bears reveal'd religion's name. 

Tis said the sound of a Messiah's birth 

Is gone through all the habitable earth : 175 

But still that text must be confined alone 

To what was then inhabited and known : 

And what provision could from thence accrue 

To Indian souls, and worlds discover'd new ? 

In other parts it helps, that, ages past, m 

The Scriptures there were known, and were 

embraced, 
Till Sin spread once again the shades of night : 
What 's that to these who never saw the light? 

Of all objections this indeed is chief * 
To startle reason, stagger frail belief: 185 

We grant, 'tis true, that Heaven from human 

sense 
Has hid the secret paths of Providence : 
But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy, may 
Find even for those bewilder'd souls a way : 
If from his nature foes may pity claim, 19 ° 

Much more may strangers who ne'er heard his 

name. 
And though no name be for salvation known, 
But that of his eternal Son's alone ; 
Who knows how far transcending goodness can 
Extend the merits of that Son to man ? 195 

Who knows what reasons may his mercy lead; 
Or ignorance invincible may plead ? 
Not only charity bids hope the best, 
But more the great apostle has express'd : 
That if the Gentiles, whom no law inspired, i "° 
By nature did what was by law required; 
They, who the written rule had never known, 
Were to themselves both rule and law alone : 
To nature's plain indictment they shall plead ; ^ 
And by their conscience be condemn'd or freed. 

the impossibility of this universality of revelation from 
the modes of existence of all human affairs. Dr. J. 
War i ON. 

Ver. 177. To what was then inhabited^] The whole earth 
itself is but a little spot, that bears no proportion at all to 
the universe ; and in all probability the large and number- 
less orbs of heaven cannot but be supposed to be filled with 
beings more capable than we to show forth the praise and 
glory of their Almighty Creator, and more worthy to be the 
objects of his care and love. To which other beings, in 
other parts of the universe, God may have made discoveries 
of his will, according to their several wants and capacities, 
in ways of which we can know nothing, and in which we 
have no concern. Dr. J. Warton. 

* The objection answered. M. N. Orig. edit. 

Vor. 187. the secret paths'] " In the common 

affairs of life," says BaJguy most admirably, " common ex- 
perience is sufficient to direct us. But will common expe- 
i lence .serve to guide our judgment concerning the fall and 
redemption of mankind ? From what we see every day, can 
we explain the commencement, or foretel the dissolution of 
the world? Or can we undertake to prescribe to infinite 
Wisdom, at what time, and in what manner, and by what 
steps, he shall convey the knowledge of true religion over 
I he face of the whole earth? To judge of events like these, 
we should be conversant with the history of other planets; 
should know the nature, the circumstances, the conduct of 
their several inhabitants ; should be distinctly informed of 
God's various dispensations to all the different orders of 
rational beings." This, the reader must allow, is a most 
rational and complete comment on this whole passage of 
Dryden, and is worth his most serious attention. Dr. J. 

VV A in ox. 

Ver. 195. Extend tke merits'] " As no man ever denied," 
says Clarke, "but that the benefit of the death of Christ 
extended backwards to those who lived before his nppear- 
ance in the world, so no man can prove but that the same 
hen. lit may likewise extend itself forwards to those who 
never heard of his appearance, though they lived tiller it." 
Dr. .1. Warton. 



Most righteous doom ! because a rule reveal'd 
Is none to those from whom it was conceal'd. 
Then those who follow'd Reason's dictates right, 
Lived up, and lifted high their natural light ; 
With Socrates may see their Maker's face, 21 ° 

While thousand rubric-martyrs want a place. 

Nor does it balk my charity, to find 
The Egyptian bishop of another mind : 
For though his creed eternal truth contains, 
'Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains 21S 
All who believed not all his zeal required ; 
Unless he first could prove he was inspired- 
Then let us either think he meant to say 
This faith, where publish'd, was the only way ; 
Or else conclude, that, Alius to confute, 22 ° 

The good old man, too eager in dispute, 
Flew high ; and, as his Christian fury rose, 
Damn'd all for heretics who durst oppose. 

Thus far my charity this path has tried ; * 
(A much unskilful, but well-meaning guide :) 2 '-' 5 
Yet what they are, ev'n these crude thoughts were 

bred 
By reading that which better thou hast read : 
Thy matchless author's work : which thou, my 

friend, 
By well translating better dost commend : 

Ver. 213. The Egyptian bishop] Baronius, Bona, Bellar- 
mine, and Bivet, think Athanasius wrote the creed that goes 
under his name ; but many modern critics ascribe it to a 
Latin writer, Vigilius, bishop of Tapsus, in Africa ; and it 
is not to be found in almost any manuscript of Athanasius' s 
works; and the style is more like a Latin than a Greek writer; 
nor does St. Cyril, of Alexandria, nor theCouncil of Ephesus, 
ever urge it, or make mention of it in the arguments used 
against the heresies of Nestorius and Eutyches. The famous 
book of Servetus, De Trinitatis Erroribus, is in a vile 
obscure style. Libri 7. per Mich. Servetum, alias Beves ab 
Arragone Hispanum, 1531. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 214. For though his creed] Many very serious Chris- 
tians devoutly wish with Tillotson, " that we were fairly rid 
of this creed," which they look upon as the greatest blemish 
in our Liturgy. This is not a place to enter into contro- 
versy concerning it. We may just transiently observe the 
wonderful absurdity of declaring in one sentence, that the 
doctrine of the Trinity is incomprehensible, and in the very 
next an attempt to explain it. Nothing can be more im- 
perfect and unsatisfactory than the history of the famous 
and important Council of Nice on this subject, for neither 
the time or place in which it was assembled, nor the num- 
ber of those who sat in it, nor even the name of the bishop 
who presided on it, have ever been clearly ascertained. 
See Valcsius on Eusebius, and Assc?nan's Bibl. Oriental, 
and Mosheim, Vol. I. p. 337. That excellent man and 
writer, Dr. Clarke, has thus expressed himself ou this im- 
portant doctrine, in words that contain all that can justly 
be said on it : — " The self-existent Cause and Father of all 
things did, before all ages," says Clarke, " in an incom- 
prehensible manner, beget or produce a Divine person, 
styled the Logos, the Word, or Son of God, in whom dwells 
the fulness of divine perfections, excepting absolute Supre- 
macy, Independency, or Self- Origination? Bishop Pearson 
maintains the very same opinion of the Son with Dr. 
Clarke, concerning the absolute equality of the Son to the 
Father, yet was never censured for this opinion, as Clarke 
has been, with much acrimony and injustice. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

• Digression to the translator of Father Simon's Critical 
History of the Old Testament. M.N. Orig. edit. 

Ver. 228. Tluj matchless author's] The professed design 
of Father Simon, in his Critical History, was to collect and 
represent the many difficulties that are to be found in the 
text of the Sacred Scriptures, in order to infer the absolute 
necessity of receiving the Romish doctrine of oral tradition, 
and some infallible interpreter. The Church of Kome, 
therefore, embraced his opinion, which was certainly artful 
and insidious, and aimed at the truth and authenticity of 
the Scriptures; and such it was deemed to be by many 
able divines both at home and abroad. And I remember 
Dr.Balguy often mentioned it, as a work intended to un- 
dermine Christianity. Infidel writers have not tailed to 



92 



RELIGIO LAICI 



Those youthful hours which, Of thy equals most 
In toys have squandered, or in vice have lost, 231 
Those hours hast thou to nobler use employed ; 
And the severe delights of truth enjoy'd. 
Witness this weighty book, in which appears 
The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years, 235 
Spent by thy author, in the sifting care 
Of Rabbins' old sophisticated ware 
Prom gold divine ; which he who well can sort 
May afterwards make algebra a sport. 
A treasure, which if country curates buy, 240 

They Junius and Tremellius may defy : 
Save pains in various readings and translations, 
And without Hebrew make most learn'd quota- 
tions. 
A work so full with various learning fraught, 
So nicely ponder'd, yet so strongly wrought, 24s 
As Nature's height and Art's last hand required : 
As much as man could compass, uninspired. 
Where we may see what errors have been made 
Both in the copiers' and translators' trade : 
How Jewish, Popish, interests have prevail'd, sso 
And where infallibility has£ail'd. 

Por some, who have his secret meaning guess'd, 
Have found our author not too much a priest : 
For fashion-sake he seems to have recourse 
To Pope, and Councils, and Tradition's force : 255 
But he that old traditions could subdue, 
Could not but find the weakness of the new ; 
If Scripture, though derived from heavenly 

birth, 
Has been but carelessly preserved on earth ; 
If God's own people, who of God before 26 ° 

Knew what we know, and had been promised more, 
In fuller terms, of Heaven's assisting care, 
And who did neither time nor study Upare 
To keep this book untainted, unperplex'd, 
Let in gross errors to corrupt the text, 265 

Omitted paragraphs, embroil'd the sense, 
With vain traditions stopp'd the gaping fence, 
Which every common hand pull'd up with ease : 
What safety from such brushwood-helps as these ? 
If written words from time are not secured, 27 ° 
How can we think have oral sounds endured 1 
Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail'd, 
Immortal lies on ages are entail'd : 
And that some such have been, is proved too 

plain ; 
If we consider Interest, Church, and Gain. ^ 

Oh, but, says one, Tradition set aside,* 
Where can we hope for an unerring guide ? 
For since the original Scripture has been lost, 
All copies disagreeing, maim'd the most, 

avail themselves of these objections. Collins, in his Dis- 
course on Free-thinking, has dwelt much on the various 
readings of the Scriptures, and he was most effectually and 
most irrefragably answered by Bentley, in his Phileleutherus 
Lipsiensis. No part of the Characteristics seems to have 
been more elaborately written,, than the last part of his 
third volume, where he ridicules various readings, texts, 
glosses, compilements, editions, &e. and where the old 
gentleman, whom he introduces as the chief speaker, cer- 
tainly meant himself. Dryden certainly did not perceive 
the mischief that lurked in this treatise of Simon, which 
he so highly commends his young friend Hampden for 
translating. Dr. J. "Waktox. 

Dr. Warton's authority for calling Dryden's young friend 
by the name of Hampden is probably derived from Derrick's 
assertion; for which there appears no authority ; the initials 
of this young friend being given as H. D. 



edit, 



Of the infallibility of tradition in general. M. N. Orig. 



Or Christian faith can have no certain ground, 2S0 
Or truth in Church Tradition must be found. 

Such an omniscient Church we wish indeed ; 
'Twere worth both Testaments ; and cast in the 

Creed : 
But if this mother be a guide so sure, 
As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure, 23i 
Then her infallibility, as well, 
Where copies are corrupt or lame, can tell ; 
Restore lost canon with as little pains, 
As truly explicate what still remains : 
Which yet no Council dare pretend to do, 2 ' M 

Unless like Esdras they could write it new : 
Strange confidence, still' to interpret true,' 
Yet not be sure that all they have explained, 
Is in the blest original contain' d. 
More safe, and much more modest 'tis; to say 295 
God would not leave mankind without a way : 
And that the Scriptures, though not e^ery where 
Free from corruption, or entire, or clear, . 
Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire, / 

In all things which our needful faith require. 30 ° 
If others in the same glass better see, 
'Tis for themselves they look, but not for me : 
For my salvation must its doom receive, 
Not from what others but what J" believe. 

Musk all tradition then be set aside 1 *^ s" 5 
This to affirm were ignorance or pride. 
Are there not many points, some needful sure 
To saving faith, that Scripture leaves obscure ? 
Which every sect will wrest a several way, 
(For what one sect interprets, all sects may :) ' 310 
We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain, 
That Christ is God ; the bold Socinian 
From the same Scripture urges he 's but mam. 
Now what appeal can end the important suit ? 
Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute. 3 ' 5 

Shall I speak plain, and in a nation free 
Assume an honest layman's liberty ? 
I think, (according to my little skill, 
To my own mother-church submitting still) 
That many have been saved, and many may, **• 
Who never heard this question brought in play. 
The unletter'd Christian, who believes in gross, 
Plods on to Heaven, and ne'er is at a loss : 
For the strart-gate would be made straiter 

yet, 

Were none admitted there but men of wit. 325 



Ver. 282. Such an omniscient Church"] The doctrines of 
Popery have soiled and obscured the pure doctrines of 
Christianity, just as the smoke of their many tapers and 
incense-pots have damaged the figures of Michael Angelo in 
the Last Judgment. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 286. Then her infallibility,] But in this infallible 
Church there have been as many different and discordant 
opinions, as among the various sects of Protestants. One 
Pope has excommunicated another, and one Council issued 
a severe anathema against another. The idea of establish 
ing an uniformity of opinions on religious subjects, is 
founded on a perfect ignorance of the nature of man. 

" solos credis habendos 

Esse Deos, cjuos ipse colis ? " 

Juvenal. S. 15, v. 35. 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 300. In all 'things] This argument is urged with 
much force and precision, in the Eloquence Chretienne, of 
M. Gisbert: which was a favourite book of the great Lord 
Somers, and wrought a great effect in his way of thinking 
in religious matters. Elijah Fenton communicated this 
anecdote, as a fact he well knew, to Mr. Walter Harte. 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

* Objection in behalf of tradition urged by Father Simon. 
M. N. Orig. edit.- 



OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH. 



93 



The few by nature form'd, with learning fraught, 
Bom to instruct, as others to be taught, 
Must study well the sacred page ; and see 
Which doctrine, this, or that, does best agree 
With the whole tenor of the work divine : 330 

And plainliest points to Heaven's reveal'd 

design : 
Which exposition flows from genuine sense ; 
And which is forced by wit and eloquence. 
Not that tradition's parts are useless here : 
When general, old, disinteress'd and clear : 335 
That ancient Fathers thus expound the page, 
Gives truth the reverend majesty of age : 
Confirms its force, by biding every test ; 
For best authority's next rales are best. 
And still the nearer to the spring we go, 34 ° 

More limpid, more unsoil'd the waters flow. 
Thus, first traditions were a proof alone ; 
Could we be certain such they were, so known : 
But since some flaws in long descent may be, 
They make not truth but probability. 345 

Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke 
To what the centm-ies preceding spoke. 
Such difference is there in an oft-told tale : 
But truth by its own sinews will prevail. 
Tradition written therefore more commends 3S0 
Authority, than what from voice descends : 
And this, as perfect as its kind can be, 
Rolls down to us the sacred history : 
Which from the Universal Church received, 
Is tried, and after, for itself believed. ^ 5 

The partial Papists would infer from hence Y 
I Their Church, in last resort, should judge the 

sense. 
But first they would assume, with wondrous 

art,t 
Themselves to be the whole, who are but part 
Of that vast frame, the Church ; yet grant they 

were 360 

The handers down, can they from thence infer 
A right to interprets or would they alone, 
Who brought the present, claim it for their 

own! 
The book 's a common largess to mankind ; 
Not more for them than every man design'd ; 305 
The welcome news is in the letter found ; 
The carrier 's not commission'd to expound. • 
It speaks itself, and what it does contain, 
In all things needful to be known, is plain. 

In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance, 
A gainful trade their clergy did advance : 371 

When want of learning kept the laymen low, 
And none but priests were authorised to know : 
When what small knowledge was, in them did 

dwell, 
And he a god who could but read or spell : W 
Then mother Church did mightily prevail : 
She parcell'd out the Bible by retail : 
But still expounded what she sold or gave, 
To keep it in her power to damn and save. 
Scripture was scarce, and as the market went, 38n 
Poor laymen took salvation on content ; 
Ab needy men take money good or bad : 
God's word they had not, but the priest's they 

had. 
Yet, whate'er false conveyances they made, 
The lawyer still was certain to be paid. •* 

• The second objection. M. N. Orig. edit. 
t Answer to the objection. M. N. Orig. edit. 



In those dark times they learn'd their knack so 

well, 
That by long use they grew infallible : 
At last, a knowing age began to inquire 
If they the book, or that did them inspire : 
And, making narrower search, they found, though 

late, 3 ' J0 

That what they thought the priest's, was their 

estate ; 
Taught by the will produced, (the written word,) 
How long they had been cheated on record. 
Then, every man who saw the title fair 
Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share-: 395 
Consulted soberly his private good, 
And saved himself as cheap as e'er he could. 

'Tis true, my friend, (and far be flattery hence,) 
This good has full as bad a consequence : 
The book thus put in every vulgar hand, 4W 

Which each presumed ho best could understand, 
The common rule was made the common prey ; 
And at the mercy of the rabble lay. 
The tender page with horny fists was gall'd ; 
And he was gifted most that loudest bawl'd : 405 
The spirit gave the doctoral degree : 
And every member of a company 
Was of his trade, and of the Bible, free. 
Plain truths enough for needful use they found : 
But men would still be itching to expound : 410 
Each was ambitious of the obscurest place, 
No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from 

grace. 
Study and pains were now no more their care ; 
Texts were explain'd by fasting and by prayer : 
This was the fruit the private spirit brought : 4 ' 5 
Occasion'd by great zeal and little thought. 
While crowds unlearn'd, with rude devotion 

warm, 
About the sacred viands buzz and swarm, 
The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood ; 
And turns to maggots what was meant for food. 4 -° 
A thousand daily sects rise up and die ; 
A thousand more the perish'd race supply : 
So all we make of Heaven's discover'd will, 
Is, not to have it, or to use it ill. 
The danger's much the same; on several shelves 
If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves. 426 

What then remains, but, waiving each extreme, 
The tides of ignorance and pride to stem ? 
Neither so rich a treasure to forego ? 
Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know : 
Faith is not built on disquisitions vain ; 431 

The things we must believe are few and plain : 
But since men will believe more than they need, 
And every man will make himself a creed, 
In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way ** 

To learn what unsuspected ancients say : 
For 'tis not likely we should higher soar 
In search of Heaven, than all the Church before : 
Nor can we be deceived, unless we see 
The Scripture and the Fathers disagree. *? u 

If after all they stand suspected still, 
(For no man's faith depends upon his will ;) 
'Tis some relief, that points not clearly known, 
Without much hazard may be let alone : 
And after hearing what our Church can say, 4t,> 
If still our reason runs another way, 
That private reason 'tis more just to curb, 
Than by disputes tho public peace disturb. 
For points obscure are of small use to lcaru : 
But common quiet is mankind's concern. 



94 



THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 



Thus have I made my own opinions clear ; 
Yet neither praise expect nor censure fear : 

Ver. 451. my own opinions clear:] All the argu- 
ments which Dryden has here put together in defence of 
revelation, must appear stale and trite to us, who since his 
time have had the happiness of reading such treatises as 
Clarke on the Attributes, Butler's Analogy, Berkley's 
Alciphron, Bishop Sherlock's Sermons, Watson's Apology, 
Hurd on Prophecy, Soame Jenyns' Treatises, Jortin's 
Discourses, Paley's Evidences, and Lardner's Credibility. 
Dr. J. Wabtok. • 



And this unpolish'd rugged verse I chose, 
As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose : 
For while from sacred truth I do not swerve, * 55 
Tom Sternhold's, or Tom Shadwell's rhymes will 
serve. 

Ver. 453. 



• rugged, verse] An old expression. Thus 
in P. Fletcher's Pise. Eclogues, edit. 1633, p. 19 : — 

" Time is my foe, and hates my rugged rimes." 
And Fletcher adopted it from Spenser. Todd. 



THKENODIA AUGUSTALIS 



A FUNERAL PINDARIC PQEM. 



SACEED TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF KIKG CHARLES LT. 



Thus long my grief has kept me dumb : 
Sure there 's a lethargy in mighty woe, 
Tears stand congeal'd, and cannot flow ; 

And the sad soul retires into her inmost room : 

Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief; 6 

But, unprovided for -a sudden blow, 
Like Niobe we marble grow; 
And petrify with grief. 

Our British heaven was all serene, 

No threatening cloud was nigh, 10 

Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky ; 
We lived as unconcern'd and happily 

As the first age in nature's golden scene ; 
Supine amidst our flowing store, 

We slept securely, and we dreamt of more : 15 
When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard, 
It took us unprepared and out of guard, 
Already lost before we fear'd. 

The amazing news of Charles at once were spread, 
At once the general voice declared, 20 

" Our gracious prince was dead." 
No sickness known before, no slow disease, 
To soften grief by just degrees : 
But like an hurricane on Indian seas, 

The tempest rose ; 25 

An unexpected burst of woes : 



Ver. 1. Thus long my grief] The following just, though 
severe sentence, has been passed on this Threnodia, by one 
who was always willing, if possible, to extenuate the 
blemishes of our poet. " Its first and obvious defect is the 
irregularity of its metre, to which the ears of that age, 
however, were accustomed. What is worse, it has neither 
tenderness nor dignity; it is neither magnificent nor 
pathetic. He seems to look round him for images 
which he cannot find, and what he has he distorts by 
endeavouring to enlarge them. He is, he says, petrified 
with grief, but the marble relents, and trickles in a joke. 
There is throughout the composition a desire of splendour 
without wealth. In the conclusion, he seems too much 
pleased with the prospect of the new reign, to have lamented 
his old master with much sincerity." — Dr. Johnson. Dr. J. 
Wakton. 

Ver. 22. No sickness known before,] Original edition. 
Todd. 



With scarce a breathing space betwixt, 

This now becalm'd, and perishing the next. 

As if great Atlas from his height 

Should sink beneath his heavenly weight, 3° 

And with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall 

(As once it shall,) 
Should gape immense, and rushing down, o'er- 

whelm this nether ball ; 
So swift and so surprising was our fear : 
Out Atlas fell indeed ; but Hercules was near. M 



His pious brother, sure the best 

Wno ever bore that name, 
Was newly risen from his rest, 

And, with a fervent flame, 
His usual morning vows had just address'd ' ,0 

For his dear sovereign's health ; 
And hoped to have them heard, 
In long increase of years, 

In honour, fame, and wealth. : 

Guiltless of greatness thus he always prayed, 45 

Nor knew nor wish'd those vows he made 

On his own head should be repaid. 
Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reach'd his ear, 

(111 news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace,) 

Who can describe the amazement of his face ! 
Horror in all his pomp was there, 61 

Mute and magnificent without a tear : 
And then the hero first was seen to fear. 
Half unarray'd he ran to his relief, 
So hasty and. so artless was his grief : M 

Approaching greatness met him with her charms 

Of power and future state ; 

But look'd so ghastly in a brother's fate, 

He shook her from his arms. 
Arrived within the mournful room, he saw M 

A wild distraction, void of awe, 
And arbitrary grief, unbounded by a law. 

God's image, God's anointed lay 
Without motion, pulse, or breath, 

A senseless lump of sacred clay, 65 

An image now of death. 



THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 



Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries, 
The lines of that adored forgiving face, 
Distorted from their native grace ; 

An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes. 70 

The pious duke — Forbear, audacious muse, 

No terms thy feeble art can use 

Are able to adorn so vast a woe : 

The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did 
show, 

His like a sovereign did transcend ; 75 

No wife, no brother, such a grief could know, 
Nor any name but friend. 



wondrous changes of a fatal scene, 

Still varying to the last ! 

Heaven, though its hard decree was past, m 
Seem'd pointing to a gracious turn again : 

And Death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste. 

Heaven half repented of the doom, 
And almost grieved it had foreseen, 

What by foresight it will'd eternally to come. 8S 
Mercy above did hourly plead 

For her resemblance here below ; 
And mild forgiveness intercede 

To stop the coming blow. 
New miracles approach'd the etherial throne, M 
Such as his wondrous life had often lately known, 
And urged that still they might be shown. 

On earth his pious brother pray'd and vow'd, 
Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate, 

Himself defending what he cou'd, * 

From all the glories of his future fate. 

With him the innumerable crowd, 
Of armed prayers 
Knock'd at the gates of heaven; and knock'd 
aloud ; 
The first well-meaning rude petitioners. 10 ° 
All for his life assail'd the throne, 
All would have bribed the skies by offering up 

their own. 
So great a throng not heaven itself could bar ; 
"fwas almost borne by force as in the giants' war. 
The prayers, at least, for his reprieve we 

heard ; 
His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferr'd : 

Against the sun the shadow went ; 

Five days, those five degrees, were lent 

To form our patience and prepare the event, 
The second causes took the swift command, 
The medicinal head, the ready hand, 



were 

105 



Ver. 70. An iron slumber sat on Ids majestic eyes.] From 
Virgil, JEn. x. 745. 

" OUi dura quies oculos et ferreus urget 
Somnus," &c. 

See Sir P. Sidney's Arcadia, Lib. iii. " But with that 
Argalus came out of his sound, and lifting vp his languish- 
ing eyes (which a painefnll rest and ibon sleep did seeke to 
luck vp) seeing her," &c. Todd. 

Ver. 74. 

The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show, 
Bis like a sovereign did transcend ;] 

Just as the Dauphiness was dying, 1690, the bishop of 
Mcaux, Bossuet, who attended her, said to Louis XlVth. 
who was then in her chamber, " Your Majesty had better 
retire ; " " No, no," cried the king, " it in right I should 
Bee how my equals die." John Wabton. 

Ver. 95. what lie cou'd,] Orig. edit. Todd. 

Ver. 111. Tlic medicinal head;] Orig. edit, incd'cinal. 
Todd. 



All eager to perform their part; 

All but eternal doom was conquer'd by their art : 

Once more the fleeting soul came back 

To inspire the mortal frame ; 1I5 

And in the body took a doubtful stand, 

Doubtful and hovering like expiring flame, 
That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er 
the brand. 

rv. 
The joyful short-lived news soon spread around, 
Took the same train, the same impetuous bound : 
The drooping town in smiles again was dress'd, m 
Gladness in every face express'd, 
Their eyes before their tongues confess'd. 
Men met each other with erected look, 
The steps were higher that they took ; a 

Friends to congratulate their friends made haste, 
And long inveterate foes saluted as they pass'd : 
Above the heroic James appear'd 
Exalted more because he more had fear'd : 
His manly heart, whose noble pride I3 ° 

Was still above 

Dissembled hate or varnish'd love, 
Its more than common transport could not hide ; 
But like an eagre* rode in triumph o'er the tide. 
Thus in alternate course, •* 

The tyrant passions, hope and fear, 
Did in extremes appear, 
And flash'd upon the soul with equal force. 
Thus, at half ebb, a rolling sea 
Returns and wins upon the shore ; l4u 

The watery herd, affrighted at the roar, 
Rest on their fins awhile, and stay, 
Then backward take their wondering way : 
The prophet wonders more than they, 
At prodigies but rarely seen before, ,4S 

And cries, a king must fall, or kingdoms change 

their sway. 
Such were our counter-tides at land, and so 
Presaging of the fatal blow, 
In their prodigious ebb and flow. 
The royal soul, that, like the labouring moon, ,5 ° 
By charms of art was hurried down, 
Forced with regret to leave her native sphere, 
Came but awhile on liking here : 
Soon weary of the painful strife, 
And made but faint essays of life : 155 

An evening light 
Soon shut in night ; 
A strong distemper, and a weak relief, 
Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief. 



The sons of art all medicines tried, 16 ° 

And every noble remedy applied ; 
With emulation each essay'd 
His utmost skill, nay more, they pray'd : 
Never was losing game with better conduct 
play'd. 

Ver. 126. Friends to congratulate, &c] Each to con- 
gratulate his friend, &c. Original edit. Todd. 

* An eagre is a tide swelling above another tide, which I 
myself observed on the river Trent. Marg. Note, orig. edit. 

Ver. 160. ■ all medicines] Orig. edit. : all med'eines. 

Todd. 

Ver. 164. Never was losing game] Orig. edit.: Was never 
losing game, &c. Todd. 

Ibid. Never was losing gamc y A most vulgar ill-placed 
allusion Or. J Wabton 



H 



THRENODIA AUOUSTALIS. 



Death never won a stake with greater toil, 165 

Nor e'er was fate so near a foil : 

But like a fortress on a rook, 

The impregnable disease their vain attempts did 

mock ; 
They mined it near, they batter'd from afar 
With all the cannon of the medicinal war ; 17 ° 
No gentle means could be essayed, 
'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid : 
The extremest ways they first ordain, 
Prescribing such intolerable pain, 
As none but Cssar could sustain : 175 

, Undaunted Caesar underwent 
The malice of their art, nor bent 
Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent : 
In five such days he suffer'd more 
Than any suffer'd in his reign before ; lso 

More, infinitely more, than he, 
Against the worst of rebels, could decree, 
A traitor, or twice pardon'd enemy. 
Now art was tired without success, 
No racks could make the stubborn malady 

confess. ,bS 

The vain insurancers of life, 
And he who most perform'd and promised less, 
Even Short himself forsook the unequal strife. 
Death and despair was in their looks, I89 

No longer they consult their memories or books ; 
Like helpless friends, who view from shore 
The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar ; 
So stood they with their arms across ; 
Not to assist but to deplore 
The inevitable loss. 195 



Death was denounced ; that frightful sound 
Which even the best can hardly bear, 
He took the summons void of fear ; 
And unconcernedly cast his eyes around ; 
As if to find and dare the grisly challenger. 
What death could do he lately tried, 
When in four days he more than died. 
The same assurance all his words did grace ; 
The same majestic mildness held its place : 
Nor lost the monarch in his dying face. 
Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave, 
He look'd as when he eonquer'd and forgave. 



As if some angel had been sent 

To lengthen out his government, 

And to foretel as many years again, 21 ° 

As he had number'd in his happy reign, 

So cheerfully he took the doom 

Of his depai-ting breath ; 

Nor shrunk nor stept aside for death ; 

But with unalter'd pace kept on ; 215 

Providing for events to come, 

When he resign'd the throne. 

Still he maintain'd his kingly state ; 

And grew familiar with his fate. 

Kind, good, and gracious, to the last, m 

On all he loved before his dying beams he cast : 

Oh, truly good, and truly great, 

For glorious as he rose, benignly so he set ! 

All that on earth he held most dear, 

He recommended to his care, S 26 



Ver. 170. - 
war. Todd. 



medicinal war;] Orig. edit. : mecCcinal 



To whom both Heaven 

The right had given, 

And his own love bequeath'd supreme command : 

He took and press'd that ever loyal hand, 

Which could in peace secure his reign, 2 30 

Which could in wars his power maintain, 

That hand on which no plighted vows were ever 

vain. 
Well for so great a trust he chose 
A prince who never disobey'd : 
Not when the most severe commands were 

laid ; ** 

Nor want, nor exile with his duty weigh'd : 
A prince on whom, if Heaven its eyes could 

close, 
The welfare of the world it safely might repose. 



That king who lived to God's own heart, 

Yet less serenely died than he : 240 

Charles left behind no harsh decree 

For schoolmen with laborious art 

To salve from cruelty : 

Those, for whom love could no excuses frame, 

He graciously forgot to name. 245 

Thus far my muse, though rudely, has design'd 

Some faint resemblance of his godlike mind : 

But neither pen nor pencil can express 

The parting brothers' tenderness : 

Though that 's a term too mean and low ; 2M 

The blest above a kinder word may know : 

But what they did, and what they said, 

The monarch who triumphant went, 

The militant who staid, 

Like painters when their height'ning arts are 

spent ■ 255 

I cast into a shade. 
That all-forgiving king, 
The type of Him above, 
That inexhausted spring 

Of clemency and love ; 26C 

Himself to his next self accused, 
And ask'd that pardon which he ne'er refused : 
For faults not his, for guilt and crimes ' • 
Of godless men, and of rebellious times : 
For an hard exile, kindly meant, a6i 

When his ungrateful country sent 
Their best Camillus into banishment : 
And forced their sovereign's act, they could not 

his consent. 
Oh, how much rather had that injured chief 
Repeated all his sufferings past ! 2 '° 

Than hear a pardon begg'd at last, 
Which given could give the dying no relief : 
He bent, he sunk beneath his grief : 
His dauntless heart would fain have held 
From weeping, but his eyes rebell'd. 2!i 

Perhaps the godlike hero in his breast 
Disdain'd, or was ashamed, to show 
So weak, so womanish a woe, 
Which yet the brother and the friend so plen- 

teously confess'd. 



Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind 280 

An easy passage found, 

And left its sacred earth behind : 

Nor murmuring groan express'd, nor labouring 

sound, 
Nor any least tumultuous breath ,• 



THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 



97 



Calm was his life, and quiet was his death. 2S5 

Soft as those gentle whispers were, 

In which the Almighty did appear; 

By the still voice the prophet knew him there. 

That peace which made thy prosperous reign to 

shine, 
That peace thou leav'st to thy imperial line, 290 
That peace, oh happy shade, be ever thine ! 



For all those joys thy restoration brought, 

For all the miracles it wrought, 

For all the healing balm thy mercy pour'd 

Into the nation's bleeding wound, 29i 

And care that after kept it sound, 

For numerous blessings yearly shower'd, 

And property with plenty crown'd ; 

For freedom, still maintain'd alive, 

Freedom, which in no other land will thrive, 300 

Freedom, an English subject's sole prerogative, 

Without whose charms even peace would be 

But a dull quiet slavery : 

For these and more, accept our pious piraise; 

'Tis all the subsidy 305 

The present age can raise, 

The rest is charged on late posterity. 

Posterity is charged the more, 

Because the large abounding store 

To them and to their heirs is still entail'd by 

thee. 310 

Succession of a long descent 
Which chastely in the channels ran, 
And from our demi-gods began, 
Equal almost to time in its extent, 
Through hazards numberless and great, 3IS 

Thou hast derived this mighty blessing down, 
And fix'd the fairest gem that decks the imperial 

crown : 
Not faction, when it shook thy regal seat, 
Not senates, insolently loud, 
Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd, 32 ° 

Not foreign or domestic treachery, 
Could warp thy soul to their unjust decree. 
So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook, 
Who judged it by the mildness of thy look : 
Like a well-temper'd sword it bent at will ; ^ 
But kept the native toughness of the steel. 



Be true, Clio, to thy hero's name ! 
But draw him strictly so, 
That all who view the piece may know ; 
He needs no trappings of fictitious fame : 



Ver. 288. By the still voice] Orig. edit. : By the still 
aound, &c. Todd. 

Ibid. Alluding to 1 Kings xix. 12 : " And after the 6re a 
atill small voice." See also the marginal reading of Job iv. 16 : 
" I heard a atill voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more 
just than God?" Todd. 

Ver. 319. Not senates, insolently loud, 

Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd,] 
So Cowper, in a nervous and animated strain— 
" Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, 
Chaos of contrarieties at war, 
Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light, 
Discordant, atoms meet, contend, and light ; 
Where Obstinacy takes its sturdy stand, 
To disconcert what Policy has plann'il; 
Where Policy is busied all night long 
In setting right what Faction has set wrong." 

Expos. 118. Vol. I. 
John Waktoh, 



The load 's too weighty : thou may'st choose 

Some parts of praise, and some refuse : 

Write, that his annals may be thought more 

lavish than the muse. 
In scanty truth thou hast confined 
The virtues of a royal mind, 3M 

Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind : 
His conversation, wit, and parts, 
His knowledge in the noblest useful arts, 
Were such, dead authors could not give ; 
But habitudes of those who live ; 3 *° 

Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive : 
He drain'd from all, and all they knew ; 
His apprehension quick, his judgment true : 
That the most learn'd, with shame, confess 
His knowledge more, his reading only less. 345 



Amidst the peaceful triumphs of his reign, 

What wonder if the kindly beams he shed 

Revived the drooping arts again, 

If Science raised her head, 

And soft Humanity that from rebellion fled : 3S0 

Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before ; 

But all uncultivated lay 

Out of the solar walk and heaven's high way ; 

With rank Geneva weeds run o'er, 

And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore : 

The royal husbandman appear'd, 356 

And plough'd, and sow'd, and till'd, 

The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish clear'd, 

And bless'd the obedient field. 

When straight a double harvest rose ; 3C0 

Such as the swarthy Indian mows ; 

Or happier climates near the line, 

Or paradise manured, and drest by hands divine. 



As when the new-born phoenix takes his way, 
His rich paternal regions to survey, 365 



Ver. 348. Revived the drooping arts'] Charles was very 
instrumental in founding and promoting the Royal Society ; 
but it has been said, it may be doubted whether the insti- 
tutions of academies have contributed to the promotion of 
science and literature. Neither Copernicus nor Kepler 
were members of any academy ; nor was Newton member 
of our Koyal Society till he had made his most important 
discoveries. None of the great inventions have been owing 
to academies. But it may be added, that Alexander assisted 
Aristotle with a vast collection of animals ; the caliph 
Almoran encouraged philosophy; and without the French 
academy, Maupertuis would not have undertaken his Phi- 
losophical Journey ; nor Tourne/ort his Voyages, without 
the encouragement of Louis XIV. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 364. As when the new-born phatnix) &c.J Dryden 
had probably Sannazarius in view, De Partu Virg. lib. ii. 

" Qualis nostrum cum tendit in oibem, 

Purpureis rutilat pennis nitidissima phcenix, 

Qnani varue circum volucres comitantur euntem," &c. 

Todd. 

Ibid. As when the new-horn phesnix tolces his way, 
His rich paternal regions to survey, 
Of airy choristers a numerous train 
Attend his wondrous progress o'er the plain ; ] 

Imitated from Buchanan : 

" Sic ubi de patrio redivivus funere Phcenix 
Aurora; ad populos redit, et cunabula secum 
Ipse sua, et oineres patris, inferiasque decoris 
Fert humeris ; quacunque citis aremigHt alis. 
Indigence comitantur aves, celebrantque canora 
Agmine: non Ulas species Incognita tantum 
Aut picturata capiunt spectacula pennm." 

Buchanan. Sllv. p. 59. 

John Wabtok. 



98 



THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. 



Of airy choristers a numerous train 

Attend his wondrous progress o'er the plain ; 

So, rising from his father's urn, 

So glorious did our Charles return ; 

The officious Muses came along, 

A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever young : 

The Muse that mourns him now his happy tri- 
umph sung. 

Even they could thrive in his auspicious reign; 

And such a plenteous crop they bore 

Of purest and well-winnow'd grain, 

As Britain never knew before. 

Though little was their hire, and light their gain, 

Yet somewhat to their share he threw ; 

Fed from his hand they sung and flew, 

Like birds of paradise that lived on morning 
dew. 

Oh, never let their lays his name forget ! 

The pension of a prince's praise is great. 

Live then, thou great encourager of arts, 

Live ever in our thankful hearts ; 

Live blest above, almost invoked below ; 

Live and receive this pious vow, 

Our patron once, our guardian angel now. 

Thou Fabius of a sinking state, 

Who didst by wise delays divert our fate, 

"When faction like a tempest rose, 

In death's most hideous form, 

Then art to rage thou didst oppose, 

To weather out the storm : 

Not quitting thy supreme command, 

Thou held'st the rudder with a steady hand, 395 

Till safely on the shore the bark did land : 

The bark that all our blessings brought, 

Charged with thyself and James, a doubly royal 
fraught. 



Oh frail estate of human things, 

And slippery hopes below ! 40 ° 

Now to our cost your emptiness we know, 

For 'tis a lesson dearly bought, 

Assurance here is never to be sought. 

The best, and best beloved of kings, 

And best deserving to be so, 40 '' 

When scarce he had escaped the fatal blow 

Of faction and conspiracy, 

Death did his promised hopes destroy : 

He toil'd, he gain'd, but lived not to enjoy. 

What mists of Providence are these 410 

Through which we cannot see ! 

So saints, by supernatural power set free, 

Are left at last in martyrdom to die ; 

Such is the end of oft repeated miracles. 

Forgive me, Heaven, that impious thought ; 4I ° 

'Twas grief for Charles, to madness wrought, 

That question'd thy supreme decree ! 

Thou didst his gracious reign prolong, 

Even in thy saints' and angels' wrong, 

His fellow-citizens of immortality : 420 

For twelve long years of exile borne, 

Twice twelve we number'd since his blest return : 



Ver. 380. Like birds of paradise that lived on morning dew.'] 
Tavernier, the excellent French traveller, says, that it is a 
vulgar error that the birds of paradise have no legs: the 
fact is, that they gorge and over-fill themselves by feeding 
on the nutmeg-trees, from which they fall down in a kind of 
intoxication, and the emmet eats off their legs. Louis XIII. 
had one of these birds, and a very beautiful one, that had 
two legs. John Warton. 



So strictly wert thou just to pay, 

Even to the driblet of a day. 

Yet still we murmur, and complain 

The quails and manna should no longer rain ; 

Those miracles 'twas needless to renew ; 

The chosen flock has now the promised land in 



A warlike prince ascends the regal state, 

A prince long exercised by fate : 

Long may he keep, though he obtains it late. 

Heroes in Heaven's peculiar mould are cast, 

They and their poets are not form'd in haste ; 

Man was the first in God's design, and man was 

made the last. 
False heroes, made by flattery so, 435 

Heaven can strike out, like sparkles, at a blow ; 
But ere a prince is to perfection brought, 
He costs Omnipotence a second thought. 
With toil and sweat, 
With hardening cold, and forming heat, 
The Cyclops did their strokes repeat, 
Before the impenetrable shield was wrought. 
It looks as if the Maker would not own 
The noble work for his, 
Before 'twas tried and found a masterpiece. 445 



View then a monarch ripen'd for a throno. 
Alcides thus his race began, 
O'er infancy he swiftly ran ; 
The future god at first was more than man : 
Dangers and toils, and Juno's hate, 
Even o'er his cradle lay in wait ; 
And there he grappled first with fate : 
In his young hands the hissing snakes he press'd, 
So early was the deity confess'd ; 
Thus by degrees he rose to Jove's imperial 
seat ; 45S 

Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately great. 
Like his, our hero's infancy was tried : 
Betimes the furies did their snakes provide ; 
And to his infant arms oppose 
His father's rebels, and his brother's foes ; 
The more opprest, the higher still he rose ; 
Those were the preludes of his fate, 
That form'd his manhood, to subdue 
The hydra of a many-headed hissing crew. 



As after Numa's peaceful reign 

The martial Ancus did the sceptre wield, 

Furbish'd the rusty sword again, 

Resumed the long-forgotten shield, 

And led the Latins to the dusty field ; 

So James the drowsy genius wakes r '° 

Of Britain long entranced in charms, 

Restive and slumbering on its arms : 

'Tis roused, and with a new-strung nerve the spear 

already shakes. 
No neighing of the warrior steeds, 
No drum, or louder trumpet, needs 
To inspire the coward, warm the cold ; 
His voice, his sole appearance, makes them bold. 
Gaul and Batavia dread the impending blow ; 
Too well the vigour of that arm they know ; 
They lick the dust, and crouch beneath their 

fatal foe. 



VERSES TO J. NORTHLEIGH. 



99 



Long may they fear this awful prince, 
And not provoke his lingering sword ; 
Peace is their only sure defence, 
Their best security his word : 
In all the changes of his doubtful state, 4K 

His truth, like Heaven's, was kept inviolate, 
For him to promise is to make it fate. 
His valour can triumph o'er land and main ; 
With broken oaths his fame lie will not stain ; 
With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious 
gain. m 

XVIII. 

For once, Heaven, unfold thy adamantine book; 

And let his wondering senate see, 

If not thy firm immutable decree, 

At least the second page of strong contingency ; 

Such as consists with wills originally free: 405 

Let them with glad amazement look 

On what their happiness may be : 

Let them not still be obstinately blind, 

Still to divert the good thou hast design'd, 

Or with malignant penury, 60 " 

To starve the royal virtues of his mind. 



Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test ; 

Oh, give them to believe, and they are surely 

blest. 
They do ; and with a distant view I see 
The amended vows of English loyalty. 60S 

And all beyond that object, there appeal's 
The long retinue of a prosperous reign, 
A series of successful years, 
In orderly array, a martial, manly train. 
Behold ev'n the remoter shores, bw 

A conquering navy proudly spread ; 
The British cannon formidably roars ; 
While starting from his oozy bed, 
The asserted Ocean rears his reverend head, 
To view and recognize his ancient lord again ; 61S 
And with a willing hand restores 
The fasces of the main. 



Ver. 512. The British cannon, &c] This conclusion is 
truly spirited, and the prophecy has heen abundantly ve- 
rified. Dryden gives the British king the proper title of 
ancient lord of the ocean. Camden, in his Britannia, had 
before denominated our island the lady of the sea; a very 
just and emphatical distinction : Esto perpetua ! Todd. 



TO MY FRIEND MR. J. NORTHLEIGH. 

AUTHOR OP "THE PARALLEL," 

ON HIS TRIUMPH OF THE BRITISH MONARCHY. 
1 



So Joseph, yet a youth, expounded well 
The boding dream, and did th' event foretell ; 
Judged by the past, and drew the Parallel. 
Thus early Solomon the truth explored, 
The right awarded, and the babe restored. 
Thus Daniel, ere to prophecy he grew, 
The perjured Presbyters did first subdue, 
And freed Susanna from the canting crew. 



Well may our Monarchy triumphant stand, 
While warlike James protects both sea and 

land; w 

And, under covert of his sevenfold shield, 
Thou send'st thy shafts to scour the distant 

field. 
By law thy powerful pen has set us free ; 
Thou studieat that, and that may study thee. 



n 2 



•jOO THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 

A POEM. IN THEEE PARTS. 



Antiquam exquirite matrem. 

Et vera, ineessu, patuit Dea. — ViBO. 



THE PREFACE TO THE READER. 



The nation is in too high a ferment for me to expect either fair war, or even so much as fair quartei 
from a reader of the opposite party. AU men are engaged either on this side or that ; and though 
Conscience is the common Word, which is given by both, yet if a writer fall among enemies, and 
cannot give the marks of their conscience, he is knocked down before the reasons of his own are heard. 
A preface, therefore, which is but a bespeaking of favour, is altogether useless. What I desire the 
reader should know concerning me, he will find in the body of the poem, if he have but the patience 
to peruse it. Only this advertisement let him take beforehand, which relates to the merits of the 
cause. No general characters of parties (call them either Sects or Churches) can be so fully and 
exactly drawn, as to comprehend all the several members of them ; at least all such as are received 
under that denomination. For example : there are some of the Church by law established who envy 
not liberty of conscience to Dissenters ; as being well satisfied that, according to then' own principles, 
they ought not to persecute them. Yet these, by reason of their fewness, I could not distinguish 
from the numbers of the rest, with whom they are embodied in one common name. On the other 
side, there are many of our Sects, and more indeed than I could reasonably have hoped, who have 
withdrawn themselves from the communion of the Panther, and embraced this gracious indulgence 
of his Majesty in point of toleration. But neither to the one nor the other of these is this satire any 
way intended : it is aimed only at the refractory and disobedient on either side. For those who are 
come over to the royal party are consequently supposed to be out of gun-shot. Our physicians have 
observed, that, in process of time, some diseases have abated of their virulence, and have in a manner 
worn out their malignity, so as to be no longer mortal ; and why may not I suppose the same con- 
cerning some of those who have formerly been enemies to Kingly Government, as well as Catholic 
Religion 1 I hope they have now another notion of both, as having found, by comfortable experience, 
that the doctrine of persecution is far from being an article of our faith. 

It is not for any private man to censure the proceedings of a foreign prince ; but without suspicion 
of flattery, I may praise our own, who has taken contrary measures, and those more suitable to the 
spirit of Christianity. Some of the Dissenters, in then- addresses to his Majesty, have said, "That he 
has restored God to his empire over conscience." I confess I dare not stretch the figure to so great 
a boldness ; but I may safely say, that conscience is the royalty and prerogative of every private man 
He is absolute in his own breast, and accountable to no earthly power for that which passes only 
betwixt God and him. Those who are driven into the fold are, generally speaking, rather made 
hypocrites than converts. 

This indulgence being granted to all the sects, it ought in reason to be expected that they should 
both receive it, and receive it thankfully. For, at this time of day, to refuse the benefit, and adhere 
to those whom they have esteemed their persecutors, what is it else but publicly to own that they 
suffered not before for conscience sake, but only out of pride and obstinacy, to separate from a Church 
for those impositions which they now judge may be lawfully obeyed 1 After they have so long con- 
tended for their classical ordination (not to speak of rites and ceremonies), will they at length 



THE PREFACE TO THE READER. 101 

submit to an episcopal 1 If they can go so far out of complaisance to their old enemies, methinks a 
little reason should persuade them to take another step, and see whither that would lead them. 

Of the receiving this toleration thankfully I shall say no more, than that they ought, and I doubt 
not, they will, consider from what hands they received it. It is not from a Cyrus, a heathen prince, and 
a foreignor, but from a Christian king, their native sovereign, who expects a return in specie from 
them, that the kindness which he has graciously shown them may be retaliated on those of his own 
persuasion. 

As for the poem in general, I will only thus far satisfy the reader, that it was neither imposed on me, 
nor so much as the subject given me by any man. It was written during the last winter and the 
beginning of this spring, though with long interruptions of ill-health and other hindrances. About a 
fortnight before I had finished it, his Majesty's declaration for liberty of conscience came abroad; 
which, if I had so soon expected, I might have spared myself the labour of writing many things which 
are contained in the third part of it. But I was always in some hope, that the Church of England 
might have been persuaded to have taken off the Penal Laws and the Test, which was one design of 
the poem when I proposed to myself the writing of it. 

It is evident that some part of it was only occasional, and not first intended : I mean that defence 
of myself, to which every honest man is bound, when he is injuriously attacked in print; and I refer 
myself to the judgment of those who have read the Answer to the Defence of the late King's papers 
and that of the Duchess (in which last I was concerned) how charitably I have been represented 
there. I am now informed both of the author and supervisors of his pamphlet, and will reply when 
I think he can affront me : for I am of Socrates's opinion, that all creatures cannot. In the mean 
time let him consider whether he deserved not a more severe reprehension than I gave him formerly, 
for using so little respect to the memory of those whom he pretended to answer ; and at his leisure 
look out for some .original treatise of Humility, written by any Protestant in English (I believe I 
may say in any other tongue): for the magnified piece of Duncomb on that subject, which either he 
must mean or none, and with which another of his fellows has upbraided me, was translated from 
the Spanish of Rodriguez; though with the omission of the seventeenth, the twenty-fourth, the 
twenty-fifth, and the last chapter, which will be found in comparing of the books. 

He would have insinuated to the world that her late Highness died not a Roman Catholic. He de- 
clares himself to be now satisfied to the contrary, in which he has given up the cause ; for matter of fact 
was the principal debate betwixt us. In the mean time, he would dispute the motives of her change ; 
how preposterously, let all men judge, when he seemed to deny the subject of the controversy, the 
change itself. And because I would not take up this ridiculous challenge, he tells the world I cannot 
argue : but he may as well infer that a Catholic cannot fast, because he will not take up the cudgels 
against Mrs. James, to confute the Protestant religion. 

I have but one word more to say concerning the poem as such, and abstracting from the matters, 
either religious or civil, which are handled in it. The first part, consisting most in general characters 
and narration, I have endeavoured to raise, and give it the majestic turn of heroic poesy. The 
second, being matter of dispute, and chiefly concerning Church Authoi-ity, I was obliged to make as 
plain and perspicuous as possibly I could ; yet not wholly neglecting the numbers, though I had not 
frequent occasions for the magnificence of verse. The third, which has more of the nature of 
domestic conversation, is, or ought to be, more free and familiar than the two former. 

There are in it two Episodes, or Fables, which are interwoven with the main design; so that 
they are properly parts of it, though they are also distinct stories of themselves. In both of these 
I have made use of the common places of Satire, whether true or false, which are urged by the 
i liers of the one Church against the other: at which I hope no reader of either party will be 
scandalised, because they are not of my invention, but as old, to my knowledge, as the times of 
Boccace and Chaucer on the one side, and as those of the Reformation on the other. 



102 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, 
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged ; 



* This piece is a defence of the Roman Catholic Church, 
hy way of dialogue between a Hind, who represents the 
Church of Rome, and a Panther, who sustains the character 
of the Church of England. These two beasts very learn- 
edly debate the principal points controverted between the 
two Churches, as transubstantiation, infallibility, church- 
authority, &c. This poem was immediately attacked by 
the wits; particularly by Montague, afterwards Earl of 
Halifax, and Prior, who joined in writing The Hind and 
Panther, parodied in the Story of the Country Mouse and the 
City Mouse. Derrick. 

There is a pointed allusion to this poem, in a satire 
entitled Ecebolius Britannicus, or A Memento to the Jacobites 
of the higher order ; in which, indeed, many of Dryden's 
phrases and sentiments are introduced, and printed in the 
Italic character. This satire is worthy of perusal. It occurs 
in " The loyal and impartial Satyrist, containing eight 
Miscellany Poems, 4to. Lond. 1694." 

ECEBOLIUS BRITANNICUS, &C. 

You, whom Religion sits so loose about, 

That you want charity to fill it out; 

You that can't swear (that might consist with love) 

Yet curse and damn like the great Lateran Jove ; 

Remember him who lately seem'd to say, 

What is Religion hut a solemn play ? 

We do but act a while, and then give o'er ; 

And, when we quit this stage, we are no more. 

In vain men hope th' abyss of light to see, 

No spirits wait in hollow trees beneath, 

Nor is there any bellowing after death, 
'Tis all but vain and senseless poetry : 
Death shuts the comick scene ; when parted hence 
None ever cried, What am I, or from whence ? 
No daemons walk ; no glaring eye-balls rowl ; , 
But horrid stillness then invades the soul. 
Great souls discern not when the leap 's too wide ; 
Heroes will be for ever changing side: 
And since religions vary like the wind, 
Who would to one be cursedly confined f 
He that can servilely creep after one 
Is safe, but ne'er shall reach promotion. 
Sell Plays for Legends, (that 's the way to prosper,) 

I'll part with scenes for a more costly shrine ; 

Phillis for Bridget, or Saint Katherine, 
Bizarre and Escapade for Pater Noster ; 
My Maximin for Lewis ; and I hope 
To find a new Almanzor in the Pope. 

Rome's Church, tho' once a whore, now cannot be; 
She must be chaste, because she 's lov'd by me. 
How dear is Mother-Church, how charming fair, ) 
To a distressed sinner in despair ! V 

The world shall see I'll turn, because 7 dare. J 
As once Empedocles to get a name, 

Wing'd with ambition to be thought a god, 

O'er unfrequented hills, and peaks untrod, 
Pass'd into scorching ^Etna's liquid flame : 
So to be dubb'd a saint, and fill a story, 

From fairy land, and dark enchanted isle, 

From mountains of the moon, and head of Nile, 
Immortal Bays will pass to Purgatory. 

2. 
But, ha ! what strange new project here is shewn, 
So long kept secret, and so lately known 1 ? 
As if our old plot modestly withdrew, 
And here in private were brought forth anew. 
New almanacks foretel some change at hand, 
When bear-skinn'd men in floating castles land : 
And all our hopes, like old men's children, be 
Blasted and wither'd in their infancy. 
Parsons and Curates careless of their charge, 
And safe in holy ease, now live at large ; 



Without unspotted, innocent within, 
She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin. 

Unguarded leave their posts, away they flie ; 
And all dissolved in New Allegiance lie. 

The Prelates are pi-otected by the Bar, 
, Dull heroes fatten still with spoils of war; 
Ah 1 why should a worse fortune be design'd 
For him that wrote the Panther and the Hind! 

Is this the state his Holiness has given ? 
Is this our Cape of Hope, and promised haven? 
This province my Unhappy Change has got, 
This portion is the losing Convert's lot. 
This region my false wandering steps have found, 
And fortune flies me like enchanted ground. 
Best take th' occasion, and this clime forsake, 
While time is given ; Ho, Brother Teague, awake, 
If thou art he ; but, ah 1 hov> sunk in tone I 
How changed from proud Bullero to Hone t 
How faded all thy laurels are I I see 
My fate too soon, and my own change in thee. 
Into what wild distraction am I brought ! 
I 'm lost, and caught in my own web of thought : 
I burn, I'm all on fire, I more than burn: 
Stand off, I have not leisure yet to turn. 
What have these bears, these boars, and dirty swine, 
These heretick dogs, to do with me or mine f 
I '11 ne'er repent of such a gallant crime : 
When Wits are down, dull Fops will watch their time. 

Our fame is hush'd, as hope itself lay dead, 
And Borne begins to nod her drooping head : 
The little Teagucs in dreams their howls repeat, 
And weeping laurels with the night-dew sweat: 
Panthers are now at rest, hut fear denies 
Sleep to my Hind, and to her Poet's eyes. 
This spirited poem, I should add, is in the title-page only 
of the Miscellany inscribed, To the truly Orthodox Critic and 
Poet, J. D n, Esq. Todd. 

Ver. 1. A millt~white Hindi] It is impossible to add any 
thing to the just criticism, the true wit, and well-pointed 
ridicule, with which Mr. Montague and Mr. Prior attacked 
and exposed the matchless absurdity of the plan of this 
poem in the following words : — 

"The favourers of the Hind and Panther will be apt to 
say in its defence, that the best things are capable of being 
turned to ridicule ; that Homer has been burlesqued, and 
Virgil travestied, without suffering any thing in their re- 
putation from that buffoonery ; and that, in like manner, the 
Hind and the Panther may be an exact poem, though 'tis 
the subject of our raillery. But there is this difference, that 
those authors are wrested from their true sense, and this 
naturally falls into ridicule ; there is nothing represented 
here as monstrous and unnatural, which is not so equally in 
the original. First, as to the general design, is it not as 
easy to imagine two mice bilking coachmen, and supping 
at the Devil, as to suppose a hind entertaining the panther 
at a hermit's cell, discussing the greatest mysteries of reli- 
gion, and telling you her son Rodriguez writ very good 
Spanish ? What can be more improbable and contradictory 
to the rules and examples of all fables, and to the very de- 
sign and use of them ? They were first begun and raised 
to the highest perfection in the eastern countries, where 
they wrote in signs, and spoke in parables, and delivered 
the most useful precepts in delightful stories ; which for 
their aptness were entertaining to the most judicious, and 
led the vulgar into understanding by surprising them 
with their novelty, and fixing their attention. All their 
fables cany a double meaning ; the story is one and entire ; 
the characters the same throughout, not broken or changed, 
and always conformable to the nature of the creatures they 
introduce. They never tell you, that the dog which snapt 
at a shadow lost his troop of horse — that would be unin- 
telligible—a piece of flesh is proper for him to drop, and 
the reader will apply it to mankind. They would not say 
that the daw, who was so proud of her borrowed plumes, 
looked very ridiculous when Rodriguez came and took 
away all the book but the 17th, 24th, and 25th chapters, 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



103 



Yet had she oft been chased with horns and 
hounds, 5 

And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds 
Aim'd at her heart ; was often forced to fly, 
And doom'd to death though fated not to die. 

Not so her young ; for their unequal line 
Was hero's make, half human, half divine. 10 

Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate, 
The immortal part assumed immortal state. 
Of these a slaughter'd army lay in blood, 
Extended o'er the Caledonian wood, 
Their native walk ; whose vocal blood arose, 15 
And cried for pardon on their perjured foes. 
Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed, 
Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed. 
So captive Israel multiplied in chains, 
A numerous exile, and enjoy 'd her pains. :o 

With grief and gladness mix'd the mother 

view'd 
Her martyr'd offspring, and their race renew'd ; 
Their corpse to perish, but their kind to last, 
So much the deathless plant the dying fruit 
. surpass'd. 
Panting and pensive now she ranged alone, " 5 
And wander'd in the kingdoms, once her own. 
The common hunt, though from their rage re- 

strain'd 
By sovereign power, her company disdain'd ; 
Grinn'd as they pass'd, and with a glaring eye 
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. *-' 

'Tis true she bounded by, and tripp'd so light, 
They had not time to take a steady sight. 
For truth has such a face and such a mien, 
As to be loved needs only to be seen. 

which she stole from him. But this is his new way of tell- 
ing a story, and confounding the moral and the fable toge- 
ther. 

" Before the word was written, said the Hind, 
Our Saviour preach'd the faith to all mankind. 

"What relation has the hind to our Saviour? Or what 
notion have we of a panther's bible? If you say he means 
the Church, how does the Church feed on lawns, or range 
the forest? Let it be always a Church, or always the 
cloven-footed beast, for we cannot bear his shifting the 
scene every line. If it is absurd in comedies to make a 
peasant talk in the strain of a hero, or a country wench nse 
the language of a court, how monstrous is it to make a 
priest of a hind, and a parson of a panther! To bring 
them in disputing with all the formalities and terms of the 
school I Though, as to the arguments themselves, those, 
we confess, are suited to the capacity of the beasts ; and if 
we would suppose a hind expressing herself about these 
matters, she would talk at that rate." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1. — Hind,'] It is singular, that in the most 

curious account of old Sanskreet Fables, given to us by Mr. 
Wilkins, entitled Heeto-pades, or Amicable Instruction, 
animals, like our hind and panther, are sometimes absurdly 
introduced as arguing on subjects of theology; a tiger is 
described as devout, and praising charity and religious 
duties ; an old mouse is well versed in Neetee Sastras, or 
system of policy and ethics ; and a cat reads religious 
books. Mr. Wilkins translated the Mahabarat, an epic 
poem, and Sir William Jones the Saeontala, a drama of a 
surprising early date, and an invaluable curiosity on 
account of the manners described in it. Dr. J. Warton.' 

Ver. 14. the Caledonian ivood,) The ravages and 

i!i larders committed by the Scotch covenanters gave 
occasion to these lines. Derrick. 

the mother view'd'] Original edition : 
Todd. 

Ver. 29. Brinrid as they pass'd, mid with a glaring eye 
Gave gloomy signs, &c] 

Dryden here, I think, had Milton in his mind. See Par. 

Lost, x. 713. 

" or, with countenance grim, 

Glared on him passing." Todd. 



The bloody Bear, an independent beast, 
Unlick'd to form, in groans her hate express'd. 
Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare 
Profess'd neutrality, but would not swear. 
Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use, 
Mimick'd all sects, and had his own to choose: 
Still when the Lion look'd, his knees he bent, 
And paid at church a courtier's compliment. 
The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as he, 
(But whiten'd with the foam of sanctity,) 



Ver. 35. The bloody Bear, an independent "beast,"] The Inde- 
pendents were a sect of Protestants, who held, that "each 
church, within itself, had sufficient power to do everything 
relative to church-government." They sprung up amidst 
the confusions of Charles the First's reign, about the year 
1643. Walker calls them a composition of Jews, Christians, 
and Turks. See his History of Independency, p. 1, 27 ; for 
which he was committed by Cromwell to the Tower. See 
Fchard's History of England, vol. ii. p. 435, for an account 
of their rise. Butler calls them, 

" The maggots of corrupted texts." — Hud. p 3. v. 10. 

And our author, in his Keligio Laid, says, 
" The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood, 
And turns to maggots what was meant for food." 
Because that, in order to infuse into people a notion that 
they had a right to choose their own pastors, they corrupted 
this text : Wherefore, brethren, look you out from among you 
seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost, whom ye 
(instead of we) may appoint over this business. Acts vi. 3. 
Field is said to have been the first printer of this forgery, 
and to have received for it. £1500. Be that as it may, it is 
certainly to be found in several of his editions of the 
Bible, particularly in his line folio of 1659-60, and his 
octavo of 1661. Derrick. 

Ver. 37. the quaking Hare 

Profess'd neutrality, but would not swear.] 
The Quakers : so called from certain tremblings and con- 
vulsions with which they appearto be seizedattheir religions 
meetings. They decline all military employments; reject the 
use of arms, which they call profane and carnal weapons; and 
refuse the oaths. Their affirmation is now admitted, by act of 
Parliament, in our justiciary courts, as of equal force to an 
oath taken by a person of any other persuasion upon the 
gospel. Derrick. 

Ver. 39. Next her the buffoon Ape,] No particular sect 
is meant by the buffoon ape, hut libertines and latitudi- 
narians, persons ready to conform to anything to serve 
their turn. Derrick. 

Ver. 43. The bristled Baptist Boar,] The unexampled 
absurdities of the principles and practices of the Anabaptists 
were too inviting and copious a subject for Swift not to 
seize, and enabled him to give some of the finest touches 
of ridicule in his Tale of a Tnb. 

" Having, from his manner of living, frequent occasions 
to wash himself, he would often leap over head and ears 
into the water, though it were in the midst of the winter, 
but was always observed to come out again much dirtier, if 
possible, than when he went in. 

" He was the first that ever found out the secret of con- 
triving a soporiferous medicine to be conveyed in at the 
ears : it was a compound of sulphur and balm of Gilead, 
with a little Pilgrim's Progress salve. 

"Hewore-a large plaister of artificial causticson his stomach 
with the fervour of which he could set himself a groaning, 
like the famous board, upon application of a red-hot iron. 

"He would stand in the turning of a street, and calling 
to those who passed by, would cry to one, Worthy Sir, do 
me the honour of a good slap in the chops: to another, 
Honest friend, pray favour me with a handsome lack on the 
arse. Madam, shall I entreat a small box on the ear from 
your ladyship's fair hand? Noble captain, lend a. reasonable 
thwack, for the love of God, with that cane of yours, over 
thest /"'"i- shoulders. And when he had, by such earnest 
solicitations, made a shift to procure a basting sufficient 
to swell up his fane; and sides, he would return home 
extremely comforted, and full of terrible accounts of what 
he had undergone for the public good. Observi this stroke 
(said he, shewing his bare shoulders) a plag ry gave 

it me this very morning at seven o'clock, as trith much "da I 
was driving off the. great Turk, Neighbours of mine, this 
hrni;i a hind di si rres n ii'miit r ; hud pirnr ■*><■ 7, /- ■ > ' udi r of 
his noddle, you would have s< i " the Pipt and thi l'<< nch King 
long before this time of day among your wives and your 
warehouses. Dear Christians, the Great Mogul was come as 



104 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



With, fat pollutions fill'd the sacred place, 45 

And mountains levell'd in his furious race ; 
So first rebellion founded was in grace. 
. But since the mighty ravage, which he made 
In German forests, had his guilt betrayed, 
With broken tusks, and with a borrow'd name, so 
He shunn'd the vengeance, and conceal'd the 

shame ; 
So lurk'd in sects unseen. With greater guile 
False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil : 
The graceless beast by Athanasius first 
Was chased from Nice ; then, by Socinus nursed, 
His impious race their blasphemy renew'd, 66 

And nature's King through nature's optics 

view'd. 
Reversed they view'd him lessen'd to their eye, 
Nor in an infant could a God descry : 
New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, m 

Hence they began, and here they all will end. 
What weight of ancient witness can prevail, 
If private reason hold the public scale ? 
But, gracious God, how well dost thou provide 
For erring judgments an unerring guide ! 65 

Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light, 
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. 
Oh, teach me to believe thee thus conceal'd, 
And search no farther than thyself reveal'd ; 
But her alone for my director take, 70 

Whom thou hast promised never to forsake ! 
Mythoughtless youth was wing'dwith vain desires; 
My manhood, long misled by wandering fires, 
Follow'd false lights ; and, when their glimpse 

was gone, 
My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. 75 
Such was I, such by nature still I am ; 
Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. 
Good life be now my task : my doubts are done : 
What more could fright my faith, than three in one? 
Can I believe eternal God could lie m 

Disguised in mortal mould and infancy 1 
That the great Maker of the world could die ? 
And after that trust my imperfect sense, 
Which calls in question his omnipotence 1 

far as Whitechapel, and you may thank these poor sides, that 
he hath not (God bless us) already swallowed up man, 
woman, and child." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ibid. The bristled Baptist Soar, &c] The Anabaptists, 
"who reject infant baptism, and baptize only adults by 
immersion. Derrick. 

Ver. 49. In German forests, had his guilt betray'd,] They 
succeeded to the rise of Lutheranism in Germany about; the 
year 1521, and committed innumerable acts of violence, 
particularly in Munster. Derrick. 

Ver. 53. False Heynard fed on consecrated spoil : 
The graceless beast, &c] 
This alludes to the persecution of the Arians, and the 
rise of the Socinians. Derrick. 

Ver. 64. ■ how well dost thou provide 

For erring judgments an unerring guide 1~\ 
Here our author allows of the infallibility of the Pope, 
and the authority of the Church, contrary to his position in 
Keligio Laici, line 282. 

" Such an omniscient Church we wish," &c. 
And then proceeds to thank God for his own conversion! 

Derrick. 

Ver. 82. Maker of the world could diet] Of all the 
numerous artists who have exercised their talents on this 
subject, M. Angelo seems to have treated it in the most 
skilful and striking manner. In a picture of the Passion, 
he has represented the Virgin looking at her crucified Son, 
without grief, without regret, without tears. He supposes 
her interested in this great mystery, and therefore makes 
her bear this view of his death with a kind of sublime 
tranquillity and unmovedness. Dr. J. Warton. 



Can I my reason to my faith compel, M 

And shall my sight, and touch, and taste rebel 1 
Superior faculties are set aside ; 
Shall their subservient organs be my guide ? 
Then let the moon usurp the rule of day, 
And winking tapers show the sun his way ; M 
/For what my senses can themselves perceive, 
ll need no revelation to believe. 
Can they who say the Host should be descried 
By sense, define a body glorified ? 
Impassable, and penetrating parts 1 9 ' 

Let them declare by what mysterious arts 
He shot that body through the opposing might 
Of bolts and bars impervious to the light, 
And stood before his train confess'd in open 

sight. 
For since thus wondrously he pass'd, 'tis plain m 
One single place two bodies did contain. 
And sure the same Omnipotence as well 
Can make one body in more places dwell. 
Let reason then at her own quarry fly, 
.But how can finite grasp infinity'? 105 

'Tis urged again, that faith did first commence 
By miracles, which are appeals to sense, 
And thence concluded, that our sense must be 
The motive still of credibility. 
For latter ages must on former wait, 1M 

And what began belief, must propagate. 

But winnow well this thought, and you shall 
find 
'Tis light as chaff that flies before the wind. 
Were all those wonders wrought by power divine, 
As means or ends of some more deep design 1 Ui 
Most sure as means, whose end was this alone, 
To prove the Godhead of the eternal Son. 
God thus asserted, man is to believe 
Beyond what sense and reason can conceive, 
And for mysterious things of faith rely 120 

On the proponent, Heaven's authority. 
If then our faith we for our guide admit, 
Vain is the farther search of human wit, 



Ver. 85. Can I my reason to my faith compel,] Dryden 
here advances the doctrine of transubstantiation, which he 
reconciles to the Divine Omnipotence, and entirely dis- 
claims the use of reason in discussing it. Derrick. 
Ver, 95. Impassable,] Impassible, Original edition. 

Todd. 
Ver. 99. And stood before his train confess'd in open 
sight.] 

" pura per noctem in luce refulsit 

Alma parens, confessa Deam." 
His mind was so thoroughly imbued with Virgil, that he 
fell into perpetual and involuntary imitations of him. 

John Warton. 



Ver. 100. 



thus wondrously he pass'd,] This is 



urged as an irresistible defence of the doctrine of transub- 
stantiation. But how different the two cases! Our 
Saviour, by his own power, could miraculously enter the 
room where his disciples were assembled. But the priest 
himself makes this Saviour just before he swallows him. 
The disciples saw with their own eyes the figure and body 
of Christ, but in the wafer surely Christ is not seen. 

Dr. J. Warton. 
Ver. 101. One single place] The doctrine of transubstan- 
tiation is so singularly absurd (perhaps blasphemous) as 
hardly to deserve a serious refutation. Mr. Pope told Mr. 
Richardson, that Gay, going to Mr. Titcum, (who was the 
intimate friend of himself, Swift, Craggs, and Addison) to 
ask him, when he was dying, as he was a papist, if he 
would have a priest, " No," said he, " what should I do 
with them? But I would rather have one of them than one 
of yours, of the two. Our fools (continued Titcurn) write 
great books to prove that bread is God; but your booby 
(meaning Tillotson has wrote a long argument to prove 
that bread is bread.' Dr. J. Warton. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



105 



As when the building gains a surer stay, 
We take the unuseful scaffolding away. 125 

\Reason by sense no more can understand ; 
The game is play'd into another hand ; 
Why choose we then like Inlanders to creep 
Along the coast, and land in view to keep, 
When safely we may launch into the deep? 130 
In the same vessel which our Saviour bore, 
Himself the pilot, let us leave the shore, 
And with a better guide a better world explore. 
Could he his Godhead veil with flesh and blood, 
And not veil these again to be our food ? 13 ° 

His grace in both is equal in extent ; 
The first affords us life, the second nourishment. 
And if he can, why all this frantic pain 
To construe what his clearest words contain, 
And make a riddle what he made so plain ? u0 
To take up half on trust, and half to try, 
Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. 
Both knave and fool the merchant we may call, 
To pay great sums, and to compound the small : 
For who would break with Heaven, and would 

not break for all 1 145 

Rest then, my soul, from endless anguish freed : 
Nor sciences thy guide, nor sense thy creed. 
Faith is the best ensurer of thy bliss ; 
The bank above must fail before the venture 

miss. 
But heaven and heaven-bom faith are far from 

thee, 15 ° 

Thou first apostate to divinity. 
Unkennell'd range in thy Polonian plains ; 
A fiercer foe the insatiate Wolf remains. 
Too boastful Britain, please thyself no more, 
That beasts of prey are banish'd from thy shore : 
The Bear, the Boar, and every savage name, 156 
Wild in effect, though in appearance tame, 
Lay waste thy woods, destroy thy blissful bower, 
And, muzzled though they seem, the mutes 

devour. 
More haughty than the rest, the wolfish race 16 ° 
Appear with belly gaunt, and famish'd face : 
Never was so deform'd a beast of grace. 
His ragged tail betwixt his legs he wears, 
Close clapp'd for shame ; but his rough crest he 

rears, 
And pricks up his predestinating ears. 1Ci 

His wild disordered walk, his haggard eyes, 
Did all the bestial citizens surprise. 
Though fear'd and hated, yet he ruled awhile 
As captain or companion of the spoil. 



Ver. 153. the insatiate Wolf, &c] Butler, in the 

first canto of Hudibras, says, that the Presbyterians 

" prove their doctrine orthodox 

By apostolic blows and knocks." 
The general description given of them here is very 
severe : they hold the doctrine of predestination, or a 
decree of God from all eternity, to save a certain number 
of persons, from thence called the elect. 

"A sect" (of whom Hudibras says a little lower) " whose 
chief devotion lies 
In odd perverse antipathies." 
Such as reputing the eating of Christmas-pies and plum 
porridge sinful; nay, they prohibited nil sorts of merri- 
ment at that holy festival, and not only abolished it by 
order of council, dated Dec. 22, 1G57, but changed it into a 
fast. They wore, during the confusions about Oliver's 
time, black caps, that left their ears bare, their hair being 
cropped round quite close ; wherefore the wolf, the emblem 
of Presbytery, is here said to 

Trick up his predestinating ears. 

Deriuck. 



Full many a year bis hateful head had been m 
For tribute paid, nor since in Cambria seen : 
The last of all the litter 'scaped by chance, 
And from Geneva first infested France. 
Some authors thus his pedigree will trace, 
But others write him of an upstart race ; I75 

Because of Wickliff 's brood no mark he brings, 
But his innate antipathy to kings. 

Ver. 172. The last of all the litter] Calvin, the person 
here pointed at, was, it must be allowed, a man of very 
extensive genius, much learning, industry, penetration, and 
piety, and the most persuasive eloquence. He was born at 
Noyon, in Picardy, in July, 1509, To escape the threats of 
Francis the First, he retired to Basil, where he published 
his Christian Institutions, and prefixed to them his famous 
dedication to Francis I. Calvin was asthmatical, and de- 
livered his sermons slowly : a man at Geneva got his liveli- 
hood by writing them down as he pronounced them. •' Sapit 
Calvinus(says Scaliger) quod in apocalypsim non scripsit." 
We might have expected that Dryden would have here 
censured the strong Calvinistical turn of some of the articles 
of the Church of England. Burnet has defended the article 
concerning predestination. The greatest part of the first 
English reformers were, says Mosheim, absolute Sublap- 
sarians. James I. censured a preacher, Ed. Symson, 
for advancing some Arminian tenets, 1G16, and he was ' 
forced to make a public recantation before the king. Dr. J. 
Wabton. 

Ver. 176. Because of Wkhliff's Irooil] Wickliff flourished 
about the year 1384. John Huss, 1415. Jerome of Prague, 
1415. This great triumvirate, we should remember, sowed 
the first seeds of that reformation, of which Luther and 
Calvin have alone reaped the glory, and of which our 
countryman had the honour of being the first. To whom 
justice is done by the learned and candid Mosheim, in his 
excellent Ecclesiastical History, much improved by the 
translation of the learned Mr. Maclain. 

Among all the enemies of the Mendicant orders, none has 
been transmitted to posterity with more exalted encomiums 
on the one hand, or blacker calumnies on the other, than 
John Wickliff, professor of divinity at Oxford, and after- 
wards rector of Lutterworth; who, according to the testis 
mony of the writers of these times, was a man of an enter- 
prising genius, and extraordinary learning. In the year 
1360, animated by the example of Richard, archbishop of 
Armagh, he first of all defended the statutes and privileges 
of the university of Oxford against all the orders of the 
Mendicants, and had the courage to throw out some slight 
reproofs against the popes, their principal patrons, which 
no true Briton ever imputed to him as a crime. After this, 
in the year 1367, he was deprived of the wardenship of 
Canterbury-hall, in the university of Oxford, by Simon 
Langham, archbishop of Canterbury, who substituted a 
monk in his place : upon which he appealed to pope Urban 
V., who confirmed the sentence of the archbishop against 
him, on account of the freedom with which he had inveighed 
against the monastic orders. Highly exasperated at this 
treatment, he threw off all restraint, and not only attacked 
all the monks, and their scandalous irregularities, but even 
the pontifical power itself, and other ecclesiastical abuses, 
both in his sermons and writings. From hence he pro- 
ceeded to yet greater lengths, and, detesting the wretched 
superstition of the times, refuted, with great acnteness and 
spirit, the ahsurd notions that were generally received in 
religious matters, and not only exhorted the laity to study 
the scriptures, but also translated into English these 
divine books, in order to render the perusal of them more 
universal. 

Though neither the doctrine of Wickliff was void of error, 
nor his life without reproach, yet it must be confessed that 
the changes he attempted to introduce, both in the faith and 
discipline of the Church, were, in many respects, wise, 
useful, and salutary. 

The monks, whom Wickliff had principally exasperated, 
commenced a violent prosecution against him at the court 
of Gregory XI., who, in the year 1377, ordered Simon 
Sudbury, archbishop of Canterbury, to take cognizance of 
the affair, in a council held at London. Imminent as Ibis 
(lunger evidently was, WieklitV escaped it by the interest of 
the Duke of Lancaster, and somo other peers, who had a 
high regard for him. And soon after the death of Gregory 
XI. the fatal schism of the Romish church commenced, 
during which there was one pope at Rome atld another at 

A\ ig i ; so that, of course, this controversy lay dormant 

a long time. But no sooner was this embroiled state of 
affairs tolerably settled, than the process agaiu^t him was 



106 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



These last deduce him from the Helvetian kind, 
Who near the Leman lake his consort lined : 
That fiery Zuinglius first the affection bred, 18(l 
And meagre Calvin bless'd the nuptial bed. 
In Israel some believe him whelp'd long since, 
When the proud Sanhedrim oppress'd the prince, 
Or, since he will be Jew, derive him higher, 
When Corah with his brethren did conspire 185 
From Moses' hand the sovereign sway to wrest, 
And Aaron of his ephod to devest : 
Till opening earth made way for all to pass, 
And could not bear the burden of a class. 



revived by William de Courtenay, archbishop of Canter- 
bury, in the year 1385, and was carried on with great vehe- 
mence in two councils held at London and Oxford. The 
event was, that of the twenty-three opinions for which 
Wickliff had been prosecuted by the monks, ten were con- 
demned as heresies, and thirteen as errors. He himself, 
however, returned in safety to Lutterworth, where he died 
peaceably in the year 1387. This latter attack was much 
more dangerous than the former ; but by what means he 
got safely through it, whether by interest of the court, or 
by denying or abjuring his opinions, is to this day a secret. 
He left many followers in England, and other countries, 
who were styled Wiekliffites and Lollards, which last was 
a term of popular reproach, translated from the Flemish 
tongue into English. Wherever they could be found, they 
were terribly persecuted by the inquisitors, and other 
instruments of papal vengeance; and, in the Council of 
Constance, in the year 1415, the memory and opinions of 
Wickliff were condemned by a solemn decree; and about 
thirteen years after, his bones were dug up, and publicly 
burnt. 

Of all the reformers, Melancthon appears to have been 
the most elegant scholar, and to have had the best taste. 
His Latin translation of Euripides was excellent. Father 
Paul valued Occam above all the schoolmen. Luther 
objected to preaching on the Apocalypse. Dr. J. Waeton. 
Ver. 180. That fiery Zuinglius] His conduct and share 
in the Reformation is thus impartially stated by Mosheim : — 
" While the credit and authority of the Roman pontiff 
was thus upon the decline in Germany, they received a 
mortal wound in Switzerland from Ulric Zuingle, a canon 
of Zurich, whose extensive learning and uncommon saga- 
city were accompanied with the most heroic intrepidity and 
resolution. It must even be acknowledged, that this 
eminent man had perceived some rays of the truth before 
Luther came to an open rupture with the Church of Rome. 
He was, however, afterwards still farther animated by the 
example, and instructed by the writings, of the Saxon re- 
former ; and thus his zeal for the good cause acquired new 
strength and vigour. For he not only explained the sacred 
writings in his public discourses to the people, but also 
gave, in the year 1519, a signal proof of his courage, by 
opposing, with the greatest, resolution and success, the 
ministry of a certain Italian monk, whose name was 
Samson, and who was carrying on, in Switzerland, the 
impious traffic of indulgences, with the same impudence 
that Tetzel had done in Germany. This was the first re- 
markable event that prepared the way for the reformation 
among the Helvetic cantons. In process of time, Zuingle 
pursued, with steadiness and resolution, the design that he 
had begun with such courage and success. His noble 
efforts were seconded by some other learned men, educated 
in Germany, who became his colleagues, and the com- 
panions of his labours, and who, jointly with him, succeeded 
so far in removing the credulity of a deluded people, that 
the pope's supremacy was rejected and denied in the 
greatest part of Switzerland. It is indeed to be observed, 
that Zuingle did not always use the same methods of con- 
version that were employed by Luther ; nor, upon particular 
occasions, did he discountenance the use of violent measures 
against such as adhered with obstinacy to the superstitions 
of their ancestors. He is also said to have attributed to the 
civil magistrate such an extensive power in ecclesiastical 
affairs as is quite inconsistent with the essence and genius 
of religion. But, upon the whole, even envy must acknow- 
ledge, that his intentions were upright, and his designs 
worthy of the highest approbation." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 183. When the proud Sanhedrim, &c] On this line, 
in the original edition, the following marginal note occurs : 
— " Vid. Pre/, to Heyl. Hist, of Fresh." Todd. 

Ver. 187. of his ephod to devest :] Thus the orig. 

edit., and rightly. Todd. 



The Fox and he came shuffled in the dark, 19 ° 
If ever they were stow'd in Noah's ark : 
Perhaps not made ; for all their barking train 
The Dog (a common species) will contain. 
And some wild curs, who from their masters ran, 
Abhorring the supremacy of man, I96 

In woods and caves the rebel-race began. 

happy pair, how well have you increased ! 
What ills in Church and State have you redress'd ! 
With teeth untried, and rudiments of claws, 
Your first essay was on your native laws : 20 ° 

Those having torn with ease, and trampled down, 
Your fang* you fasten'd on the mitred crown, 
And freed from God and monarchy your town. 
What though your native kennel still be small, 
Bounded betwixt a puddle and a wall ; ^ 

Yet your victorious colonies are sent 
Where the north ocean girds the continent. 
Quicken'd with fire below, your monsters breed 
In fenny Holland, and in fruitful Tweed : 
And, like the first, the last affects to be 210 

Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 
As, where in fields the fairy rounds are seen, 
A rank sour herbage rises on the green ; 
So, springing where those midnight elves advance, 
Rebellion prints the footsteps of the dance. 215 
Such are their doctrines, such contempt they 

show 
To Heaven above, and to their prince below, 
As none but traitors and blasphemers know. 
God, like the tyrant of the skies, is placed, 
And kings, like slaves, beneath the crowd 

debased. 220 

So fulsome is their food, that flocks refuse 
To bite, and only dogs for physic use. 
As, where the lightning runs along the ground, 
No husbandry can heal the blasting wound ; 
Nor bladed grass, nor bearded corn succeeds, ^ 
But scales of scurf and putrefaction breeds : 
Such wars, such waste, such fiery tracks of 

dearth 
Their zeal has left, and such a teemless earth. 
But, as the poisons of the deadliest kind 
Are to their own unhappy coasts confined ; 23C 
As only Indian shades of sight deprive, 
And magic plants will but in Colchos thrive ; 
So Presbytery and pestilential zeal 
Can only flourish in a commonweal. 

From Celtic woods is chased the wolfish crew ; 
But ah ! some pity e'en to brutes is due : 236 



Ver. 216. Such are their doctrines^] He does not mention 
John Huss and Jerome of Prague, two chief promoters of the 
Reformation. L' Enfant, in his History of the War of the 
Hussites, says, that two English students becoming ac- 
quainted with John Huss at Prague, having painted, in 
the porch of their house, a representation of our Saviour 
entering into Jerusalem upon an ass, with crowds following 
him on foot, and on the other side the pope riding a horse 
magnificently caparisoned, and attended with guards, 
drams, and hautboys, Huss was so delighted with this pic- 
ture, that he mentioned and commended it in his sermons, 
and the whole city crowded to see it. This was the begin- 
ning of John Htiss's attachment to the opinions of Wickliff. ! 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 235. From Celtic woods is chased the wolfish crew ;] 
This passage alludes to the revocation of the edict of Nantz, 
by which two millions of the Reformed Church were pro- 
scribed, and two hundred thousand drove into foreign coun- 
tries ; a proceeding that must throw an eternal blemish on 
the reign of Louis XIV. The remainder of this paragraph 
does great honour to Dryden, as it manifests, that whatever 
faults he had, a persecuting spirit was not one of them. 
Deeeick. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



107 



Their native walks, metbinks, tbey might enjoy, 

Curb'd of their native malice to destroy. 

Of all tbe tyrannies on human kind, 

The worst is that which persecutes tbe mind. 240 

Let us but weigh at what offence we strike ; 

'Tis but because we cannot think alike. 

In punishing of this, we overthrow 

The laws of nations and of nature too. 

Beasts are the subjects of tyrannic sway, 245 

Where still the stronger on the weaker prey. 

Man only of a softer mould is made, 

Not for his fellows' ruin, but their aid : 

Created kind, beneficent and free, • ■ 

The noble image of tbe Deity. 250 

One portion of informing fire was given 
To brutes, tbe inferior family of Heaven : 
Tbe Smith Divine, as with a careless beat, 
Struck out the mute creation at a heat : 
But, when arrived at last to human race, sss 

The Godhead took a deep considering space ; 
And, to distinguish man from all the rest, 
Unlock'd the sacred treasures of his breast ; 
And mercy mix'd with reason did impart, 
One to his head, the other to his heart : 260 

Reason to rule, but mercy to forgive : 
The first is law, the last prerogative. 
And like his mind his outward form appear'd, 
When, issuing naked, to the wondering herd, 
He charm'd their eyes ; and, for they loved, they 

fear'd : 265 

Not arm'd with boms of arbitrary might, 
Or claws to seize their furry spoils in fight, 
Or with increase of feet to o'ertake them in their 

flight : 
Of easy shape, and pliant every way ; 
Confessing still the softness of his clay, 2 "° 

And kind as kings upon their coronation day : 
With open hands, and with extended space 
Of arms, to satisfy a large embrace. 
Thus kneaded up with milk, the new-made 

man 
His kingdom o'er his kindred world began : W* 
Till knowledge misapplied, misunderstood, 
And pride of empire sour'd his balmy blood. 
Then, first rebelling, his own stamp he coins ; 
The murderer Cain was latent in his loins : 
And blood began its first and loudest cry, 2S0 

For differing worship of the Deity. 
Tims persecution rose, and farther space 
Produced the mighty hunter of his race. 
Not so the blessed Pan his flock increased, 
( '< intent to fold them from the famish'd beast : 285 
Mild were his laws; the Sheep and harmless 

Hind 
Wore never of the persecuting kind. 
Such pity now the pious pastor shows, 
Such mercy from the British Lion flows, 
That both provide protection from their foes. 29 ° 

• Mi happy regions, Italy and Spain, 
Which never did those monsters entertain ! 
Tbe Wolf, tbe Bear, tho Boar, can there advance 
No native claim of just inheritance; 
And self-preserving laws, severe in show, SH 

May guard their fences from the invading foe. 
Where birth has placed them, let them safely 

share 
The common benefit of vital air. 

Ver. 290. protection from their foes."] The original 

n lias— protection /«■ tlieir foes. Todd. 



Themselves unharmful, let them live unharm'd ; 
Their jaws disabled and their claws disarm'd: 3W 
Here, only in nocturnal bowlings bold, 
They dare not seize the Hind, nor leap the fold. 
More powerful, and as vigilant as they, 
Tbe Lion awfully forbids the prey. 
Their rage repress'd though pinch'd with famine 
sore, Mi 

They stand aloof, and tremble at his roar : 
Much is their hunger, but their fear is more. 
These are tbe chief : to number o'er the rest, 
And stand, like Adam, naming every beast, 
Were weary work : nor will the Muse describe 31 ° 
A slimy-born and sun-begotten tribe ; 
Who, far from steeples and their sacred sound, 
In fields their sullen conventicles found. 
These gross, half-animated lumps I leave ; 
Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive. 
But if tbey think at all, 'tis sure no higher 31 ° 
Than matter, put in motion, may aspire : 
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay : 
So drossy, so divisible are they, 
As would but serve pure bodies for allay : ^ 

Such souls as shards produce, such beetle things 
As only buzz to heaven with evening wings ; 
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance, 
Such are the blindfold blows of ignorance. 
They know not beings, and but bate a name ; 32a 
To them the Hind and Panther are the same. 

The Panther, sure the noblest, next the Hind, 
And fairest creature of the spotted kind ; 
Oh, could her in-bom stains be wash'd away, 
She were too good to be a beast of prey ! :ao 

How can I praise, or blame, and not offend, 
Or how divide the frailty from the friend ! 
Her faults and virtues lie so mix'd, that she 
Nor wholly stands condemn'd, nor wholly free. 
Then, like her injured Lion, let me speak; 33i 
He cannot bend her, and be would not break. 
Unkind already, and estranged in part, 
The Wolf begins to share her wandering heart. 
Though unpolluted yet with actual ill, 
She half commits, wbo sins but in her will. 340 
If, as our dreaming Platonists report, 
There could be spirits of a middle sort, 
Too black for heaven, and yet too white for hell, 
Who just dropp'd half way down, nor lower fell ; 
So poised, so gently she descends from high, 34S 
It seems a soft dismission from the sky. 
Her house not ancient, whatsoe'er pretence 
Her clergy heralds make in her defence ; 
A second century not half-way run, 
Since the new honours of her blood begun. 350 
A Lion, old, obscene, and furious made 
By lust, compress'd her mother in a shade ; 
Then, by a left-band marriage, weds the darne, 
Covering adultery with a specious name : 
So Schism begot ; and Sacrilege and she, 3S5 

A well-match'd pair, got graceless Heresy. 
God's and kings' rebels have the same good cause, 
To trample down divine and human laws : 



Ver. 339. Tlwvrjh unpolluted yet uritn actual M, 

She half commits, who sins but in her will.'] 
So the energetic moralist Juvenal : 

" Nam scehis intra so taciturn c|iii rogltOt ulliini 
Facti crimen hafcet."— Sat. xiii. ■:<>'< 

JOHN Wabtow. 

Ver. 854. Cmerimj adultery with a sptcious name:] " Con- 
jugium vocat, hoc preotexit nomine culpam." — Yir-il 
jEneld. iv. John Wauton.' 



108 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



Both, would be call'd reformers, and their hate 

Alike destructive both to Church and State : sc0 

The fruit proclaims the plant ; a lawless prince 

By luxury reform'd incontinence ; 

By ruins, charity j by riots, abstinence. 

Confessions, fasts, and penance set aside ; 

Oh, with what ease we fallow such a guide, 365 

Where souls are starved, and senses gratified ! 

Where marriage-pleasures midnight pray er supply, 

And matin bells (a melancholy cry) 

Are tuned to merrier notes, Increase and multiply. 

Religion shows a rosy-colour'd face ; 37 ° 

Not hatter'd out with drudging works of grace : 

A down-hill reformation rolls apace. 

What flesh and blood would crowd the narrow 

gate, 
Or, till they waste their pamper'd paunches, 

wait? 
All would be happy at the cheapest rate. ^ 

Though our lean faith these rigid laws has 
given, 
The full-fed Mussulman goes fat to heaven ; 
For his Arabian prophet with delights 
Of sense allured his eastern proselytes. 
The jolly Luther, reading him, began 3S " 

To interpret Scriptures by his Alcoran ; 
To grub the thorns beneath our tender feet, 
And make the paths of Paradise more sweet : 
Bethought him of a wife ere half-way gone, 
For 'twas uneasy travelling alone ; 385 

And, in this masquerade of mirth and love, 
Mistook the bliss of heaven for Bacchanals above. 
Sure he presumed of praise, who came to stock 
The ethereal pastures with so fair a flock, 
Burnish'd, and battening on their food, to show 
Their diligence of careful herds below. 391 

Ver. 380. The jolly Luther,] This is a very undeserved 
and depreciating epithet applied to this great reformer. In 
the judicious reflections which my learned and ingenious 
friend Dr. Sturges has made, on what Mr. Milner calls a 
History of Winchester, but which ought to have been en- 
titled, An Apology for Popery, with hints and hopes of its 
re-establishment in this country, there is a character of 
Luther drawn with such truth, and so masterly a pencil, 
that I shall here give the reader the pleasure of considering 
it, as an antidote to the severe sarcasms scattered up and 
down in this poem by Dryden against this extraordinary 
man. 

" It required a degree of perseverance and intrepidity 
not less than that of which Luther was possessed, to make 
him engage in the arduous contest, to support him through- 
out its continuance, and finally to give him such success in 
it, as to cany off from the allegiance of Rome, either under 
his own immediate standard, or that of the allies connected 
with him by a common cause, so large a proportion of her 
subjects. For to him must be in great measure attributed 
all the branches of the Reformation, which spread over the 
different parts of Europe, after he had planted it in Ger- 
many. A wonderful achievement this, for a private German 
monk; and an instance, amongst many others, witli what 
inconsiderable and apparently inadequate instruments the 
most important purposes of Providence are accomplished. 
Luther was in his manners and writings coarse, presuming, 
and impetuous; but these were qualities allied to those 
which alone made him capable of supporting well the ex- 
traordinary character in which he appeared. I have always 
been struck with his translating the whole Bible into Ger- 
man, which is a classical book in that language, and has, I 
believe, as a translation, maintained high credit down to 
later times, as a singular proof of learning and ability. 
"Whoever well considers the difficulty of one roan's executing 
such a work at a period when the knowledge of the original 
language was rare, and the assistances of sacred criticism 
and literature (which have been since so much multiplied) 
were inconsiderable and scanty, will probably be inclined 
to agree with me in this opinion." Dr. J. "Wakton. 

Ver. 391. Their diligence, &c] The diligence, &c. Ori- 
ginal edition. Todd. 



Our Panther, though like these she changed 
her head, 
Yet, as the mistress of a monarch's bed, 
Her front erect with majesty she bore, 
The crosier wielded, and the mitre wore. 395 

Her upper part of decent discipline 
Show'd affectation of an ancient line ; 
And Fathers, Councils, Church and Church's head, 
Were on her Reverend phylacteries read. 
But what disgraced and disavow'd the rest, 400 
Was Calvin's brand, that stigmatised the beast. 
Thus, like a creature of a double kind, 
In her own labyrinth she lives confined. 
To foreign lands no sound of her is come, 
Humbly content to be despised at home. 40s 

Such is her faith, where good cannot be had, 
At least she leaves the refuse of the bad : 
Nice in her choice of ill, though not of best, 
And least deform'd, because reform'd the least. 
In doubtful points betwixt her differing friends, 4I0 
Where one for substance, one for sign contends, 
Their contradicting terms she strives to join; 
Sign shall be substance, substance shall be sign. 
A real presence all her sons allow, 
And yet 'tis flat idolatry to bow, 415 

Because the Godhead's there they know not how. 
Her novices are taught that bread and wine 
/Are but the visible and outward sign, 
deceived by those who in communion join. 
But the inward grace, or the thing signified, 42 ° 
His blood and body, who to save us died ; 
The faithful this thing signified receive ; 
What is 't those faithful then partake or leave ? 
For what is signified and understood, 
Is, by her own confession, flesh and blood. 4 - 5 
Then, by the same acknowledgment, we know 
They take the sign, and take the substance too. 
The literal sense is hard to flesh and blood, 
But nonsense never can be understood. 

Her wild belief on every wave is toss'd ; 43 ° 
But sure no church can better morals boast : 
True to her king her principles are found ; 
Oh, that her practice were but half so sound ! 
Steadfast in various turns of state she stood, 
And seal'd her vow'd affection with her blood ; 435 
Nor will I meanly tax her constancy, 
That interest or obligement made the tie, 
Bound to the fate of murder'd monarchy. 



Ver. 409. And least deform'd, because reform'd the leasts] 
Original edition. Derrick has — because deformed the least. 
Todd. 

Ver. 411. one for substance, one for sign contends^] 

Luther asserted the real presence under the different sub- 
stances of bread and of wine ; but this only in the act of 
receiving the sacrament : whereas Zuinglius affirmed, that 
the bread and wine, or the elements, were only types, the 
figure and representation of the body and blood of Christ. 
Dekkick. 

Ver. 429. But nonsense] The unparalleled absurdity and 
impiety of some questions proposed to be discussed in the 
schools, makes one shudder to read them, and improper to 
translate. — They are to be found in the third volume of 
Henry Stephens's Apology for Herodotus, p. 127, " Utrum 
Deus potuerit suppositare mulierem, vel diabolum, vel 
asinum, vel silicem, vel cucurbitam : et si suppositasset 
cucurbitam, quemadmodum fuerit coneionatnra, editura mi- 
racula, et quonam modo fuisset fixa cruci." Dr. J.Warton. 

Ver. 430. Her wild belief on every wave is toss'd ;] St. Paul, 
Eph. iv. 14. St. James, 1. 6. — " He that wavereth is like a 
wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed." John 
"Wakton. 

Ver. 436. Nor will I meanly tax Tier constancy,"] " No King, 
no Bishop ! " was a common saying in King Charles the 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



109 



Before the sounding axe so falls the vine, 

Whose tender branches round the poplar twine ; ** 

She chose her ruin, and resign'd her life, 

In death undaunted as an Indian wife : 

A rare example ! but some souls we see 

Grow hard, and stiffen with adversity : 

Yet these by fortune's favours are undone ; 4U 

Resolved, into a baser form they run, 

And bore the wind, but cannot bear the sun. 

Let this be Nature's frailty, or her fate, 

Or * Isgrini's counsel, her new-chosen mate ; 

Still she 's the fairest of the fallen crew, 4M 

No mother more indulgent, but the true. 

Fierce to her foes, yet fears her force to try, 
Because she wants iniiaiajrnthority ; 
For how can she constrain them to obey, 
Who has herself cast off the lawful sway ] • 435 
Rebellion equals all, and those, who toil 
In common theft, will share the common spoil. 
Let her produce the title and the right 
Against her old superiors first to fight ; 
If she reform by text, e'en that 's as plain 4W 

For her own rebels to reform again, 
As long as words a different sense will bear, 
And each may be his own interpreter, 
Our airy faith will no foundation find : 
The word 's a weathercock for every wind : 4M 
The Bear, the Fox, the Wolf, by turns prevail ; 
The most in power supplies the present ga\e. 
The wretched Panther cries aloud for aid 
To Church and Councils, whom she first betray 'd ; 
No help from Fathers or Tradition's train : 4 '° 
Those ancient guides she taught us to disdain, 
And by that Scripture, which she once abused 
To reformation, stands herself accused. 
What bills for breach of laws can she prefer, 
Expounding which she owns herself may err ] 4 ' 5 
And, after all her winding ways are tried, 
If doubts arise, she slips herself aside, 
And leaves the private conscience for the guide. 
If then that conscience set the offender free, 
It bars her claim to Church authority. 4S0 

How can she censure, or what crime pretend, 
But Scripture may be construed to defend ? 
E'en those, whom for rebellion she transmits 
To civil power, her doctrine first acquits ; 
Because no disobedience can ensue, 495 

Where no submission to a judge is due ; 
Each judging for himself, by her consent, 
Whom thus absolved she sends to punishment. 
Suppose the magistrate revenge her cause, 
'Tis only for transgressing human laws. 49 ° 

First's time, nnd sufficiently verified during the interreg- 
num. This whole passage is a real compliment to the 
Church as by law established ; and shows that Drydcn 
could speak impartially even of a cause that he had de- 
serted ; which cause he handsomely compares to 

ver. 442. an Indian wife:] Whose constancy is 

become a proverb : since when their deceased husbands are 
either to be buried or burned, to manifest their affection, 
they throw themselves either into the same grave, or on 
the funeral pile. Derrick. 

Ibid. In death undaunted as an Indian wife:'] This bar- 
harons custom Ins perhaps never been so well described as 
In the following lines of Propertius, 10th Elegy, 15 v. 3 lib. 
" Felix Eois lex funeris una mantis," &c. &c 

John Warto.v. 

Ver. 4 17. And bore the wind, but eannot bear the sun.~\ An 
allusion to an iEsoptc fable, to which he alludes again with 
moro force and elegance in his character of the Good Par- 
re Bee the note. John Wahids. 

• The wolf. Orig. edit. 



How answering to its end a Church is made, 
Whose power is but to counsel and persuade 1 
Oh solid rock, on which secure she stands ! 
Eternal house, not built with mortal hands ! 
Oh sure defence against the infernal gate, 495 

A patent during pleasure of the state ! 

Thus is the Panther neither loved nor fear'd, 
A meer mock queen of a divided herd ; 
Whom soon by lawful power she might con- 
trol, 
Herself a part submitted to the whole. 60 ° 

Then, as the moon who first receives the light 
By which she makes our nether regions bright, 
So might she shine, reflecting from afar 
The rays she borrow'd from a better star ; 
Big with the beams, which from her mother 
flow, «* 

And reigning o'er the rising tides below : 
Now, mixing with a savage crowd, she goes, 
And meanly flatters her inveterate foes, 
Ruled while she rules, and losing every hour 
Her wretched remnants of precarious power. 51 ° 
One evening, while the cooler shade she sought, 
Revolving many a melancholy thought, 
Alone she walk'd, and look'd around in vain, 
With rueful visage, for her vanish'd train : 
None of her sylvan subjects made their court; 5I5 
Levees and couchees pass'd without resort. 
So hardly can usurpers manage well 
Those whom they first instructed to rebel. 
More liberty begets desire for more ; 
The hunger still increases with the store. 520 

Without respect they brush' d along the wood, 
Each in his clan, and, fill'd with loathsome food, 
Ask'd no permission to the neighbouring flood. 
The Panther, full of inward discontent, 
Since they would go, before them wisely went ; 5:s 
Supplying want of power by drinking first ; 
As if she gave them leave to quench their thirst. 
Among the rpstrtfrrrHiad^witli fearful face, 
Beheld from far the common watering place, 
Nor durst approach ; till with an awful roar 53 ° 
The sovereign Lion bade her fear no more. 
Encouraged thus, she brought her younglings 

nigh, 
Watching the motions of her patron's eye, 
And drank a sober draught : the rest amazed 
Stood mutely still, and on the stranger gazed ; 535 
Survey'd her part by part, and sought to find 
The ten-horn'd monster in the harmless Hind, 
Such as the Wolf and Panther had design'd. 
They thought at first they dreanfd ; for 'twas 

offence 
With them to question certitude of sense, 54 ° 

Their guide in faith : but nearer when they drew, 
And had the faultless object full in view, 
Lord, how they all admired her heavenly hue ! 
Some, who before her fellowship disdain'd, 
Scarce, and but scarce, from iu-bom rage re- 
strain'il, *** 

Now frisk'd about her, and old kindred feign'd. 
Whether for love or interest, every sect 
Of all the savage nation show'd respect. 
The viceroy Panther could not awe the herd; 
The more the company, the less they fear'd. is0 
The surly Wolf with secret envy burst, 
Yet could not howl ; the Hind had seen him first : 
But what he durst not speak, the Panther durst. 

For when the herd, sufficed, did late repair 
To ferny heaths, and to their forest lair, Mi 



110 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



She made a mannerly excuse to stay, 
Proffering the Hind to wait her half the way : 
That, since the sky was clear, an hour of talk 
Might help her to beguile the tedious walk. 
With much good-will the motion was embraced, 
To chat a while on their adventures past : 561 

Nor had the_grateful Hind so soon forgot 
Her friend and fellow-sufferer in the plot. 
Yet wondering how of late she grew estranged, 
Her forehead cloudy, and her countenance 



She thought this hour the occasion would pre- 
sent 

To learn her secret cause of discontent, 

Which well she hoped might be with ease re- 
dress'd, 

Considering her a well-bred civil beast, 

And more a gentlewoman than the rest. 

After some common talk what rumours ran, 

The lady of the spotted muff began. 



6?0 



THE SECOND PART. 



; 



Dame, said the Panther, times are mended well, 

Since late among the Philistines you fell. 

The toils were pitch'd, a spacious tract of 

ground 675 

With expert huntsmen was encompass'd round ; 
The inclosure narrow'd ; the sagacious power 
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour. 
'Tis true, the younger Lion 'scaped the snare, 
But all your priestly calves lay struggling 

there ; 68 ° 

As sacrifices on their altars laid ; 
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled, 
Not trusting destiny to save your head. 
For, whate'er promises you have applied , 
To your unfailing Church, the surer side 6S5 

Is four fair legs in danger to provide. 
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell, 
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle, 
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well. 

As I remember, said the sober Hind, 690 

These toils were for your own dear self design'd, 
As well as me ; and with the self-same throw, 
To catch the quarry and the vermin too. 
(Forgive the slanderous tongues that call'd you 

so.) 
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry 595 
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty. 
Besides, in Popery they thought you nursed, 
(As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,) 
Because some forms, and ceremonies some 5 " 
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb. 
Dumb you were born indeed ; but thinking long, 
The Test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue. 



Ver, 562. Nor had the grateful Hind so soon forgot 
Her friend and fellow-sufferer in the plot.} 
The Popish plot ; the contrivers of which were Presby- 
terians, Latitudinarians, and Republicans, who had before 
shown themselves enemies to the Protestant as well as the 
Popish Church. This explanation is farther confirmed in 
our notes on Absalom and Acliitophel, and those on the 
Medal. Dekeick. 

Ver. 602. The Test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue.'] 



And to explain what your forefathers meant 
By real presence in the sacrament, 
After long fencing push'd against a wall, 605 

Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all : 
There changed your faith, and what may change 

may fall. 
Who can believe what varies every day, 
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay? 

Tortures may force the tongue untruths to 

tell, sio 

And I ne'er own'd myself infallible, 
Replied the Panther : grant such presence were, 
Yet in your sense I never own'd it there. 
A real virtue we by faith receive, 
And that we in the sacrament believe. 615 

Then, said the Hind, as you the matter state, 
Not only Jesuits can equivocate ; 
For real, as you now the word expound, 
From solid substance dwindles to a sound. 
Methinks an JSsop's fable you repeat ; 62 ° 

You know who took the shadow for the meat : 
Your Church's substance thus you change at 

will, 
And yet retain your former figure still. 
I freely grant you spoke to save your life ; 
For then you lay beneath the butcher's knife. 625 
Long time you fought, redoubled battery bore, 
But, after all, against yourself you swore ; 



The Test act, passed in 1672-3, enjoined the abjuration of 
the real presence in the sacrament. Derrick. 

Ver. 609. Nor ever was, nor will be at a stag ?] " And 
never continueth in one stay." — Burial Service. John 
WArtost. 

Ver. 617. Not only Jesuits] It is worth remarking that 
many years before the French Revolution, the greatest blow 
the Church of Rome ever received was by the expulsion of 
the large, and opulent, and able body of the Jesuits ; effected 
on the very same day in conjunction by the crowns of 
Spain, Portugal, and France, and authorized by the Pope 
himself. It is marvellous that this society could continue 
so long, after it had been so irresistibly exposed and sa- 
tirized by the wit, the eloquence, and the piety of Pascal. 
This perhaps is the most capital piece of controversy that 
ever was written. The Jesuits, when they were expelled, 
had long lost their character for literature. For near fifty 
years before this event, they had produced no extraordinary 
work, and had turned all their thoughts and abilities to 
mean court intrigues, and to various branches of commerce. 
It is well if they do not turn this very disposition to some 
unforeseen advantage, and disseminate principles, and 
form sects, injurious to the peace of society, and the liberty 
and prosperity of Europe. I beg leave to add, that among 
this learned body, I have always looked up to one with 
particular regard and respect ; I mean, the great father 
Petau, of whom it is painful to add that he died in the 
Jesuits' College at Paris, abandoned and in want, for hav- 
ing said, that before the Council of Nice, the Church had 
not made any decision about the divinity of the Word. 
When Petau's physician told him on his death-bed he could 
not live two hours longer, " Then," said the father, " I beg 
you to accept of this book," giving him his Rationarium 
Temporum, " for the messenger of good news should always 
be rewarded." 

The Abb£ Boileau used to say of the Jesuits, " These gen- 
tlemen lengthen the creed, and shorten the decalogue." And 
in some MS. letters of Cardinal Fleury he says, " The 
Jesuits are excellent valets, but sad masters." " If the 
Jesuits," said Montesquieu, "had lived before Luther and 
Calvin, they would have been masters of the world." 

There was a college of ex-Jesuits still left at Rome, 1793, 
who were often consulted by Pope Pius the Sixth, and the 
cardinals, particularly father Zacchariah, who was intimate 
with the Jacobin Mamuchi. Charles III., king of Spain, 
never forgave the Jesuits for spreading the report that he 
was the son of Cardinal Alberoni, and not of Philip the 
Fifth. These Jesuits at Rome attributed the French re- 
volution to their expulsion: saying, that they were the 
only order that kept alive and propagated the principles of 
the Christian religion. Dr. J. Wartox. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



Ill 



not 

650 



Your former self : for every hour your form 

Is chopp'd and changed, like winds before a 

storm. 
Thus fear and interest will prevail with some ; 63 ° 
For all have not the gift of martyrdom. 

The Panther grinn'd at this, and thus replied : 
That men may err was never yet denied 
But, if that common principle be true, 
The canon, dame, is levell'd full at you. 635 

But, shunning long disputes, I fain would see 
That wondrous wight Iiifallibility>- 
Is he from heaven, this mighty champion, come ? 
Or lodged below in subterranean Rome ? 
First, seat him somewhere, and derive his 

race, m 

Or else conclude that nothing has no place. 

Suppose, (though I disown it,) said the Hind, 
The certain mansion were not yet assign'd ; 
The doubtful residence no proof can bring 
Against the plain existence of the thing. 645 

Because philosophers may disagree, 
If sight by emission or reception be, 
Shall it be thence inferr'd I do not see 'i 
But you require an answer positive, 
Which yet, when I demand, you dare 

give; 

For fallacies in universals live. 
I then affirm that this unfailing guide 
In Pope and General Councils must reside ; 
Both lawful, both combined : what one decrees 
By numerous votes, the other ratines : 655 

On this undoubted sense the Church relies. 
'Tis time, some doctors in a scantier space, 
I mean, in each apart, contract the place. 
Some, who to greater length extend the line, 
The Church's after-acceptation join. 66 ° 

This last circumference appears too wide ; 
The Church diffused is by the Council tied ; 
As members by their representatives 
Obliged to laws, which Prince and Senate gives. 
Thus some contract, and some enlarge the 

space : 605 

In Pope and Council, who denies the place, 
Assisted from above with God's unfailing grace 1 
Those canons all the needful points contain ; 
Their sense so obvious, and their words so plain, 
That no disputes about the doubtful text c '° 

Have hitherto the labouring world perplex'd. 
If any should in after-times appear, 
New Councils must be call'd, to make the 

meaning clear : 
Because in them the power supreme resides ; 
And all the promises are to the guides. 67d 

This may be taught with sound and safe defence : 
But mark how sandy is your own pretence, 
Who, setting Councils, Pope and Church aside, 
Are every man his own presuming guide. 
The sacred books, you say, are full and plain, 680 
And every needful point of truth contain : 
All, who can read, interpreters may be : 
Thus, though your several Churches disagree, 



Ver.662. this unfailing guide] When a Cardinal 

came to pay his usual compliments of congratulation on 
the day of the anniversary, and to wish Pope Benedict the 
Koii rtecnth many years toenjoy his high dignity, his Holiness 
said to him, " You arc just returned from saying mass, and 
flare you utter such a falsehood, as to wish I may not soon 
nmke a vacancy in the papal chair?" knowing how earnestly 
tho death of a pope is always wished for and expected. 
Dr. J. Waotw. 



Yet every saint has to himself alone 

The secret of this philosophic stone. 685 

These principles your jarring sects unite, 

When differing doctors and disciples fight. 

Though Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, holy chiefs, 

Have made a battle-royal of beliefs ; 

Or, like wild horses, several ways have whirl'd C9 ° 

The tortured text about the Christian world ; 

Each Jehu lashing on with furious force, 

That Turk or Jew could not have used it worse ; 

No matter what dissension leaders make, 

Where every private man may save a stake : 69 ° 

Ruled by the Scripture and his own advice, 

Each has a blind bye-path to Paradise ; 

Where, driving in a circle, slow or fast, 

Opposing sects are sure to meet at last. 

A wondrous charity you have in store 70 ° 

For all reform'd to pass the narrow door : 

So much, that Mahomet had scarcely more. 

For he, kind prophet, was for damning none ; 

But Christ and Moses were to save their own : 

Himself was to secure his chosen race, 70i 

Though reason good for Turks to take the place, 

And he allow'd to be the better man, 

In virtue of his holier Alcoran. 

True, said the Panther, I shall ne'er deny 
My brethren may be saved as well as I : ' w 

Though Huguenots contemn our ordination, 
Succession, ministerial vocation ; 
And Luther, more mistaking what he read, 

Ver. 699. Opposing sects'] A great physician told Sir 
W. Temple, that in the fanatic times he found most of his 
patients so disturbed by troubles of conscience, and religious 
scruples and fears, that he was forced to play the divine 
with them before he could begin the physician. Old Mr. 
Richardson informs us that a cavalier physician made his 
Puritan patient, who consulted him in a stubborn bloody 
flux, drink up the Common Prayer-book boiled to a pulp, 
which he had found torn to pieces and scattered about the 
hall as he came in; swearing he wonld not prescribe for 
him till he had done so; when indeed he would otherwise 
have prescribed him boiled paper. Dr. J. Wabtok. 

Ver. 702. So much, that Mahomet] It is worth remarking, 
because it is a fact, not very well known and allowed, that 
Mahomet the Second, when he had taken Constantinople, 
addressed the patriarch in themildestand most benevolent 
terms, and installed him in his office with much ceremony. 
See page 229, Codini Antiquitat. Constant.; an extraordi- 
nary example of toleration. Bayle has taken great pains 
to prove that we ought not to ascribe the wide and rapid 
progress of Mahometism to its being a religion flattering 
the passions and corruptions, and agreeable, as is vulgarly 
said, to flesh and blood, for that in reality its moral pre- 
cepts are very strict, rational, useful, and severe, and that 
it is burdened with many severe and troublesome 
prohibitions and ceremonies, such as drinking no wine, 
very frequent bathings, and repetitions of prayers, absti- 
nence, and fastings, circumcision, and long and fatiguing 
pilgrimages. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 713. And Luther,] When Atterbury was a young 
man at Christ Church, he published, in the year 1687, an 
excellent pamphlet in defence of Luther, entitled, "An 
Answer to some Considerations on the Spirit of Martin 
Luther, and the original of the Reformation." It is written 
with spirit and strength of argument, and deserves to be 
more attended to than I think it has been. lie has par- 
ticularly defended Luther for his marriage with Catherine 
Bora, and for his condemning the absurd vows of celibacy, 
which occasioned some of the most enormous impurities 
and lewdness among unmarried priests ; referring tor proofs 
to Damianus's letter to Pope Nicholas the Second, in the 
eleventh century, and particularly to two remarkable pas- 
sages, one in Erasmus, and the other in Coster; the former 
of whom says, in his Annotations on Timothy, "Qnam in- 
numeri sunt monachi publico incesti et impudici :" and the 
latter, "Sacerdos si fornicetur, ant doini concubinam ha- 
beat, tametsi gravi Baoxilegio Be obstringut, gravius tamen 
peccat, si inatrimoiiiuiu oontrahut." — Coster. Koch, cap. 15, 

To this i add, thai Zuinglius, writing to the Swiss Can- 
tons, reminds them of an edict issued by their ancestors, 



112 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



715 



Misjoins the sacred body with the bread : 
Yet, lady, still remember I maintain, 
The word in needful points is only plain. 

Needless, or needful, I not now contend, 
For still you have a loop-hole for a friend, 
(Rejoin'd the matron) : but the rule you lay 
Has led whole flocks, and leads them still 
astray, m 

In weighty points, and full damnation's way. 
For did not Arius first, Socinus now, 
The Son's eternal Godhead disavow? 
And did not these by gospel texts alone 
Condemn our doctrine, and maintain their own % 
Have not all heretics the same pretence ™ 

To plead the Scriptures in their own defence 1 
How did the NiceneJimucil then decide 
That strong debate 1 was it by Scripture tried ? 
No, sure ; to that the rebel would not yield ; ™ 
Squadrons of texts he marshall'd in the field : 
That was but civil war, an equal set, 
Where piles with piles, and eagles eagles met. 
With texts point-blank and plain he faced the foe, 
And did not Satan tempt our Saviour so ? 735 

The good old bishops took a simpler way ; 
Each ask'd but what he heard his father say, 
Or how he was instructed in his youth, 
And by tradition s force upheld the truth. 

The Panther smiled at this; And when, said 
she, 74 ° 

Were those first Councils disallow'd by me 1 
'Or where did I at sure tradition strike, 
"Provided still it were apostolic 1 

Friend, said the Hind, you quit your former 
ground, 
Where all your faith you did on Scripture 
found : w 

Now 'tis tradition join'd with holy writ ; 
But thus your memory betrays your wit. 

No, said the Panther, for in that I view, 
When your tradition 's forged, and when 'tis true. 
I set them by the rule, and, as they square, 75 ° 
Or deviate from undoubted doctrine there, 
This oral fiction, that old faith declare. 

Hind. The Council steer'd, it seems, a dif- 
ferent course : 
They-tried the Scripture by tradition's force : 
But you tradition by the Scripture try ; 75 ° 

Pursued by sects, from this to that you fly, 
Nor dare on one foundation to rely. 
The word is then deposed, and in this view, 
You rule the Scripture, not the Scripture'you. 
Thus said the dame, and, smiling, thus pursued : 
I see, tradition then is disallow'd, 7H 



which enjoined every priest to keep a concubine, to prevent 
their attacking their neighbours' wives. See Father Paul, 
Book 1. Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 714. Misjoins the sacred] Transubstantiation is a 
doctrine so marvellously absurd, that it deserves not to be 
treated in a serious, but only in a ludicrous way. When 
Anne Askew was put to the torture in the Tower, for being 
a Protestant, during the tyranny of Henry VIII., she ex- 
claimed, " I have taken pains to believe in God who made 
the world, and all men in it j but cannot be easily persuaded 
that man was quits, and made God again." Christianity will 
never make any progress in the East Indies, wherever any 
missionary preaches this doctrine. A gentleman who had re- 
sided at Benares told me, that a sensible Brahmin said one 
day to him, " You see I abstain from all animal food ; but 
you, dreadful and blasphemous idea ! say you eat your own 
God." Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 730. to that the rebel, &c] To those the rebel, 

&c. Orig. edit. Todd. 



When not evinced by Scripture to be true, 

And Scripture, as interpreted by you. 

But here you tread upon unfaithful ground ; 

Unless you could infallibly expound : 7M 

Which you reject as odious Popety, 

And throw that doctrine back with scorn on me. 

Suppose we on things traditive divide, 

And both appeal to Scripture to decide ; 

By various texts we both uphold our claim, 7 '° 

Nay, often, ground our titles on the same : 

After long labour lost, and time's expense, 

Both grant the words, and quarrel for the sense. 

Thus all disputes for ever must depend ; 

For no dumb rule can controversies end. 7 ' 5 

Thus, when you said, Tradition must be tried 

By sacred writ, whose sense yourselves decide, 

You said no more, but that yourselves must be 

The judges of the Scripture sense, not we. 

Against our Church-tradition you declare, 7S0 

And yet your clerks would sit in Moses' chair : 

At least 'tis proved against your argument, 

The rule is far from plain, where all dissent. 

If not by Scriptures, how can we be sure, 
Replied the Panther, what tradition 's pure 1 785 
For you may palm upon us new for old : 
All, as they say, that glitters, is not gold. 

How but by following her, replied the dame, 
To whom derived from sire to son they came ; 
Where every age does on another move, 7M 

And trusts no farther than the next above ; 
Where all the rounds like Jacob's ladder rise, 
The lowest hid in earth, the topmost in the 
skies. 

Sternly the savage did her answer mark, 
Her glowing eyeballs glittering in the dark, 795 
And said but this : Since lucre was your trade, 
Succeeding times such dreadful gaps have made, 
'Tis dangerous climbing : to your sons and you 
I leave the ladder, and its omen too. 

Hind. The Panther's breath was ever famed 
for sweet ; m 

But from the Wolf such wishes oft I meet : 
You learn'd this language from the Blatant Beast, 
Or rather did not speak, but were possess'd. 
As for your answer, 'tis but barely urged : 
You must evince tradition to be forged ; 805 

Produce plain proofs ; unblemish'd authors use, 
As ancient as those ages they accuse ; 
'Till when, 'tis not sufficient to defame : 
An old possession stands till elder quits the 

claim. 
Then for our interest, which is named alone 810 
To load with envy, we retort your own. 
For when traditions in your faces fly, 
Resolving not to yield, you must decry. 
As, when the cause goes hard, the guilty man 
Excepts, and thins his jury all he can ; 815 

So, when you stand of other aid bereft, 
You to the Twelve Apostles would be left. 



Ver. 802. You learn'd this language from the Blatant 
Beast,] Spenser, in his excellent poem, called " The Fairy 
Queen," shadows the moral virtues under the fictitious 
names of gallant heroes ; and some of the worst vices, (in 
regard they are most opposite to rational nature) under the 
counterfeit names of certain monstrous brutes ; particularly 
he represents that pernicious vice of calumny or slander, 
by a deformed creature, which he calls The Blatant Beast; 
whose property it was to defame all states and sorts of 
mankind, not sparing even princes, nor leaving the clear- 
est honour untainted, that came within the steam of its 
contagious breath. Derrick. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



113 



Your friend the Wolf did with more craft provide 

To set those toys, traditions, quite aside ; 

And Fathers too, unless when, reason spent, mo 

He cites them but sometimes for ornament. 

But, madam Panther, you, though more sincere, 

Arc not so wise as your adulterer : 

The private spirit is a better blind, lat 

Than all the dodging tricks your authors find. 

For they, who left the Scripture to the crowd, 

Eacli for his own peculiar judge allow'd ; 

The way to please them was to make them proud. 

Thus, with full sails, they ran upon the shelf; 

Who could suspect a cozenage from himself] 83 ° 

On his own reason safer 'tis to stand, 

Than be deceived and damn'd at second hand. 

But you, who Fathers and traditions take, 

And garble some, and some you quite forsake, 

Pretending Church-authority to fix, ^ 

And yet some grains of private spirit mix, 

Are, like a mule, made up of differing seed, 

And that 's the reason why you never breed; 

At least not propagate your kind abroad, 

For home-disscnters are by statutes awed. s, ° 

And yet they grow upon you every day, 

While you, to speak the best, are at a stay, 

For sects, that are extremes, abhor a middle 

way. 
Like tricks of state, to stop a raging flood, 
Or mollify amad-brain'd senate's mood : s ' 5 

Of all expedients never one was good. 
Well may they argue, (nor can you deny) 
If we must fix on Church-authority, 
Best on the best, the fountain, not the flood ; 
That must be better still, if this be good. 8M 

Shall she command, who has herself rebell'd 1 
Is Antichrist by Antichrist expell'd! 
Did we a lawful tyranny displace, 
To set aloft a bastard of the race 1 
Why all these wars to win the book, if we 85S 
Must not interpret for ourselves, but she ] 
Either be wholly slaves, or wholly free. 
For purging fires traditions must not fight ; 
But they must prove episcopacy's right. 
Thus those led horses are from service freed ; 8C0 
You never mount them but in time of need. 
Like mercenaries, hired for home defence, 
They will not serve against their native prince. 
Against domestic foes of hierarchy 
These are drawn forth, to make fanatics fly; 8M 
But, when they see their countrymen at hand, 
Marching against them under Church-command, 
Straight they forsake their colours, and disband. 

Thus she, nor could the Panther well enlarge 
With weak defence against so strong a charge ; s7 ° 
But said : (For what did Christ his word provide, 
If still his Church must want a living guide % 
And if all saving doctrines are not there, 
< >r sacred penmen could not make them clear, 
From after-ages we should hope in vain s '" r ' 

For truths, which men inspired could not explain. 

Before the word was written, said the Hind, 
Our Saviour preach'd his faith to human kind : 
From his apostles the first age received 
Eternal truth, and what they iaught believed. 

Vor. 840. home-dissenters are by statutes awed,'] 

W hen Dryden wrote this, the penal statutes against dis- 
senters were not repealed. DERRICK. 

Ver. 868, forsake, their colours, &c] Orig. edit. 

Derrick reads— forsake their colur. Todd. 



Thus by tradition faith was planted first ; s 81 

Succeeding flocks succeeding pastors nursed. 
This was the way our wise Redeemer chose, 
(Who sure could all things for the best dispose) 
To fence his fold from their encroaching foes. *' 
He could have writ himself, but well foresaw 
The event would be like that of Moses' law; 
Some difference would arise, some doubts remain, 
Like those which yet the jarring Jews maintain. 
No written laws can be so plain, so pure, 8 ' J0 

But wit may gloss, and malice may obscure; 
Not those indited by his first command, 
A prophet graved the text, an angel held his 

hand. 
Thus faith was ere the written word appear'd, 
And men believed, not what they read, but 

heard. 8 ' J5 

But since the apostles could not be confined 
To these, or those, but severally design'd 
Their large commission round the world to blow, 
To spread their faith, they spread their labours 

too. 
Yet still their absent flock their pains did share; 
They hearken'd still, for love produces care. IJ{ " 
And, as mistakes arose, or discords fell, 
Or bold seducers taught them to rebel, 
As charity grew cold, or faction hot, 
Or long neglect their lessons had forgot, 9lB 

For all their wants they wisely did provide, 
And preaching by epistles was supplied : 
So great physicians cannot all attend, 
But some they visit, and to some they send. 
Yet all those letters were not writ to all ; 910 

Nor first intended but occasional, 
Their absent sermons ; nor if they contain 
All needful doctrines, are those doctrines plain. 
Clearness by frequent preaching must be wrought ; 
They writ but seldom, but they daily taught. 915 
And what one saint has said of holy Paul, 
" He darkly writ," is true applied to all. 
For this obscurity could Heaven provide 
More prudently than by a living guide, 
As doubts arose, the difference to decide 1 92 ° 

A guide was therefore needful, therefore made ; 
And, if appointed, sure to be obey'd. 
Thus, with due reverence to the apostles' writ, 
By which my sons are taught, to which submit ; 
I think, those truths, their sacred works contain. 
The Church alone can certainly explain ; 9 '- s 

That following ages, leaning on the past, 
May rest upon the primitive at last. 
Nor would I thence the word no rule infer, 
But none without the Church-interpreter. 9:i0 

Because, as I have urged before, 'tis mute, 
And is itself the subject of dispute. 
But what the apostles their successors taught, 
They to the next, from them to us is brought, 
The undoubted sense which is in Scripture 

sought. MS 

From hence the Church is arnvd, when errors 

rise, 
To stop their entrance, and prevent surprise ; 
And, safe entrench'd within, her foes without 

defies. 
By these all festering sores hor councils heal, 
Which time or has disclosed, or shall reveal ; 9W 
For discord cannot end without a last appeal. 
Nor can a council national decide, 
But with subordination to her guide : 
(I wish the cause were on (hat issue tried.) 



114 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



Much less the Scripture; for suppose debate 94s 
Betwixt pretenders to a fair estate, 
Bequeathed by some legator's last intent ; 
(Such is our dying Saviour's testament :) 
The will is proved, is open'd, and is read ; 
The doubtful heirs their differing titles plead : 9S0 
All vouch the words their interest to maintain, 
And each pretends by those his cause is plain. 
Shall then the Testament award the right 1 
No, that 's the Hungary for which they fight ; 
The field of battle, subject of debate ; 955 

The thing contended for, the fair estate. 
The sense is intricate, 'tis only clear 
What vowels and what consonants are there. 
Therefore 'tis plain, its meaning must be tried 
Before some judge appointed to decide. 9M 

Suppose, the fair apostate said, I grant, 
The faithful flock some living guide should 

want, 
Your arguments an endless chace pursue : 
Produce this vaunted leader to our view, 
This mighty Moses of the chosen crew. 96S 

The dame, who saw her fainting foe retired, 
"With force renew' d, to victory aspired ; 
And, looking upward to her kindred sky, 
As once our Saviour own'd his Deity, 
Pronounced his words — "She whom ye seek 
am I." 9 ?° 

Nor less amazed this voice the Panther heard, 
Than were those Jews to hear a God declared. 
Then thus the matron modestly renew'd : 
Let all your prophets and their sects be view'd, 
And see to which of them yourselves think fit 975 
The conduct of your conscience to submit : 
Each proselyte would vote his doctor best, 
With absolute exclusion to the rest : 
Thus would your Polish diet disagree, 
And end, as it began, in anarchy : 9S0 

Yourself the fairest for election stand, 
Because you seem crown-general of the land : 
But soon against your superstitious lawn 
Some Presbyterian sabre would be drawn : 
In your establish'd laws of sovereignty 9S5 

The rest some fundamental flaw would see, 
And call rebellion gospel-liberty. 
To Church-decrees your articles require 
Submission modified, if not entire. 
Homage denied, to censures you proceed : 99 ° 

But when Curtana will not do the deed, 
You lay that pointless clergy-weapon by, 
And to the laws, your sword of justice, fly. 

Ver. 957. The sense is intricate,"] In denying the use of 
the Bible to the bulk of the people, the followers of the 
Church of Rome exactly copy the conduct of the Brahmins 
in India. As their order had an exclusive right to read 
the sacred books, (says Kobertson) to cultivate and to teach 
science, they could more effectually prevent all who were 
not members of it from acquiring any portion of information 
beyond what they were pleased to impart. When the free 
circulation of knowledge is not circumscribed by such re- 
strictions, the whole community derives benefit from every 
new acquisition in science, the influence of which, both 
upon sentiment and conduct, extends insensibly from the 
few to the many, from the learned to the ignorant. But 
wherever the dominion of false religion is completely 
established, the body of the people gain nothing by the 
improvements in knowledge. Dr. J, Warton. 

Ver. 989. Submission modified,] So the original 

edition. Derrick has mollify'd. Todd. 

Ver. 991. Curtana] The name of King Edward 

the Confessor's sword without a point, an emblem of mercy, 
which is carried before our king and queen at their corona- 
tion. Derrick. 



Now this your sects the more unkindly take, 
(Those prying varlets hit the blots you make) 995 
Because some ancient friends of yours declare, 
Your only rule of faith the Scriptures are, 
Interpreted by men of judgment sound, 
Which every sect will for themselves expound ; 
Nor think less reverence to their doctors due 100 ° 
For sound interpretation, than to you. 
If then, by able heads, are understood 
Your brother prophets, who reform'd abroad ; 
Those able heads expound a wiser way, 
That their own sheep their shepherd should obey. 
But if you mean yourselves are only sound, lm 
That doctrine turns the Reformation round, 
And all the rest are false reformers found ; 
Because in sundry points you stand alone, 
Not in communion join'd with any one ; 101 ° 

And therefore must be all the Church, or none. 
Then, 'till you have agreed whose judge is best, 
Against this forced submission they protest : 
While sound and sound a different sense explains, 
Both play at hardhead till they break their 
brains ; m5 

And from their chairs each other's force defy, 
While unregarded thunders vainly fly. 
I pass the rest, because your Church alone 
Of all usurpers best could fill the throne. 
But neither you, nor any sect beside, I02 ° 

For this high office can be qualified, 
With necessary gifts required in such a guide. 
For that, which must direct the whole, must be 
Bound in one bond of faith and unity : 
But all your several Churches disagree. 1025 

The consubstantiating Church and priest 
Refuse communion to the Calvinist : 
The French reform'd from preaching you re- 
strain, 
Because you judge their ordination vain ; 
And so they judge of yours, but donors must 
ordain. lu3 ° 

In short, in doctrine, or in discipline, 
Not one reform'd can with another join : 
But all from each, as from damnation, fly ; 
No union they pretend, but in Non-Popery. 
Nor, should their members in a synod meet, I035 
Could any Church presume to mount the seat, 
Above the rest, their discords to decide ; 
None would obey, but each would be the guide : 
And face to face dissensions would increase ; 
For only distance now preserves the peace. ,(M0 
All in their turns accusers, and accused : 
Babel was never half so much confused : 
What one can plead, the rest can plead as well ; 
For amongst equals lies no last appeal, 
And all confess themselves are fallible. K ® 

Now since you grant some necessary guide, 
All who can err are justly laid aside : 
Because a trust so sacred to confer 
Shows want of such a sure interpreter ; 
And how can he be needful who can err 1 
Then, granting that unerring guide we want, 1931 
That such there is you stand obliged to grant : 
Our Saviour else were wanting to supply 
Our needs, and obviate that necessity. 
It then remains, that Church can only be 10,M 

The guide, which owns unfailing certainty ; 



unfailing certainty,'] Our author's 



Ver. 1056. - 
humanity would not suffer him, In his general defence of 1 
Popery, to justify the abominable institution of the inquisi- 






THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



115 



Or else you slip your hold, and change your 

side, 
Relapsing from a necessary guide. 
But this annex'd condition of the crown, 
Immunity from errors, you disown ; 105 ° 

Here then you shrink, and lay your weak pre- 
tences down 
For petty royalties you raise debate ; 
But this unfailing universal state 
You shun; nor dare succeed to such a glorious 

weight ; 
And for that cause those promises detest, 1( ' 65 
With which our Saviour did his Church invest ; 
But strive to evade, and fear to find them true, 
As conscious they were never meant to you : 
All which the Mother-Church asserts her own, 
And with unrivall'd claim ascends the throne. 
So when of old the almighty Father sate 1071 

In council, to redeem our ruin'd state, 
Millions of millions, at a distance round, 
Silent the sacred consistory crown' d, 
To hear what mercy, mix'd with justice, could 
propound : 1075 

All prompt, with eager pity, to fulfil 
The full extent of their Creator's will. 



tion. In the cathedral Church of Saragossa, there is a 
tomh of a famous inquisitor. Six very magnificent columns 
Btand on his tomb, and to each of these columns is a Moor 
chained, ready to be burned. A fit model for the mauso- 
leum of any hangman that died rich. How much are the 
fine tragedies of Polieucte and Athaliah blemished by 
strokes of the most intemperate zeal, and absurd super- 
stition, and abhorrence of heretics. " Does the daughter of 
David," says Joab to Josabet, "speak to this priest of Baal? 
Are you not afraid lest the earth should instantly open, and 
pour out flames to devour you both ? Or that these holy 
walls should suddenly fall, and crush yon together? " Dr. 
J. Wahton. 

Vcr. 1071. So when of olit\ The following next sixteen 
lines are perhaps the most splendid and sublime our author 
ever wrote. But the idea of them is manifestly taken from 
Hilton, Book iii., where God is represented sitting on his 
throne, surrounded by all the sanctities of heaven, and 
speaking thus of the fate of Adam just after his fall : — 

"Die he, or Justice must, unless for him 
Some other able, and as willing, pay 
The rigid satisfaction, death for death. 
Say, heavenly Powers; where shall we find such love? 
Which of ye will be mortal to redeem 
Man's mortal crime, and just th' unjust to save ? 
Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear? 
He ask'd, but all the heavenly quire stood mute, 
And silence was in Heaven : on Man's behalf 
Patron or intercessor none appear'd, 
Much less that durst upon his own head draw 
The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. 
And now without redemption all mankind 
Must have been lost, adjudged to Death and Hell 
By doom severe, had not the Son of God, 
In whom the fulness dwells of love divine, 
His dearest mediation thus renew'd : 
Father, thy word is pass'd, Man shall find grace; 
And shall grace not find means, that finds her way 
The speediest of thy winged messengers, 
To visit all thy creatures, and to all 
Comes unprevented, unimplored, unsought? 
Happy for man, so coming ; he her aid 
Can never seek, once dead in sins and lost; 
Atonrment for himself or offering meet, 
Indebted and undone, hath none to bring : 
Behold me then ; me for him, life for life 
I offer; on me let thine anger fall; 
Account me Man ; " 

Butler, in his Analogy, a book which every rational 
Han should read and meditate upon day and night, 
has, witli the deepest penetration and aeuteness, exhausted 
:ill Mi.- arguments that can he urged f,.r the doctrine of 
redemption, of mediatorsbip, and vicarious punishment. 
Dr. J. Waiiton. 



But wheu the stern conditions were declared, 
A mournful whisper through the host was heard, 
And the whole hierarchy, with heads hung 

down, "'■>" 

Submissively declined the ponderous proffer'd 

crown. 
Then, not till then, the eternal Son from high 
Rose in the strength of all the Deity ; 
Stood forth to accept the terms, and underwent 
A weight which all the frame of heaven had 

bent, lva6 

Nor he himself could bear, but as Omnipotent. 
Now, to remove the least remaining doubt, 
That e'en the blear-eyed sects may find her out, 
Behold what heavenly rays adorn her brows, 
What from his wardrobe her beloved allows lu9 ° 
To deck the wedding-day of his unspotted 

spouse. 
Behold what marks of majesty she brings ; 
Richer than ancient heirs of eastern kings : 
Her right hand holds the sceptre and the keys, 
To show whom she commands, and who obeys : 
With these to bind, or set the sinner free, U95 
With that to assert spiritual royalty. 

*One in herself, not rent by schism, but sound, 
Entire, one solid shining diamond ; 
Not sparkles shatter'd into sects like you : 1 " i0 
One is the Church, and must be to be true : 
One central principle of unity. 

As undivided, so from errors free, 
As one in faith, so one in sanctity. 
Thus she, and none but she, the insulting rage 
Of heretics opposed from age to age: U06 

Still when the giant-brood invades her throne, 
She stoops from heaven, and meets them half 

way down, 
And with paternal thunder vindicates her crown. 
But like Egyptian sorcerers you stand, mu 

And vainly lift aloft your magic wand, 
To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the 

land : 
You could, like them, with like infernal force, 
Produce the plague, but not arrest the course. 
But when the boils and blotches, with disgrace 
And public scandal, sat upon the face, lllfi 

Themselves attack'd, the Magi strove no more, 
They saw God's finger, and their fate deplore ; 
Themselves they could not cure of the dishonest 

sore. 
Thus one, thus pure, behold her largely 

spread, nj> 

Like the fair ocean from her mother-bed ; 
From east to west triumphantly she rides, 
All shores are water'd by her wealthy tides. 



Ver. 1078. But when the stern conditions were declared, 

A mournful whisper through the host was heard, 
And the whole hierarchy, with heads hung down, 
Submissively declined the ponderous projjr'er'd 

crown. 
Then, not till then, &c, &c] 

This is an imitation, but a very feeble one, of Milton's im- 
pressive description, Par. Lost, iii. 216. 

"Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear? 
He ask'd, but all the heavenly quire stood mute, 
And silence was in Heaven : on Man's behalf 
Patron or intercessor none appear'd," &c. Todd. 
• Marks of the Catholic Church from the Nicenc Creed. 
Original edition. 

Ver. 1115. Sofia and blotches,] The original edi- 
tion has hutches. TODD, 



116 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



The gospel's sound, diffused from pole to pole, 
Where winds can carry, and where waves can 
roll, 1125 

The self-same doctrine of the sacred page 
Convey'd to every clime, in every age. 

Here let my sorrow give my satire place, 
To raise new blushes on my British race ; 
Our sailing ships like common shoars we use, 
And through our distant colonies diffuse lm 

The draught of dungeons, and the stench of stews. 
Whom, when their home-bred honesty is lost, 
We disembogue on some far Indian coast : 
Thieves, panders, paillards, sins of every sort ; 
Those are the manufactures we export ; I136 

And these the missioners our zeal has made : 
For, with my country's pardon be it said, 
Religion is the least of all our trade. 

Yet some improve their traffic more than we ; 
For they on gain, their only god, rely ; U41 

And set a public price on piety. 
Industrious of the needle and the chart, 
They run full sail to their Japonian mart ; 
Prevention fear, and, prodigal of fame, U45 

Sell all of Christian to the very name ; 
Nor leave enough of that to hide their naked 
shame. 

Thus, of three marks, which in the creed we 
view, 
Not one of all can be applied to you : 
Much less the fourth ; in vain, alas ! you seek 
The ambitious title of Apostolic : 1151 

,-God-like descent ! 'tis well your blood can be 
Proved noble in the third or fourth degree : 
For all of ancient that you had before, 
(I mean what is not borrow'd from our store) 
Was error fulminated o'er and o'er ; 116S 

Old heresies condemn'd in ages past, 
By care and time recover'd from the blast. 

'Tis said with ease, but never can be proved, 
The Church her old foundations has removed, 



■ like common shoars, &c] Original edi- 

Ver. 1138. For, with my country's pardon he it said, 

Beligion is the least of all our trade.'] 
The same train of thought appears in Cowper's pathetic 
Apostrophe to Omai, Task, Book i. p. 36. 

" Alas ! expect it not. We found no bait 
To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, 
Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
"We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; 
And must be bribed to compass earth again, 
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours." 

John Warton. 
Ver. 1159. ' Tis said with ease,,'] Dryden never seems to 
have read the incomparable and unanswerable Histoiy of 
the Council of Trent, which of itself, if no other treatise 
remained, would alone be a complete refutation of the 
absurdities and errors of Popery. Instead of answering the 
treatise which the court of Eome was supposed to write 
against the republic of Venice, entitled, Squittinio della 
Liberia Veneta, Father Paul thought it more effectual to 
imitate the conduct of the Romans, who, to drive the Car- 
thaginians out of Italy, carried the war into Africa itself, 
and then attacked their enemies, and therefore he wrote the 
history of the Council of Trent, and attacked the court of 
Rome itself in its head-quarters. Father Paul valued 
Occam above all the schoolmen. Father Paul was ac- 
quainted with the doctrine of the circulation of the blood, 
but borrowed the idea from Servetus. Wootton affirms! 
that Servetus first discovered it. Pallavicini has enume- 
rated 360 mistakes in Father Paul's history of the Council 
of Trent; but what are these mistakes? only trivial 
unimportant errors of dates and names. 
Cardinal Perroa says, " I visited Fra. Paolo at Venice. 



And built new doctrines on unstable sands: " 61 
Judge that, ye winds and rains : you proved her, 

yet she stands. - 
Those ancient doctrines charged on her for 

new, 
Show when, and how, and from what hands they 

grew. 
We claim no power, when heresies grow bold, 
To coin new faith, but still declare the old. I166 
How else could that obscene disease be purged, 
When controverted texts are vainly urged? 
To prove tradition new, there 's somewhat more 
Required, than saying, 'Twas not used before. 117 ° 
Those monumental arms are never stirr'd, 
Till schism or heresy call down Goliah's sword. 
Thus, what you call corruptions, are, in truth, 
The first plantations of the gospel's youth ; 
Old standard faith : but cast your eyes again, 
And view those errors which new sects main- 
tain, "'6 
Or which of old disturb'd the Church's peaceful 

reign ; 
And we can point each period of the time, 
When they began, and who begot the crime ; 
Can calculate how long the eclipse endured, nm 
Who interposed, what digits were obscured: 
Of all which are already pass'd away, 
We know the rise, the progress, and decay. 
Despair at our foundations then to strike, 
Till you can prove your faith apostolic ; lls5 

A limpid stream drawn from the native source ; 
Succession lawful in a lineal course. 
Prove any Church, opposed to this our head, 
So one, so pure, so unconfin'dly spread, 
Under one chief of the spiritual state, 119 ° 

The members all combined, and all subordi- 
nate. 
Show such a seamless coat, from schism so free, 
In no communion join'd with heresy. 
If such a one you find, let truth prevail : 
Till when your weights will in the balance 
fail : lm 

A Church unprincipled kicks up the scale. 

But if you cannot think (nor sure you can 
Suppose in God what were unjust in man) 
That He, the fountain of eternal grace, 
Should suffer falsehood, for so long a space, 120 ° 
To banish truth, and to usurp her place : 

He appeared to be a sensible man — nothing more : " a judg- 
ment worthy of a Cardinal. 

Sir Henry Wootton assured King Charles, that Father 
Paul, though naturally of a reserved temper, which was 
heightened by the suspicions of his countrymen, yet opened 
his inmost soul, and disclosed his secret opinions to Bishop 
Bedell, with whom he contracted the strictest intimacy. 
Sir Nathaniel Brent was privately sent to Venice to get a 
copy of his history of the Council of Trent, which he secretly, 
and with great personal danger, communicated, twelve 
sheets at a time, to archbishop Abbott, who employed him 
in this transaction. 

Giannone, in his admirable history of the Civil Govern- 
ment of Naples, in forty books, has clearly proved that the 
boasted donation of all Italy, supposed to have been made 
by Constantine in the year 324, to Sylvester, Pope of Rome, 
is a gross and shameful forgery. No wonder this able, 
curious, and candid historian was afterwards seized by the 
inquisition, and died in prison. 

Clement VII. gave to his nephew Cardinal Hippolite, in 
1537, the possession of all the benefices on the whole earth, 
that should become vacant in six months. Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 1161. And built new doctrines on unstable sands: 

Judge that, ye winds and rains : you proved 
her, yet she stands.] 

A scriptural allusion. John Warton. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



117 



That seven successive ages should be lost, 
Aud preach damnation at their proper cost ; 
That all your erring ancestors should die, 
Drovvn'd in the abyss of deep idolatry : 12 " 5 

If piety forbid such thoughts to rise, 
Awake, and open your unwilling eyes : 
God hath left nothing for each age undone, 
From this to that wherein he sent his Son : 
Then think but well of him, and half your work 
is done. 121 ° 

See how his Church, adorn'd with every grace, 
With open arms, a kind forgiving face, 
Stands ready to prevent her long-lost son's em- 
brace. 
Not more did Joseph o'er his brethren weep, 
Nor less himself could from discovery keep, 1215 
When in the crowd of suppliants they were seen, 
And in their crew his best-loved Benjamin. 
That pious Joseph in the Church behold,* 
To feed your famine, and refuse your gold; 
The Joseph you exiled, the Joseph whom you 
sold. 12 - u 

Thus, while with heavenly charity she spoke, 
A streaming blaze the silent shadows broke ; 
Shut from the skies a cheerful azure light : 
The birds obscene to forests wing'd their flight, 
And gaping graves received the wand'ring guilty 
spright. 1225 

Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky, 
For James his late nocturnal victory ; 
The pledge of his almighty Patron's love, 
The fireworks which his angels made above. 
I saw myself the lambent easy light •(* 123 ° 

Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night : 
The messenger with speed the tidings bore ; 
News, which three labouring nations did restore ; 
But Heaven's own Nuntius was arrived before. 
By this, the Hind had reaeh'd her lonely 
cell, 12a6 

And vapours rose, and dews unwholesome fell. 
When she, by frequent observation wise, 
As one who long on heaven had fix'd her eyes, 
Discem'd a change of weather in the skies. 1239 
The western borders were with crimson spread, 
The moon descending look'd all flaming red ; 
Kim thought good manners bound her to invite 
The stranger dame to be her guest that night. 
'Tis true, coarse diet, and a short repast, 1244 

(She said) were weak inducements to the taste 
Of one so nicely bred, and so unused to fast : 
But what plain fare her cottage could afford, 
A hearty welcome at a homely board, 
Was freely hers ; and, to supply the rest, 
An honest meaning, and an open breast : 125 ° 

Last, with content of mind, the poor man's 

wealth, 
A grace-cup to their common patron's, health. 

he desired her to accept, and stay, 
For fear she might be wilder'd in her way, 

Vcr. 1202. That seven successive ages'] Nine successive 
ages. Orig. edit. Todd. 

Ver. 1208. God hath left, &c] Has left. Orig. edit. 
Todd. 

Ver. 1214. Not more did Joseph o'er Ms brethren xveep,] 
The very expression used in the pathetic and simple story 
<■> Joseph aud his brethren. John Warton. 

• Tin- renunciation of the Benedictines to tho Abbey 
Lands. Orig. edit. 
t Poeta loquitur. Orig. edit. 



Because she wanted an unerring guide, 12ca 

And then the dew-drops on her silken hide 
Her tender constitution did declare, 
Too lady-like a long fatigue to bear, 
And rough inclemencies of raw nocturnal air. 
But most she fear'd that, travelling so late, lia> 
Some evil-minded beasts might lie in wait, 
And without witness wreak their hidden hate. 

The Panther, though she lent a listening ear, 
Had more of lion in her than to fear : 
Yet wisely weighing, since she had to deal 126i ' 
With many foes, their numbers might prevail, 
Return'd her all the thanks she could afford ; 
And took her friendly hostess at her word : 
Who, entering first her lowly roof, a shed 
With hoary moss, and winding ivy spread, 1= 7° 
Honest enough to hide an humble hermit's head, 
Thus graciously bespoke her welcome guest : 
So might these walls, with your fair presence 

blest, 
Become your dwelling-place of everlasting rest ; 
Not for a night, or quick revolving year, I2 ? s 

Welcome an owner, not a sojourner. 
This peaceful seat my poverty secures ; 
War seldom enters but where wealth allures : 
Nor yet despise it ; for this poor abode 
Has oft received, and yet receives a God ; 12S0 

A God. victorious of the Stygian race, 
Here laid his sacred limbs, and sanctified the 

place. 
This mean retreat did mighty Pan contain : 
Be emulous of him, and pomp disdain, 
And dare not to debase your soul to gain. ,2S5 

The silent stranger stood amazed to see 
Contempt of wealth, and wilful poverty ; 
And, though ill habits are not soon controll'd, 
Awhile suspended her desire of gold ; 
But civilly drew in her sharpen'd paws, 1290 

Not violating hospitable laws, 
And pacified her tail, and lick'd her frothy jaws. 

The Hind did first her country cates provide; 
Then couch'd herself securely by her side. 



THE THIRD PART. 



Much malice mingled with a little wit, 1295 

Perhaps, may censure this mysterious writ : 
Because the muse has peopled Caledon 
With Panthers, Bears, and Wolves, and beasts un- 
known, 
As if we were not stock'd with monsters of our 

own. 
Let yEsop answer, who has set to view 130 ° 

Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew ; 
And mother Hubbard, in her homely dress, 
Has sharply blamed a British Lioness; 
That queen, whose feast tho factious rabble keep, 
Exposed obscenely naked and asleep. ,3U3 

Ver. 1285. And dare not to debase your soul to gain.'] 
" Aude, hospes, couteninere opes, ct te quouue diguum 

Finge d<->>." 
In the whole passage he has an eye to the reception of 
./Eneas by Evander. John Wakion. 



118 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



Led by those great examples, may not I 
The wanted organs of their words supply ? 
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then 
For brutes to claim the privilege of men. 

Others our Hind of folly will indite, U1 ° 

To entertain a dangerous guest by night. 
Let those remember, that she cannot die 
'Till rolling time is lost in round eternity ; 
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed, 
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaim'd : 
The wary savage would not give offence, m6 

To forfeit the protection of her Prince ; 
But watch'd the time her vengeance to com- 
plete, 
When all her furry sons in frequent Senate 

met; 
Meanwhile she quench'd her fury at the flood, 
And with a lenten sallad cool'd her blood. ml 
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing 

scant, 
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want. 

For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove 
To express her plain simplicity of love, 1325 

Did all the honours of her house so well, 
No sharp debates disturb'd the friendly meal. 
She turn'd the talk, avoiding that extreme, 
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme ; 
Rememb'ring every storm which toss'd the state, 
When both were objects of the public hate, 1331 
And dropp'd a tear betwixt for her own children's 
fate. 

Nor fail'd she then a full review to make 
Of what the Panther suffer'd for her sake : 
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care, 1335 

Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir, 
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy ; 
Her choice of honourable infamy. 
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged ; 
Then with acknowledgment herself she charged ; 
For friendship, of itself an holy tie, , 1341 

Is made more sacred by adversity. 
Now should they part, malicious tongues would 

say, 
They met like chance companions on the way, 
Whom mutual fear of robbers had possess'd ; 1345 
While danger lasted, kindness was profess'd ; 
But that once o'er, the short-lived union ends : 
The road divides, and there divide the friends. 

The Panther nodded when her speech was done, 
And thank'd her coldly in a hollow tone : 1360 

But said her gratitude had gone too far 
For common offices of Christian care. 
If to the lawful heir she had been true, 
She paid but Caesar what was Caesar's due. 
I might, she added, with like praise describe 1356 
Your suffering sons, and so return your bribe : 
But incense from my hands is poorly prized ; 
For gifts are scorn'd where givers are despised. 
I served a turn, and then was cast away ; 
You, like the gaudy fly, your wings display, 136 ° 
And sip the sweets, and bask in your great 
patron's day. 

This heard, the matron was not slow to find 
What sort of malady had seized her mind : 



Ver. 1346. While danger lasted, kindness was profess'd ; 
But that once o'er, the short-lived union ends:~\ 

" Metus et terror imprime vincula caritatis, quae ubi 
removeris timere incipias." — Sallust, I believe. John 
Wabton. 



Disdain, with gnawing envy, fell despite, 

And canker'd malice stood in open sight : 13M 

Ambition, interest, pride without control, 

And jealousy, the jaundice of the soul; 

Revenge, the bloody minister of ill, 

With all the lean torrnenters of the will. 

'Twas easy now to guess from whence arose 13W 

Her new-made union with her ancient foes, 

Her forced civilities, her faint embrace, 

Affected kindness with an alter'd face : 

Yet durst she not too deeply probe the wound, 

As hoping still the nobler parts were sound : I375 

But strove with anodynes to assuage the smart, 

And mildly thus her medicine did impart. 

_ Complaints of lovers help to ease their pain; 
It shows a rest of kindness to complain ; 
A friendship loth to quit its former hold ; I38 ° 

And conscious merit may be justly bold. 
But much more just your jealousy would show, 
If other's good were injury to you : 
Witness, ye heavens, how I rejoice to see 
Rewarded worth and rising loyalty. 13S5 

Your warrior offspring that upheld the crown, 
The scarlet honour of your peaceful gown. 
Are the most pleasing objects I can find, 
Charms to my sight, and cordials to my mind : 
When virtue spooms before a prosperous gale, 
My heaving wishes help to fill the sail ; I391 

And if my prayers for all the brave were heard, 
Caesar should still have such, and such should still 

reward. 
The labour'd earth your pains have sow'd and 

tilfd; 
'Tis just you reap the product of the field : 1395 
Your's be the harvest, 'tis the beggar's gain 
To glean the fallings of theloaded wain. 
Such scatter'd ears as are not worth your care, 
Your charity, for alms, may safely spare, 
For alms are but the vehicles of prayer. 1400 

My daily bread is literally implored ; 
I have no barns nor granaries to hoard. 
If Caesar to his own his hand extends, 
Say which of youi'S his charity offends : 
You know he largely gives to more than are his 

friends. 14u5 

Are you defrauded, when he feeds the poor ] 
Our mite decreases nothing of your store. 
I am but few, and by your fare you see 
My crying sins are not of luxury. 
Some juster motive sure your mind withdraws, 
And makes you break our friendship's holy 

laws ; 1411 

For barefaced envy is too base a cause. 

Show more occasion for your discontent ; 
Your love, the Wolf, would help you to invent : 
Some German quarrel, or, as times go now, 1<1 ' 
Some French, where force is uppermost, will do. 
When at the fountain's head, as merit ought 
To claim the place, you take a swilling draught, 
How easy 'tis an envious eye to throw, 
And tax the sheep for troubling streams below ; 
Or call her (when no farther cause you find) 1421 
An enemy profess'd of all your kind. 
But then, perhaps, the wicked world would think, 
The Wolf dosign'd to eat as well as drink. 



Ver. 1373. Affected kindness with an alter'd face ;] " And 
harsh Unkindness' alter'd eye." — Gray. John Wabton. 

Ver. 1400. For alms are but, &c.~] And alms, &c. Orig. 
edit. Todd. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



119 



This last allusion gall'd the Panther more, 1425 
Because indeed it rubb'd upon the sore. 
Yet seem'd she not to winch, though shrewdly 

pain'd : 
But thus her passive character maintain'd. 

I never grudged, whate'er my foes report, 
Your flaunting fortune in the Lion's court. uw 
You have your day, or you are much belied, 
But I am always on the suffering side : 
You know my doctrine, and I need not say 
I will not, but I cannot disobey. 
On this firm principle I ever stood ; 143 ° 

He of my sons who fails to make it good, 
By one rebellious act renounces to my blood. 

Ah, said the Hind, how many sons have you 
Who call you mother, whom you never knew ! 
But most of them who that relation plead, 1440 
Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead. 
They gape at rich revenues which you hold, 
And fain would nibble at your grandame gold ; 
Enquire into your years, and laugh to find 
Your crazy temper shows you much declined. 144a 
Were you not dim and doted, you might see 
A pack of cheats that claim a pedigree, 
No more of kin to you, than you to me. 
Do you not know, that, for a little coin, 
Heralds can foist a name into the line : 1450 

They ask you blessing but for what you have, 
But once possess'd of what with care you save, 
The wanton boys would piss upon your grave. 

Your sons of latitude that court your grace, 
Though most resembling you in form and lace, 14i5 
Are far the worst of your pretended race. 
And, but I blush your honesty to blot, 
Pray God you prove them lawfully begot : 
For in some Popish libels I have read, 
The Wolf has been too busy in your bed; 14C0 

At least their hinder parts, the belly-piece, 
The paunch, and all that Scorpio claims, are Ms. 
Their malice too a sore suspicion brings ; 
For though they dare not bark, they snarl at 

kings : 
Nor blame them for intruding in your line ; 1405 
Fat bishopricks are still of right divine. 

Think you your new French proselytes are come 
To starve abroad, because they starved at home ? 
Your benefices twinkled from afar ; 
They found the new Messiah by the star : 14 '"° 

Those Swisses fight on any side for pay, 
And 'tis the living that conforms, not they. 
Mark with what management their tribes divide, 
Some stick to you, and some to t'other side, 
That many churches may for many mouths 
provide. W 6 

More vacant pulpits would more converts make ; 
All would have latitude enough to take : 
The rest unbeneficed your sects maintain; 
For ordinations without cures are vain, 
Ami chamber practice is a silent gain. 14so 

Your sons of breadth at home are much like 

these; 
Their soft and yielding metals run with ease : 
Thej melt, and take the figure of the mould ; 
But harden and preserve it best in gold. 

Your Delphic sword, the Panther then replied, 
Is double-edged, and cuts on either side. 1480 

Ver. 1467. your ncto French protelules, &C.1 The 

r '' 1 " s ""it came over to England after the revocation of 

tin' edict of Niuit/.. Derrick. 



Some sons of mine, who bear upon their shield 

Three steeples argent in a sable field, 

Have sharply tax'd your converts, who, unfed, 

Have follow'd you for miracles of bread ; 14% 

Such who themselves of no religion are, 

Allured with gain, for any will declare. 

Bare lies with bold assertions they can face ; 

But dint of argument is out of place. 

The grim logician puts them in a fright ; 1495 

'Tis easier far to flourish than to fight. 

Thus our eighth Henry's marriage they defame ; 

They say the schism of beds began the game, 

Divorcing from the Church to wed the dame : 

Though largely proved, and by himself profess'd, 

That conscience, conscience would not let him 

rest ; >*» 

I mean, not till possess'd of her he loved, 
And old, uncharming Catherine was removed. 
For sundry years before he did complain, 
And told his ghostly confessor his pain. 1505 

With the same impudence, without a ground, 
They say, that look the Reformation round, 
No Treatise of Humility is found. 
But if none were, the gospel does not want ; 
Our Saviour preach'd it, and I hope you grant, 1510 
The Sermon on the Mount was Protestant. 

No doubt, replied the Hind, as sure as all 
The writings of Saint Peter and Saint Paul : 
On that decision let it stand or fall. 
Now for my converts, who, you say, unfed, 15 ' 5 
Have follow'd me for miracles of bread ; 
Judge not by hearsay, but observe at least, 
If since their change their loaves have been 

increased. 
The Lion buys no converts ; if he did, 
Beasts would be sold as fast as he could bid. 152 ° 
Tax those of interest who conform for gain, 
Or stay the market of another reign : 
Your broad-way sons would never be too nice 
To close with Calvin, if he paid their price ; 
But, raised three steeples higher, would change 

their note, I62i 

And quit the cassock for the canting-coat. 
Now, if you damn this censure, as too bold, 
Judge by yourselves, and think not others sold. 
Meantime my sons accused, by fame's report, 
Pay small attendance at the Lion's court, 153 ° 

Nor rise with early crowds, nor flatter late ; 
(For silently they beg, who daily wait.) 
Preferment is bestow'd, that comes unsought ; 
Attendance is a bribe, and then 'tis bought. 
How they should speed, their fortune is untried; 
For not to ask, is not to bo denied. Ii36 

For what they have, their God and King they 

bless, 
And hope they should not murmur, had they less. 
But, if reduced subsistence to implore, 
In common prudence they would pass your 

door. 154 ° 

Unpitied Hudibras, your champion friend, 
Has shown how far your charities extend. 
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read, 
" He shamed you living, and upbraids you 

dead." 
With odious atheist names you load your 

foes ; IWS 

Your liberal Clergy why did I expo 
It nevor fails iu charities like those, 
lit cliiiH's where true Religion is profess'd, 
That imputation were no I tughing jest. 



120 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 






But Imprimatur, with a chaplain's name, 155 ° 

Is here sufficient licence to defame. 
What wonder is 't that black detraction thrives ; 
The homicide of names is less than lives ; 
And yet the perjured murderer survives. 

This said, she paused a little, and suppress'd 1555 
The boiling indignation of her breast. 
She knew the virtue of her blade, nor would 
Pollute her satire with ignoble blood : 
Her panting foe she saw before her eye, 
And back she drew the shining weapon dry. 1500 
So when the generous Lion has in sight 
His equal match, he rouses for the fight ; 
But when his foe lies prostrate on the plain, 
He sheathes his paws, uncurls his angry mane, 
And, pleased with bloodless honours of the day. 
Walks over and disdains the inglorious prey. 1566 
So James, if great with less we may compare, 
Arrests his rolling thunder-bolts in air ; 
And grants ungrateful friends a lengthen'd 

space, 
To implore the remnants of long-suffering grace. 
This breathing-time the matron took ; and 

then W 

Resumed the thread of her discourse again. 
Be vengeance wholly left to powers divine, 
And let Heaven judge betwixt your sons and 

mine : 
If joys hereafter must be purchased here 1575 

With loss of all that mortals hold so dear, 
Then welcome infamy and public shame, 
And, last, a long farewell to worldly fame. 
'Tjs said with ease, but, oh, how hardly tried 
By haughty souls to human honour tied ! 15ao 

Oh, sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride ! 
Down then, thou rebel, never more to rise, 
And what thou didst, and dost, so dearly prize, 
That fame, that darling fame, make that thy 

sacrifice. 
'Tis nothing thou hast given, then add thy tears 
For a long race of unrepenting years : - 1536 
'Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give : 
Then add those may-be years thou hast to live : 
Yet nothing still ; then poor, and naked come, 
Thy father will receive his unthrift home, 1M0 
And thy blest Saviour's blood discharge the 

mighty sum. 
Thus (she pursued) I discipline a son, 
Whose uncheck'd fury to revenge would ran ; 
He champs the bit, impatient of his loss, 
And starts aside, and flounders at the cross. 1595 
Instruct him better, gracious God, to know, 
As thine is vengeance, so forgiveness too : 
That, suffering from ill tongues, he bears no 

more 
Than what his Sovereign bears, and what his 

Saviour bore. 
It now remains for you to school your child, 
And ask why God's anointed he reviled ; 1601 

A King and Princess dead ! did Shimei worse 1 
The curser's punishment should fright the curse : 
Your son was warn'd, and wisely gave it o'er, 
But he, who counsell'd hirn, has paid the score : 
The heavy malice could no higher tend, 1606 

But woe to him on whom the weights descend. 



Ver. 1559. Her panting foe she saw before her eye,l The 
original edition has — 

Her panting foes she saw before her lye. 



So to permitted ill3 the daemon flies ; 

His rage is aim'd at him who rules the skies : 

Constrain'd to quit his cause, no succour found, 

The foe discharges every tire around, 1611 

In clouds of smoke abandoning the fight ; 

But his own thundering peals proclaim his 

flight. 
In Henry's change his charge as ill succeeds ; 
To that long story little answer needs : 16ls 

Confront but Henry's words with Henry's deeds. 
Were space allow'd, with ease it might be proved, 
What springs his blessed reformation moved. 
The dire effects appear'd in open sight, 
Which from the cause he calls a distant flight, 
And yet no larger leap than from the sun to 

light. ™ 

Now last your sons a double pasan sound, 
A Treatise of Humility is found. 
'Tis found, but better it had ne'er been sought, 
Than thus in Protestant procession brought. 16iffi 
The famed original through Spain is known, 
Rodriguez' work, my celebrated son, 
Which yours, by ill-translating, made his own ; 
Conceal'd its author, and usurp'd the name, 
The basest and ignoblest theft of fame. 1630 

My altars kindled first that living coal ; 
Restore, or practise better what you stole : 
That virtue could this humble verse inspire, 
'Tis all the restitution I require. 

Glad was the Panther that the charge was 

closed, w* 

And none of all her fav'rite sons exposed. 
For laws of arms permit each injured man 
To make himself a saver where he can. 
Perhaps the plunder'd merchant cannot tell 
The names of pirates in whose hands he fell ; 1MC 
But at the den of thieves he justly flies, 
And every Algerine is lawful prize. 
No private person in the foe's estate 
Can plead exemption from the public fate. 
Yet Christian laws allow not such redress ; 1645 
Then let the greater supersede the less. 
But let the abettors of the Panther's crime 
Learn to make fairer wars another time. 
Some characters may sure be found to write 
Among her sons ; for 'tis no common sight, 165C 
A spotted dam, and all her offspring white. 

The savage, though she saw her plea controll'd, 
Yet would not wholly seem to quit her hold, 
But offer'd fairly to compound the strife, 
And judge conversion by the convert's life. 16M 
'Tis time, she said, I think it somewhat strange, 
So few should follow profitable change : 
For present joys are more to flesh and blood, 
Than a dull prospect of a distant good. 
'Twas well alluded by a son of mine, 166 ° 

(I hope to quote him is not to purloin) 
Two magnets, heaven and earth, allure to bliss; 
The larger loadstone that, the nearer this : 
The weak attraction of the greater fails ; 
We nod a while, but neighbourhood prevails : 1665 
But when the greater proves the nearer too, 
I wonder more your converts come so slow. 
Methinks in those who firm with me remain, 
It shows a nobler principle than gain. 

Your inference would be strong (the Hind 

replied) m0 

If yours were in effect the suffering side : 
Your clergy sons their own in peace possess, 
Nor are their prospects in reversion less. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



121 



My proselytes are struck with awful dread ; 
Your bloody comet-laws hang blazing o'er their 
head : 167i 

The respite they enjoy but only lent, 
The best they have to hope, protracted punish- 
ment. 
Be judge yourself, if interest may prevail, 
Which motives, yours or mine, will turn the 

scale. 
While pride and pomp allure, and plenteous 
ease, lm 

That is, till man's predominant passions cease, 
Admire no longer at my slow increase. 

By education most have been misled ; 
So they believe, because they so were bred. 
The priest continues what the nurse began, 1685 
And thus the child imposes on the man. 
The rest I named before, nor need repeat : 
But interest is the most prevailing cheat, 
The sly seducer both of age and youth ; 
They study that, and think they study truth. 1690 
When interest fortifies an argument, 
Weak reason serves to gain the will's assent ; 
For souls, already warp'd, receive an easy bent. 
Add long prescription of establish'd laws, 
And pique of honour to maintain a cause, 1695 

And shame of change, and fear of future ill, 
And zeal, the blind conductor of the .will ; 
And chief, among the still-mistaking crowd, 
The fame of teachers obstinate and proud, 
And, more than all, the private judge allow'd ; 
Disdain of Fathers which the dance began, 1701 
And last, uncertain whose the narrower span, 
The clown unread, and half-read gentleman. 

To this the Panther, with a scornful smile : 
Yet still you travel with unwearied toil, I7 ° 5 

And range around the realm without control, 
Among my sons for proselytes to prowl, 
And here and there you snap some silly souL 
You hinted fears of future change in state ; 
Pray Heaven you did not prophesy your fate. 171 ° 
Perhaps, you think your time of triumph near, 
But may mistake the season of the year ; 
The Swallow's fortune gives you cause to fear. 

For charity, replied the matron, tell 
What sad mischance those pretty birds befel. 17a5 

Nay, no mischance, the savage dame replied, 
But want of wit in their unerring guide, 
And eager haste, and gaudy hopes, and giddy 

pride. 
Yet, wishing timely warning may prevail, 
Make you the moral, and I '11 tell the tale. 1 ' 20 

The Swallow, privileged above the rest 
Of all the birds, as man's familiar guest, 
Pursues the sun, in summer brisk and bold, 
But wisely shuns the persecuting cold : 
Is well to chancels and to chimneys known, ] ' i5 
Though 'tis not thought she feeds on smoke alone. 

Ver. 1701. Disdain of Fathers] The opinions and au- 
thority of the primitive Fathers 1ms heen much questioned 
and diminished by many able and learned writers, but by 

" more so than by Daille, Le Clerc, liarheyrac, and 

Middleton, and above all, by Dr. Whitby, in his Disserta- 
tio de S. Scripturarum Interpretatione, printed in London, 
1711. Mosheim has with much candour confessed, that the 
Fathers abound with precepts of an excessive and unrea- 
sonable austerity, with stoical and academical dictates, 
vague and indeterminate notions, and, what is yet worse, 
with decisions that are absolutely false, and in evident op- 
lon to the precepts of Christ; of which he gives two 
noes, tlmt of holding the error of a double doctrine, 
and maintaining that it was lawful to deceive and lie, if by 



From hence she has been held of heavenly line, 
Endued with particles of soul divine. 
This rnerry chorister had long possess'd 
Her summer seat, and feather'd well her nest : 
Till frowning skies began to change their 
cheer, 1731 

And time turn'd up the wrong side of the year ; 
The shedding trees began the ground to strow 
With yellow leaves, and bitter blasts to blow. 
Sad auguries of winter thence she drew, 1736 

Which, by instinct, or prophecy, she knew : 
When prudence warn'd her to remove betimes, 
And seek a better heaven, and warmer climes. 

Her sons were summon'd on a steeple's height, 
And, call'd in common council, vote a flight; 
The day was named, the next that should be 
fair : 1 " 1 

All to the general rendezvous repair, 
They try their fluttering wings, and trust them- 
selves in air. 



that means the interest of the Church might be promoted. 
To which may be added, their forced and fanciful, and alle- 
gorical explications of some of the most important facts in 
the sacred Scriptures. — Buddeeus has, in a treatise entitled, 
Isagoge ad Theologiam, discussed the question of what au- 
thority is due to the works of the Fathers. But it is difficult 
for him to defend Ambrose and Hilary, Augustin. Gregory 
Nazianzen, and Jerome, from the charge above mentioned, 
of the utility and propriety of using pious frauds in sub- 
jects of religion. I will just add, that the errors and ab- 
surdities of Jerome are pointed out aud exposed with great 
force and ability by Le Clerc, in Quasstiones lliei'onymiange, 
1700. But no writer has, on the whole, spoken of the merits 
and demerits of the primitive Fathers with so much temper 
and truth as the learned Dr. Jortin. St. Cyprian, in his 
exhortation to martyrdom, after having applied the myste- 
rious number, seven, to the seven days of the creation, to the 
seven thousand years of the world's duration, to the seven 
spirits that stand before God, to the seven lamps of the taber- 
nacle, to the seven candlesticks of the Apocalypse, to the seven 
pillars of wisdom, to the seven children of the barren woman, 
to the seven women who took one man for their husband, to 
the seven brothers of the Maccabees, observes, that St. Paul 
mentions that number as a privileged number; which, says 
he, is the reason why he did not write but to seven churches. 
St Gregory of Nyssa, St. Ambrose, St. Chrysostom himself, 
and St. Jerome, all wrote in praise of virginity and celi- 
bacy, and said that state was as superior to wedlock as 
angels are to men. St. Jerome, in his Commentary on 
St. Matthew, xxiii. 35, clearly, and without reserve, justifies 
the propriety and lawfulness of using pious frauds in de- 
fending religion. This saint, it is said, was whipped by 
an angel, sent to chastise him for being fond of, and for 
imitating Cicero. But a man of wit said, it was for imitat- 
ing Cicero so inelegantly and coarsely. 

Among other absurd allegorical interpretations of the 
Fathers, Gregory Nazianzen affirms, that the brazen ser- 
pent, which Moses set up in the wilderness, was not a type 
of Christ's body suffering for us, but of the serpent destroyed 
and dead by the death of Christ, and giving us assurance 
of our life and salvation, by being exhibited to us as van- 
quished and lifeless himself. This interpretation is as 
puerile and groundless as what St. Ambrose says of Balaam's 
ass, upbraiding her master in plain articulate words ; as 
giving us to understand in a figure, that in the last days, 
upon the advent of the great angel of God, the Gentiles 
also should speak, which were before but as dumb asses. 
In Luc. 1. 1. the story of Balaam's ass has been the occasion 
of many absurd, and indeed some profane comments and 
observations. Dr. J. Wakton'. 

Ver. 1727. From hence she has been held of heavenly line, 
Endued with particles of soul divine.'] 
" Esse apihus partem divina; mentis, et haustus 
ulithereos dixere." — Georg. iv. 220. 

John Wakton. 

Ver. 1728. Endued with particles of soul divine.] Horace, 
Serm. lib. 2. ii. 70. 
" Atque adfliget humo divina; particulam anne." Todd. 
Ver. 1732. And time turn'd up the wrong side of the year; 

" Inversum contristat aquarius annnm." 

John Wakton. 



122 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



But whether upward to the moon they go, 

Or dream the winter out in caves below, 1745 

Or hawk at flies elsewhere, concerns us not to 

know. 
Southwards, you may be sure, they bent their 

flight, 
And harbour'd in a hollow rock at night : 
Next morn they rose, and set up every sail ; 
The wind was fair, but blew a mackerel gale : 1750 
The sickly young sat shivering on the shore, 
Abhorr'd salt water never seen before, 
And pray'd their tender mothers to delay 
The passage, and expect a fairer day. 

With these the Martin readily concurr'd, I7M 
A church-begot, and church-believing bird : 
Of little body, but of lofty mind, 
Round-bellied, for a dignity design'd, 
And much a dunce, as Martins are by kind. 
Yet often quoted Canon-laws, and Code, l7M 

And Fathers which he never understood ; 
But little learning needs in noble blood. 
For, sooth to say, the Swallow brought him in, 
Her household chaplain, and her next of kin : 
In superstition silly to excess, 1?6S 

And casting schemes by planetary guess : 
In fine, short-wing'd, unfit himself to fly, 
His fear foretold foul weather in the sky. 
Besides, a Raven from a wither'd oak, 
Left of their lodging, was observed to croak. 1 "° 
That omen liked him not ; so his advice 
Was present safety, bought at any price ; 
(A seeming pious care, that cover'd cowardice.) 
To strengthen this, he told a boding dream, 
Of rising waters, and a troubled stream, 1775 

Sure signs of anguish, dangers, and distress, 
With something more, not lawful to express : 
By which he slily seem'd to intimate 
Some secret revelation of their fate. 
For he concluded, once upon a time, 1 ' s0 

He found a leaf inscribed with sacred rhyme, 
Whose antique characters did well denote , 
The Sibyl's hand of the Cuma?an grot : 
The mad divineress had plainly writ, 
A time should come (but many ages yet) 1 " 85 

In which, sinister destinies ordain, 
A dame should drown with all her feather'd train, 
And seas from thence be call'd the Chelidonian 

main. 
At this, some shook for fear, the more devout 
Arose, and bless'd themselves from head to foot. 

'Tis true, some stagers of the wiser sort 1791 
Made all these idle wonderments their sport : 
They said, their only danger was delay, 
And he, who heard what every fool could say, 
Would never fix his thought, but trim his time 

away. 1795 

The passage yet was good ; the wind, 'tis true, 
Was somewhat high, but that was nothing new, 
No more than usual equinoxes blew. 
The sun (already from the Scales declined) 
Gave little hopes of better days behind, isoo 

But change from bad to worse of weather and of 

wind. 



Ver. 1769. Besides, a Raven from a wither'd oak, 

Left of their lodging, was observed to croak.] 

" Ante sinistra cava prsdixit ab ilice cornix." Vir°\ 

John Warton. 
Ver. 1776. Sure signs of anguish,] Sign. Original edition. 

Todd. 



Nor need they fear the dampness of the sky 
Should flag their wings, and hinder them to fly, 
'Twas only water thrown on sails too dry. 
B-ut, least of all, philosophy presumes 1805 

Of truth in dreams, from melancholy fumes : 
Perhaps the Martin, housed in holy ground, 
Might think of ghosts that walk their midnight 

round, 
'Till grosser atoms, tumbling in the stream 
Of fancy, madly met, and clubb'd into a dream : 1810 
As little weight his vain presages bear, 
Of ill effect to such alone who fear ; 
Most prophecies are of a piece with these, 
Each Nostradamus can foretel with ease : 
Not naming persons, and confounding times, 1815 
One casual truth supports a thousand lying 

rhymes. 
The advice was true ; but fear had seized the 

most, 
And all good counsel is on cowards lost. 
The question crudely put to shun delay, 
'Twas carried by the major part to stay. 1S2 ° 

His point thus gain'd, Sir Martin dated thence 
His power, and from a priest became a prince. 
He order'd all things with a busy care, 
And cells and refectories did prepare, 
And large provisions laid of winter fare : 1825 

But now and then let fall a word or two 
Of hope, that Heaven some miracle might show, 
And for their sakes the sun should backward go ; 
Against the laws of nature upward climb, 
And, mounted on the Ram, renew the prime : 1830 
For which two proofs in sacred story lay, 
Of Ahaz' dial, and of Joshua's day. 
In expectation of such times as these, 
A chapel housed them, truly call'd of ease : 
For Martin much devotion did not ask ; 1835 

They pray'd sometimes, and that was all their 

task. 
It happen'd (as beyond the reach of wit 
Blind prophecies may have a lucky hit) 
That this accomplish d, or at least in part, 
Gave great repute to their new Merlin's art. 1840 
Some Swifts*, the giants of the Swallow kind, 
Large-limb'd, stout-hearted, but of stupid mind, 
(For Swisses, or for Gibeonites design'd) 
These lubbers, peeping through a broken pane, 
To suck fresh air, survey'd the neighbouring 

plain ; lsi5 

And saw (but scarcely could believe their eyes) 
New blossoms flourish, and new flowers arise ; 
As God had been abroad, and, walking there, 
Had left his footsteps, and reform'd the year : 
The sunny hills from far were seen to glow 185 ° 
With glittering beams, and in the meads below 
The burnish'd brooks appear'd with liquid gold 

to flow. 
At last they heard the foolish Cuckoo sing, 
Whose note proclaim'd the holy-day of spring. 

No longer doubting, all prepare to fly, 185S 

And repossess their patrimonial sky. 

* Otherwise called Martlets. Original edition. 

Ver. 1842. Large-limb'd, stout-hearted, &c] Large-limi'd, 
though not a word of the most poetical sound, appears to 
have heen introduced into our poetry by Drayton, who in 
his Owle, published in 1604, has the " large-lymb' d oak." 
Milton applies this compound to Og, Psalm cxxxvi. ver. 69. 
Mnrston had before called A lcides " big-limm'd," Scjurge of 
Villanie, 1598, B. iii. Sat. viii. 

"Big-limm'd Alcides, doff thy honor's crowne." Todd 



The priest before them did his wings display ; 
And that good omens might attend their way, 
As luck would have it, 'twas St. Martin's day. 

Who but the Swallow now triumphs alone ] lsm 
The canopy of heaven is all her own : 
Her youthful offspring to their haunts repair, 
And glide along in glades, and skim in air, 
And dip for insects in the purling springs, 
And stoop on rivers to refresh their wings. 1865 
Their mothers think a fair provision made, 
That every son can live upon his trade : 
And, now the careful charge is off their hands, 
Look out for husbands, and new nuptial 

bands : 
The youthful widow longs to be supplied ; iS!0 
But first the lover is by lawyers tied 
To settle jointure-chimneys on the bride. 
So thick they couple, in so short a space, 
That Martin's marriage-offerings rise apace. 
Their ancient houses, running to decay, ls ' 5 

Are furbish'd up, and cemented with clay ; 
They teem already ; stores of eggs are laid, 
And brooding mothers call Lucina's aid. 
Fame spreads the news, and foreign fowls ap- 
pear 
In flocks to greet the new returning year, 1880 

To bless the founder, and partake the cheer. 
And now 'twas time (so fast their numbers 

rise) 
To plant abroad, and people, colonies. 
The youth drawn forth, as Martin had desired, 
(For so their cruel destiny required) 188s 

Were sent far off on an ill-fated day ; 
The rest would needs conduct them on their 

way, 
And Martin went, because he fear'd alone to 

stay. 
So long they flew with inconsiderate haste, 
That now their afternoon began to waste ; I890 
And, what was ominous, that very morn 
The sun was enter'd into Capricorn ; 
Which, by their bad astronomer's account, 
That week the Virgin balance should remount. 
An infant moon eclipsed him in his way, 1S9S 

And hid the small remainders of his day. 
The crowd, amazed, pursued no certain mark ; 
But birds mot birds, and justled in the dark : 
Few mind the public in a panic fright ; 
And fear increased the horror of the night. 19in 
Night came, but unattended with repose ; 
Alone she came, no sleep their eyes to close : 
Alone, and black she came; no friendly stars 

arose. 
What should they do, beset with dangers 

round, 
No neighbouring dorp, no lodging to be found, 190s 
But bleaky plains, and bare unhospitable ground. 
The latter brood, who just began to fly, 
Sick-feather'd, and unpractised in the sky, 
For succour to their helpless mother call ; 
She spread her wings ; some few beneath them 

crawl ; 1010 

She spread them wider yet, but could not 

cover all. 






Vcr. 1874. mrtrnVr^e-offerings, &c] The first 

m, by an evident error oi' tlie press, has offsprings. 
Todd. 

Vcr. 1887. The rest would needs conduct them] Need. 
Orig. edit. Todd. 



To augment their woes, the winds began to move 

Debate in air, for empty fields above, 

'Till Boreas got the skies, and pour'd amain 

His rattling hailstones mix'd with snow and 

rain. 1913 

The joyless morning late arose, and found 
A dreadful desolation reign around, 
Some buried in the snow, some frozen to the 

ground. 
The rest were struggling still with death, and 

lay 
The Crows' and Ravens' rights, an undefended 

prey : ™»> 

Excepting Martin's race ; for they and he 
Had gain'd the shelter of a hollow tree : 
But soon discover'd by a sturdy clown, 
He headed all the rabble of a town, 
And finish'd them with bats, or poll'd them 

down. BS5 

Martin himself was caught alive, and tried 
For treasonous crimes, because the laws provide 
No Martin there in winter shall abide. 
High on an oak, which never leaf shall bear, 
He breathed his last, exposed to open air ; 193 ° 
And there his corpse, unbless'd, is hanging still, 
To show the change of winds with his prophetic 

bill 
The patience of the Hind did almost fail ; 
For well she mark'd the malice of the tale : 
Which ribald art their Church to Luther 

owes ; l935 

In malice it began, by malice grows ; 
He sow'd the serpent's teeth, an iron-harvest rose. 
But most in Martin's character aud fate, 
She saw her slander'd sons, the Panther's hate, 
The people's rage, the persecuting state : 1940 

Then said, I take the advice in friendly part ; 
You clear your conscience, or at least your heart : 
Perhaps you fail'd in your foreseeing skill, 
For Swallows are unlucky birds to kill : 



Ver. 1931. is hanging still,"} Original edition : 

are hanging. Todd. 

Ver. 1933. Tlie patience of the Jlind,] Bnt her patience 
would have been still more exhausted, if her antagonist 
had told her, that in the dispute that arose betwLxt the 
Senate of Venice and the Church of Rome, about the year 
1615, in the time of Pope Paul the Fifth, the partisans of 
the latter, and particularly Bellarmine, maintained that 
the Pope is invested with all the authority of heaven and 
earth ; that all princes are his vassals, and that he may 
annul their laws at pleasure; that kings may appeal to 
him, as he is temporal monarch of the whole earth; 
that he can discharge subjects from their oaths of allegi- 
ance, and make it their duty to take up arms against their 
sovereign ; that he may depose kings without any fault 
committed by them, if the good of the Church requires 
it ; that the clergy are exempt from all tributes to 
kings, and are not accountable to them even in cases of 
high treason ; that the Pope cannot err ; that the Pope is 
God on earth; that his sentence and that of God are the 
same; and that to call his power in question, is to call in 
question the power of God. Though Erasmus had not the 
resolution and vigour of Luther, yet by his incomparable 
ridicule he greatly promoted the Reformation. What an 
exquisite piece of wit and satire is the dialogue entitled 
Julius Lxelusus, written certainly by Erasmus, though he 
rather denied it. See Jortin's Life, Vol. ii. p. 600. See 
Sallengru de PasquiUis, &c. This Julius was published in 
1669, and also 16S0, at Oxon. The Panther might also 
have reminded her antagonist of a fact that she would not 
like to be told of, that there was printed and published, at 
Paris, 1689, a Relation of the Martyrdom of Brother 
Jaques Clement, in which it is affirmed, that an angel had 
appeared to him, had shown him n drawn sword, and or- 
dered him to kill the tyrant This paper is inserted in the 
Satyre Menippee. Dr. J. Wakto.v. 



124 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



As for my sons, the family is bless'd, 194S 

Whose every child is equal to the rest : 

No Church reform'd can boast a blameless line ; 

Such Martins build in yours, and more than mine : 

Or else an old fanatic author lies, 

Who summ'd their scandals up by centuries. 

But through your parable I plainly see a9o ° 

The bloody laws, the crowd's barbarity ; 

The sunshine that offends the purblind sight : 

Had some their wishes, it would soon be night. 

Mistake me not : the charge concerns not you : 1955 

Your sons are malecontents, but yet are true, 

As far as non-resistance makes them so ; 

But that 's a word of neutral sense, you know, 

A passive term, which no relief will bring, 

But trims betwixt a rebel and a king. 196 ° 

Rest well assured, the Pardelis replied, 
My sons would all support the regal side, 
Though Heaven forbid the cause by battle should 
be tried. 

The matron answer'd with a loud Amen, 
And thus pursued her argument again. 19M 

If, as you say, and as I hope no less, 
Your sons will practise what yourselves profess, 
What angry power prevents our present peace ] 
The Lion, studious of our common good, 
Desires (and Kings' desires are ill withstood) W 
To join our nations in a lasting love; 
The bars betwixt are easy to remove ; 
For sanguinary laws were never made above. 
If you condemn that prince of tyranny, 
Whose mandate forced your Gallic friends 
to fly, ws 

Make not a worse example of your own ; 
Or cease to rail at causeless rigour shown, 
And let the guiltless person throw the stone. 
His blunted sword your suffering brotherhood 
Have seldom felt ; he stops it short of blood : 19S0 
But you have ground the persecuting knife, 
And set it to a razor-edge on life. 
Cursed be the wit, which cruelty refines, , 
Or to his father's rod the scorpion joins ; 
Your finger is more gross than the great monarch's 
loins. 1985 

But you, perhaps, remove that bloody note, 
And stick it on the first Reformers' coat. 
Oh, let their crime in long oblivion sleep : 
'Twas theirs indeed to make, 'tis yours to keep. 
Unjust, or just, is all the question now ; 1990 

'Tis plain, that not repealing you allow. 

To name the Test would put you in a rage ; 
You charge not that on any former age, 
But smile to think how innocent you stand, 
Arm'd by a weapon put into your hand. 1995 

Yet still remember, that you wield a sword 
Forged by your foes against your Sovereign Lord ; 
Design'd to hew the imperial cedar down, 
Defraud succession, and dis-heir the crown. 
To abhor the makers, and their laws approve, 200 ° 
Is to hate traitors, and the treason love. 
What means it else, which now your children say, 
We made it not, nor will we take away 1 

Suppose some great oppressor had, by slight 
Of law, disseised your brother of his right, £U05 
Your common sire surrendering in a fright ; 
Would you to that unrighteous title stand, 
Left by the villain's will to heir the land £ 



Ver. 1967. 



Original edition. Todd. 



what yourselves profess,"] Yourself. 



More just was Judas, who his Saviour sold ; 
The sacrilegious bribe he could not hold, mo 

Nor hang in peace, before he render'd back the 

gold. 
What more could you have done, than now you do, 
Had Oates and Bedlow, and their plot been true? 
Some specious reasons for those wrongs were 

found; «>14 

The dire magicians threw their mists around, 
And wise men walk'd as on enchanted ground. 
But now, when Time has made the imposture plain, 
(Late though he follow'd Truth, and limping held 

her train) 
What new delusion charms your cheated eyes 

again ? 
The painted harlot might a while bewitch, 2020 
But why the hag uncased, and all obscene with 

itch? 
The first Reformers were a modest race ; 
Our peers possess'd in peace their native place ; 
And when rebellious arms o'erturn'd the state, 
They suffer'd only in the common fate : ^^ 

But now the Sovereign mounts the regal chair, 
And mitred seats are full, yet David's bench is 

bare. 
Your answer is, they were not dispossess'd ; 
They need but rub their metal on the test 
To prove their ore : 'twere well if gold alone 2030 
Were touch'd and tried on your discerning stone ; 
But that unfaithful Test unfound will pass 
The dross of Atheists, and sectarian brass : 
As if the experiment were made to hold 
For base productions, and reject the gold. 2035 
Thus men ungodded may to places rise, 
And sects may be preferr'd without disguise : 
No danger to the Church or State from these ; 
The Papist only has his writ of ease. 
No gainful office gives him the pretence 2<M0 

To grind the subject, or defraud the prince. 
Wrong conscience, or no conscience, may deserve 
To thrive, but ours alone is privileged to sterve. 
Still thank yourselves, you cry; your noble race 
We banish not, but they forsake the place ; 204s 
Our doors are open : true, but ere they come, 
You toss your 'censing Test, and fume the room ; 
As if 'twere Toby's rival to expel, 
And fright the fiend who could not bear the 

smell. 
To this the Panther sharply had replied ; 205 ° 
But, having gain'd a verdict on her side, 
She wisely gave the loser leave to chide ; 
Well satisfied to have the But and Peace, 
And for the plaintiffs cause she cared the less, 
Because she sued in forrad pauperis ; aoss 

Yet thought it decent something should be said ; 
For secret guilt by silence is betray'd. 
So neither granted all, nor much denied, 
But answer'd with a yawning kind of pride : 
Methinks such terms of proffer'd peace you 

bring, **> 

As once iEneas to the Italian king : 
By long possession all the land is mine ; 
You strangers come with your intruding line, 
To share my sceptre, which you call to join. 
You plead like him an ancient pedigree, 2065 

And claim a peaceful seat by fate's decree. 



Ver. 2039. The Papist only has his writ of ease."] By the 
Test Act transubstantiation is to be abjured, a principal 
tenet of the Papists. Derrick. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



125 



In ready pomp your sacrificer stands, 
To unite the Trojan and the Latin bands, 
And, that the league more firmly may be tied, 
Demand the fair Lavinia for your bride. 20 '° 

Thus plausibly you veil the intended wrong, 
But still you bring your exiled gods along ; 
And will endeavour, in succeeding space, 
Those household puppets on our hearths to place. 
Perhaps some barbarous laws have been pre- 
ferred; 2( ' 75 
I spake against the Test, but was not heard ; 
These to rescind, and peerage to restore, 
My gracious Sovereign would my vote implore : 
I owe him much, but owe my conscience more. 
Conscience is then your plea, replied the 
dame, 2U80 
Which, well inform'd, will ever be the same. 
But yours is much of the cameleon hue, 
To change the dye with every distant view. 
When first the Lion sat with awful sway, 
Your conscience taught your duty to obey : 20<i5 
He might have had your Statutes and your Test ; 
No conscience but of subjects was profess'd. 
He found your temper, and no farther tried, 
But on that broken reed, your Church, relied. 
In vain the sects assay'd their utmost art, 209 ° 
With offer'd treasure to espouse their part ; 
Their treasures were a bribe too mean to move 

his heart. 
But when, by long experience, you had proved, 
How far he could forgive, how well he loved ; 
A goodness that excell'd his godlike race, m 

And only short of Heaven's unbounded grace ; 
A flood of mercy that o'erflow'd our isle, 
Calm in the rise, and fruitful as the Nile ; 
Forgetting whence our Egypt was supplied, 
You thought your Sovereign bound to send the 
tide : 21l ° 

Nor upward look'd on that immortal spring, 
But vainly deem'd, he durst not be a king : 
Then conscience, unrestrain'd by fear, began 
To stretch her limits, and extend the span ; 
Did his indulgence as her gift dispose, 2105 

And made a wise alliance with her foes. 
Can Conscience own the associating name, 
And raise no blushes to conceal her shame 1 
For sure she has been thought a bashful dame. 
But if the cause by battle should be tried, 2U0 
You grant she must espouse the regal side : 
Oh Proteus conscience, never to be tied ! 
What Phoebus from the Tripod shall disclose, 
Which are, in last resort, your friends or foes? 
Homer, who loam'd the language of the sky, - 115 
The seeming Gordian knot would soon untie ; 
Immortal powers the term of Conscience know, 
But Interest is her name with men below. 

Conscience or Interest be 't, or both in one, 
(The Panther answer'd in a surly tone) 2120 

Vor. 2083. with every distant vievj.\ The original 

edition lias — with every different view. Todd. 

V cr. 2098. fruitful as the Nile ;] The religious 

rites i\n(l notions of any country, that are founded on the 
physical statu of that country, continue notwithstanding all 
external changes of religion. The Nile in Egypt, and the 
Ganges in India, are still adored, notwithstanding the 
establishment of Mahometism. The. difficulties of convert- 
ing the Hindoos and some other Indian castes, and the 
Chinese, seem almost insuperable, without supernatural 
aid. Dr. J. Wartok. 

Ver. 210G. And made a wise alliance, &c.l Orig. edit. 
Todd. 



The first commands me to maintain the crown, 
The last forbids to throw my barriers down. 
Our penal laws no sons of yours admit, 
Our Test excludes your tribe from benefit. 
These are my banks your ocean to withstand, 2V2i 
Which proudly rising overlooks the land ; 
And, once let in, with unresisted sway, 
Would sweep the pastors and their flocks away. 
Think not my judgment leads me to comply 
With laws unjust, but hard necessity : 2130 

Imperious need, which cannot be withstood, 
Makes ill authentic, for a, greater good. 
Possess your soul with patience, and attend : 
A more auspicious planet may ascend ; 
Good fortune may present some happier time, 
With means to cancel my unwilling crime ; 2la 
(Unwilling, witness all ye Powers above) 
To mend my errors, and redeem your love : 
That little space you safely may allow ; 
Your all-dispensing power protects you now. - uo 

Hold, said the Hind, 'tis needless to explain; 
You would postpone me to another reign ; 
'Till when you are content to be unjust : 
Your part is to possess, and mine to trust. 
A fair exchange proposed of future chance, 2I45 
For present profit and inheritance. 

Few words will serve to finish our disputo ; 
Who will not now repeal, would persecute. 
To ripen green revenge your hopes attend, 
Wishing that happier planet would ascend. 215 ° 
For shame let Conscience be your plea no more : 
To will hereafter, proves she might before ; 
But she 's a bawd to gain, and holds the door. 

Your care about your banks infers a fear 
Of threatening floods and inundations near : 2la5 
If so, a just reprise would only be 
Of what the land usurp'd upon the sea ; 
And all your jealousies but serve to show 
Your ground is, like your neighbour-nation, low. 
To intrench in what you grant unrighteous laws, 
Is to distrust the justice of your cause ; 2I61 

And argues that the time religion lies 
In those weak adversaries you despise. 

Tyrannic force is that which least you fear ; 
The sound is frightful in a Christian's ear: 2163 
Avert it, Heaven ! nor let that plague be sent 
To us from the dispeopled continent. 

But piety commands me to refrain ; 
Those prayers are needless in this monarch's 

reign. 
Behold ! how he protects your friends op- 
press'd, 21 '° 

Receives the banish'd, succours the distress'd : 
Behold, for you may read an honest open breast. 
He stands in day-light, and disdains to hide 
An act, to which by honour he is tied, 
A generous, laudable, and kingly pride. 2l7i 

Your Test ho would repeal, his peers restore ; 
This when he says he means, he means no more. 

Well, said the Panther, I believe him just, 

And yet 

And yet, 'tis but because you must ; 
You would be trusted, but you would not 
trust. :I80 

The Hind thus briefly ; and disdain'd to enlarge 
On power of Kings, and their superior charge, 
As Heaven's trustees before the people's choice: 
Though sure the Panther did not much rejoice 
To hear those echoes given of her once loyal 
voice. "■ 



126 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



The matron woo'd her kindness to the last, 
But could not win ; her hour of grace was pass'd. 
Whom, thus persisting, when she could not bring 
To lea ye the Wolf, and. to believe her King, 
She gave her up, and fairly wish'd her joy 2I90 
Of her late treaty with her new ally : 
Which well she hoped would more successful 

prove, 
Than was the Pigeon's and the Buzzard's love. 
The Panther ask'd, what concord there could be 
Betwixt two kinds whose natures disagree 1 2195 
The dame replied : 'Tis sung in every street, 
The common chat of gossips when they meet : 
But, since unheard by you, 'tis worth your while 
To take a wholesome tale, though told in homely 

style. 
A plain good man, whose name is under- 
stood, = 200 
(So few deserve the name of plain and good) 
Of three fair lineal lordships stood possess'd, 
And lived, as reason was, upon the best. 
Inured to hardships from his early youth, 
Much had he done, and suffer'd for his truth : 
At land and sea, in many a doubtful fight, 2206 
Was never known a more adventurous knight, 
Who oftener drew his sword, and always for the 

right. 
As fortune would (his fortune came, though 

late) 
He took possession of his just estate : 22l ° 

Nor rack'd his tenants with increase of rent ; 
Nor lived too sparing, nor too largely spent ; 
But overlook'd his hinds ; their pay was just, 
And ready, for he scorn'd to go on trust : 
Slow to resolve, but in performance quick ; B15 
So true, that he was awkward at a trick. 
For little souls on little shifts rely, 
And cowards' arts of mean expedients try ; 
The noble mind will dare do anything but lie. 
False friends (his deadliest foes) could find no 

way - ^o 

But shows of honest bluntness, to betray : 
That unsuspected plainness he believed ; 
He look'd into himself, and was deceived. 
Some lucky planet sure attends his birth, 
Or Heaven would make a miracle on earth ; 2225 
For prosperous honesty is seldom seen 
To bear so dead a weight, and yet to win. 
It looks as fate with nature's law would strive, 
To show plain-dealing once an age may thrive : 
And, when so tough a frame she could not 

bend, 223 ° 

Exceeded her commission to befriend. 

This grateful man, as Heaven increased his store, 
Gave God again, and daily fed his poor. 
His house with all convenience was purvey'd ; 
The rest he found, but raised the fabric where 

he pray'd ; 2235 

And in that sacred place his beauteous wife 
Employed her happiest hours of holy life. 

Nor did their alms extend to those alone, 
Whom common faith more strictly made their 

own ; 2239 

A sort of Doves were housed too near their hall, 
Who cross the proverb, and abound with gall. 
Though some, 'tis true, are passively inclined, 
The greater part degenerate from their kind ; 



Ver. 2218. And cowards' arts, &c] And coward arts. 
Orig. edit. Todd. 



Voracious birds, that hotly bill and breed, 
And lai'gely drink, because on salt they feed. 2246 
Small gain from them their bounteous owner 

draws ; 
Yet, bound by promise, he supports their cause, 
As corporations privileged by laws. 

That house which harbour to their kind affords, 
Was built, long since, God knows, for better 
birds ; ™ v 

But fluttering there, they nestle near the throne, 
And lodge in habitations not their own, 
By their high crops and corny gizzards known. 
Like Harpies, they could scent a plenteous 

board, 
Then to be sure they never fail'd their lord : 2265 
The rest was form, and bare attendance paid ; 
They drunk, and eat, and grudgingly obey'd. 
The more they fed, they raven'd still for more; 
They drain'd from Dan, and left Beersheba 

poor. 
All this they had by law, and none repined ; 2260 
The preference was but due to Levi's kind : 
But when some lay-preferment fell by chance, 
The Gourmands made it their inheritance. 
When once possess'd they never quit their claim ; 
For then 'tis sanctified to Heaven's high name ; 
And hallow'd thus, they cannot give consent, 
The gift should be profaned by worldly 
management. ^ 

Their flesh was never to the table served ; 
Though 'tis not thence inferr'd the birds were 

starved ; 
But that their master did not like the food, wo 
As rank, and breeding melancholy blood. 
Nor did it with his gracious nature suit, 
E'en though they were not Doves, to persecute : 
Yet he refused (nor could they take offence) 
Their glutton kind should teach him absti- 
nence. 22 " 6 
Nor consecrated grain their wheat he thought, 
Which, new from treading, in their bills they 

brought : 
But left his hinds each in his private power, 
That those who like the bran might leave the 

flour. 
He for himself, and not for others, chose, 22S0 

Nor would he be imposed on, nor impose ; 
But in their faces his devotion paid, 
And sacrifice with solemn rites was made, 
And sacred incense on his altars laid. 

Besides these jolly birds, whose corpse im- 
pure KS5 
Repaid their commons with their salt-manure ; 
Another farm he had behind his house, 
Not overstock'd, but barely for his use : 
Wherein his poor domestic poultry fed, 
And from his pious hands received their bread. 
Our pamper'd Pigeons, with malignant eyes, 2291 
Beheld these inmates, and their nurseries : 
Though hard their fare, at evening, and at morn, 
A cruse of water and an ear of corn ; 
Yet still they grudged that modicum, and 
thought ** 
A sheaf in every single grain was brought. 

"Ver. 2271. As rank, and breeding melancholy blood.] Vide 
Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. Oxford, page 65. 
John Warton. 

Ver. 2285. whose corpse impure] Whose crops 

impure. Orig. edit. Todd. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



127 



Fain would they filch that little food away, 

While unrestrain'd those happy gluttons prey. 

And much they grieved to see so nigh their hall, 

The bird that wam'd St. Peter of his fall ; 23uu 

That he should raise his mitred crest on high, 

And clap his wings, and call his family 

To sacred rites ; and vex the etherial powers 

With midnight matins at uncivil hours : 

Nay more, his quiet neighbours should molest, 

Just in the sweetness of their morning rest. 2306 

Beast of a bird, supinely when he might 

Lie snug and sleep, to rise before the light ! 

What if his dull forefathers used that cry, 

Could he not let a bad example die ? 231 ° 

The world was fallen into an easier way ; 

This age knew better than to fast and pray. 

Good sense in sacred worship would appear 

So to begin, as they might end the year. 

Such feats in former times had wrought the 

falls . s* 15 

Of crowing Chanticleers in cloister'd walls. 
Expell'd for this, and for their lands, they fled ; 
And sister Partlet, with her hooded head, 
Was hooted hence, because she would not pray 

abed. 
The way to win the restive world to God, 2320 

Was to lay by the disciplining rod, 
Unnatural fasts, and foreign forms of prayer : 
Religion frights us with a mien severe. 
'Tis prudence to reform her into ease, 
And put her in undress to make her please : 2325 
A lively faith will bear aloft the mind, 
And leave the luggage of good works behind. 

Such doctrines in the Pigeon-house were taught : 
You need not ask how wond'rously they wrought ; 
But sure the common cry was all for these, 2330 
Whose life and precepts both encouraged ease. 
Yet fearing those alluring baits might fail, 
And holy deeds o'er all their arts prevail ; 
(For vice, though frontless, and of harden'd face, 
Is daunted at the sight of awful grace,) 2335 

An hideous figure of their foes they drew, 
Nor lines, nor looks, nor shades, nor colours true; 
And this grotesque design exposed to public view. 
One would have thought it some Egyptian piece, 
With garden-gods, and barking deities, 2340 

More thick than Ptolemy has stuck the skies. 
All so perverse a draught, so far unlike, 
It was no libel where it meant to strike. 
Yet still the daubing pleased, and great and small, 
To view the monster, crowded Pigeon-hall. 234i 
There Chanticleer was drawn upon his knees 
Adoring shrines, and stocks of sainted trees ; 
And by him, a misshapen, ugly race ; 
The curse of God was seen on every face. 
No Holland emblem could that malice mend, 2350 
But still the worse the look, the fitter for a fiend. 

The master of the farm, displeased to find 
So much of rancour in so mild a kind, 
Enquired into tho cause, and came to know, 
The Passive Church had struck the foremost 

blow ; »>5 

With groundless fears, and jealousies possess'd, 
As if this troublesome intruding guest 
Would drive tho birds of Venus from their nest. 



Ver. 2.139. some Egyptian piece,] An Egyptian 

piece. Orlg.edit. Todd. 

\ •!'. 2347. Adoring shrines,] So the original edition. 
Derrick lias, adorning. Todd. 



A deed his inborn equity abhorr'd ; 
But Interest will not trust, though God should 
plight his word. *«*> 

A law, the source of many future harms, 
Had bauish'd all the poultry from the farms ; 
With loss of life, if any should be found 
To crow or peck on this forbidden ground. 
That bloody statute chiefly was design'd 23BS 

For Chanticleer the white, of clergy kind ; 
But after-malice did not long forget 
The lay that wore the robe and coronet. 
For thern, for their inferiors and allies, 
Their foes a deadly Shibboleth devise : 237 ° 

By which unrighteously it was decreed, 
That none to trust, or profit, should succeed, 
Who would not swallow first a poisonous wicked 

weed : 
Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed, 
Or henbane juice to swell them till they burst. 

The patron (as in reason) thought it hard 23 ' 6 
To see this inquisition in his yard, 
By which the Sovereign was of subjects' use 

debarr'd. 
All gentle means he tried, which might withdraw 
The effects of so unnatural a law : 238 ° 

But still the Dove-house obstinately stood 
Deaf to their own, and to their neighbours' good ; 
And which was worse, (if any worse could be,) 
Repented of their boasted loyalty : 
Now made the champions of a cruel cause, 23ss 
And drunk with fumes of popular applause ; 
For those whom God to ruin has design'd, 
He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind. 

New doubts indeed they daily strove to raise, 
Suggested dangers, interposed delays : 2390 

And emissaiy Pigeons had in store, 
Such as the Meccan prophet used of yore, 
To whisper counsels in their patron's ear ; 
And veil'd their false advice with zealous fear. 
The master smiled to see them work in vain, ^^ 
To wear him out, and make an idle reign : 
He saw, but suffer'd their protective arts, 
And strove by mildness to reduce their hearts : 
But they abused that grace to make allies, 
And fondly closed with former enemies ; 24 "° 

For fools are doubly fools, endeav'ring to be wise. 

After a grave consult what course were best, 
One, more mature in folly than the rest, 
Stood up, and told them, with his head aside, 
That desperate cures must be to desperate ills 
applied : 2405 

And therefore, since their main impending fear 
Was from the increasing race of Chanticleer, 
Some potent bird of prey they ought to find, 
A foe profess'd to him, and all his kind : 
Some haggard Hawk, who had her eyrie nigh, ; " n 
Well pounced to fasten, and well wing'd to fly ; 
One they might trust, their common wrongs to 

wreak ; 
The Musquet, and the Coystrel were too weak, 
Too fierce the Falcon ; but, above the rest, 
The noble Buzzard ever pleased me best ; ws 

Vcr. 2361. A law, the. source, &c] Penal laws against 
Popish recusants. Derrick. 

Ver. 2401. For fools arc doubly fools, &c] The original 
edition lias, double fools. Todd. 

Ver. 2414. Abov<- th>- r<st, 

The noble BuMMord tver ftiani me best ;] 
The character of the Uuzzard was drawn for the oelo- 



128 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHEE. 



Of small renown, 'tis true ; for, not to lie, 

"We call him but a Hawk by courtesy. 

I know be bates tbe Pigeon-bouse and Farm, 

And more, in time of war, has done us harm : 

But all his hate on trivial points depends ; 2420 

Give up our forms, and we shall soon be friends. 

For Pigeons' flesh he seems not much to care ; 

Cramm'd Chickens are a more delicious fare. 

On this high potentate, without delay, 

I wish you would confer the sovereign sway : 24M 

Petition bim to accept the government, 

And let a splendid embassy be sent. 

This pithy speech prevail'd, and all agreed, 
Old enmities forgot, the Buzzard should succeed. 

Their welcome suit was granted soon as 
heard, 8430 

His lodgings furnish'd, and a train prepared, 
With B's upon their breast, appointed for his 
guard. 

brated Bishop Burnet, out of compliment to King James II., 
to whom he had been, on many accounts, obnoxious. He is 
introduced as a prince, because his spirit and activity raised 
him to be regarded by many of the opponents to the court 
measures, as the head of their party ; and certainly none 
of the clergy was so meddling and inquisitive as he was ; so 
that it is not unjust of our poet to say, that 

He dares the world ; and, eager of a name, 
He thrusts about, and justles into fame. 
The bishop was good-humoured, conversable, and charita- 
ble ; absent, credulous, and talkative ; 

More learn'd than honest, more a wit than learn'd. 

It is certain he gave room for this impeachment of his 
honesty, by drawing up two papers in defence of divorce 
and polygamy ; a task very unworthy of a clergyman : and 
by his behaviour, with regard to the Earl of Lauderdale's 
affairs in the House of Commons, where he was examined 
as to what he heard that nobleman say, about arming tbe 
Irish Papists, and bringing a Scotch army into England, to 
support some arbitrary measures intended to be set on 
foot by the king, and to overawe the Parliament. He at 
first refused to answer upon the latter point, and was dis- 
missed : he then returned, 

- uncall'd, his patron t control, 



Divulged the secret whispers of his soul; 
Stood forth the accusing Satan of his crimes, 
And offer'd to the Moloch of the times. 

Having waited for some time in tbe lobby, in hope of 
being called in again, he desired to be re-admitted, and now 
revealed everything that had passed between them in pri- 
vate conversation ; for which conduct he makes but a poor 
excuse in his History of his Own Times. The House of 
Commons laid great stress upon his declaration, and thus 
furnished with fresh matter, renewed their address against 
the earl. 

The papers above mentioned were written to support a 
design set on foot by Shaftesbury and his emissaries, to 
divorce the king and procure him another wife, whose issue 
might exclude the Duke of York from the succession : they 
are to be found in Mackay's Memoirs. Burnet first came 
from Scotland, where he was bom, to London, to complete 
the Memoirs of the Dukes of Hamilton. The Earl of 
Lauderdale, at that time, received him with great hospi- 
tality, and a friendship that merited a different return from 
what he received. Nor was his behaviour to the Duke of 
York less indefensible, his Highness having given him 
some distinguishing marks of his favour, which he requited 
with becoming one of his severest enemies; not so much 
from any views of serving these kingdoms, but because 
that object that seemed most immediate to his interest, 
most engaged his attention ; and he thought opposition the 
swiftest way to preferment. It is certain King .lames 
hated him, not without reason, and would have made him 
feel his resentment, if he had not retired to the Prince of 
Orange, with whom he returned to England in 1688. The 
bishop has revenged himself, by calling Dryden, in the 
History of his Own Times, a monster of impurity, and by 
mentioning him in his Reflections on Varillas, with a con- 
tempt to which he was infinitely superior. Derrick. 

Ver. 2418. / know he, hates, &c] I know be haunts, &c] 
Orig edit. Todd. 



He came, and crown'd with great solemnity, 
God save king Buzzard was the general cry. 

A portly prince, and goodly to tbe sight, 243s 
He seem'd a son of Anak for his height : 
Like those whom stature did to crowns prefer : 
Black-brow'd, and bluff, like Homer's Jupiter : 
Broad-back'd, and brawny-built for love's de- 
light; 
A prophet form'd to make a female proselyte. iM0 
A theologue more by need than genial bent ; 
By breeding sharp, by nature confident. 
Interest in all his actions was discem'd ; 
More learn'd than honest, more a wit than 

learn'd : 
Or forced by fear, or by his profit led, 2445 

Or both conjoin'd, his native clime he fled : 
But brought the virtues of his heaven along : 
A fair behaviour, and a fluent tongue. 
And yet with all his arts he could not thrive ; 
The most unlucky parasite alive. 2450 



Ver. 2435. A portly prince,'] This character of Buzzard 
was intended to ridicule Bishop Burnet, who had attacked 
Dryden for a translation of Varillas. Montague and Prior 
make their Bayes speak thus of this passage : — " Tbe ex- 
cellence of a fable is in the length of it. Msop indeed, like 
a slave as he was, made little, short, simple stories, with a 
dry moral at tbe end of them, and could not form any noble 
design. But here, I give you fable upon fable ; and after 
you are satisfied with beasts in the first course, serve you 
up with a delicate dish of fowl for the second : now I was 
at all this pains to abuse one particular person ; for I'gad 
I'll tell you what a trick he served me : I was once trans- 
lating a very good French author, but being something long 
about it, as you know a man is not always in the humour ; 
what does this Jack do, but puts out an answer to my 
friend before I had half finished the translation ; so there 
was three whole months lost upon his account. But I think 
I have my revenge on him sufficiently, for I let all the 
world know that he is a tall, broad-baclced, lusty fellow, of a 
brown complexion, fair behaviour, a fluent tongue, and talcing 
amongst the women ; and to top it all, that he 's much a 
scholar, more a wit, and owns but two sacraments. Don't you 
think this fellow will hang himself? But, besides, I have 
so nick't his character in a name, as will make you split. 
I call him , I'gad I won't tell you, unless you remem- 
ber what I said of him. 

Smith. Why that he was much a scholar, and more 
a wit. 

Bayes. Eight, and his name is Buzzard. Ha! ha! ha!" 
Dr. J. Warton. 

Ibid. A portly prince^] This violent and cutting satire 
on Bishop Burnet, which approaches tbe very verge of 
downright and disgusting ribaldry, must be accounted for 
(I will not say apologised) by the bishop's having called 
Dryden a monster of impiety, for the obscenities, blasphe- 
mies, and falsehoods, with which he said our author's works 
abounded. Burnet's own character appears every day to 
be more and more approved and brightened by calm ex- 
amination. His History of his Own Times, allowing, per- 
haps, that it is written in too careless and familiar a style, 
yet abounds in most curious facts that otherwise would 
have been unknown, and this very familiarity is pleasing. 
His History of the Reformation is surely a most valuable 
and important work, and one of the most decisive blows 
Popery ever received. His Exposition of the Articles is 
sensible, acute, and candid ; with a laudable endeavour to 
free them from some seeming absurdities and contradic- 
tions. And. his short account of Lord Rochester a most 
useful, pious, and instructive little narrative. Dr. J. 
Warton. 



- than genial bentf] Than natural bent. 



- by nature confident."] By nation con- 
Todd. 



Ver. 2441. 

Orig. edit. Todd. 

Ver. 2442. 

fident. Orig. edit. 

Ver. 2446. Or both conjoin'd, his native clime he fled.] 
The original edition has — 

- Or both his own unhappy clime, &c. Todd. 

Ver. 2448. a fluent tongue.] Flattering Orig. 

edit. Todd. 



Loud praises to prepare his paths he sent, 

And then himself pursued his compliment; 

But by reverse of fortune chased away, 

His gifts no longer than their author stay : 2454 

He shakes the dust against the ungrateful race, 

And leaves the stench of ordures in the place. 

Oft has he flatter'd and blasphemed the same ; 

For in his rage ho spares no Sovereign's name : 

The hero and the tyrant change their style 

By the s:ime measure that they frown or smile. 

When well received by hospitable foes, - m 

The kindness he returns, is to expose : 

For courtesies, though undeserved and great, 

No gratitude in felon-minds beget ; 

As tribute to his wit, the churl receives the treat. 2465 

His praise of foes is venomously nice ; 

So touch'd, it turns a virtue to a vice : 

" A Greek, and bountiful, forewarns us twice." 

Seven sacraments he wisely does disown, 

Because he knows Confession stands for one ; 247 ° 

Where sins to sacred silence are convey'd, 

And not for fear, or love, to be betray' d : 

But he, uncall'd, his patron to control, 

Divulged the secret whispers of his soul : 

Stood forth the accusing Satan of his crimes, 24 ' 5 

And offer'd to the Moloch of the times. 

Prompt to assail, and careless of defence, 

Invulnerable in his impudence, 

He dares the world ; and eager of a name, 

He thrusts about, and justles into fame. 2480 

Frontless, and satire-proof, he scours the streets, 

And runs an Indian-muck at all he meets. 

So fond of loud report, that not to miss 

Of being known (his last and utmost bliss) 

He rather would be known for what he is. 2485 

Such was, and is the Captain of the Test, 
Though half his virtues are not here express' d ; 
The modesty of fame conceals the rest. 
The spleenful Pigeons never could create 
A prince more proper to revenge their hate : 249 ° 
Indeed, more proper to revenge, than save ; 
A king, whom in his wrath the Almighty gave : 
For all the grace the landlord had allow' d, 
But made the Buzzard and the Pigeons proud ; 
Gave time to fix their friends, and to seduce the 

crowd. a495 

They long their fellow-subjects to inthral, 
Their patron's promise into question call, 
And vainly think he meant to make them lords 

of all. 
False fears their leaders fail'd not to suggest, 
As if the Doves were to be dispossess'd ; 2600 

Nor sighs, nor groans, nor gogling eyes did want; 
For now the Pigeons too had learn'd to cant. 
The house of prayer is stock'd with large increase ; 
Nor doors, nor windows can contain the press : 
For birds of every feather fill tho abode ; 2 ' 05 

E'en Atheists out of envy own a God : 
And, reeking from the stews, adulterers come, 
Like Goths aud Vandals to demolish Rome. 
That Conscience, which to all their crimes was 

mute, 
Now calls aloud, and cries to persecute : "'"' 

No rigour of the laws to bo released, 
And much tho less, because it was their Lord's 

request 
They thought it groat their Sovereign to control, 
And named their pride, nobility of soul. S6M 

Tis true, the Pigeons, and their prince elect, 
Were short of power, their purpose to effect : 



But with their quills did all the hurt they could, 
And cuff'd tho tender Chickens from their food : 
And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, 
Though naming not the patron, to infer, 2i20 

With all respect, he was a gross idolater. 

But when the imperial owner did espy, 
That thus they turn'd his grace to villany, 
Not suffering wrath to discompose his mind, 
He strove a temper for the extremes to find. 
So to be just, as he might still be kind ; 252s 

Then, all maturely weigh'd, pronounced a doom 
Of sacred strength for every age to come. 
By this the Doves their wealth and state possess, 
No rights infringed, but licence to oppress : '■ a30 
Such power have they as factious lawyers long 
To crowns ascribed, that Kings can do no wrong. 
But since his own domestic birds have tried 
The dire effects of their destructive pride, 
He deems that proof a measure to the rest, 2r ' 3 ~' 
Concluding well within his kingly breast, 
His fowls of nature too unjustly were oppress' d. 
He therefore makes all birds of every sect 
Free of his farm, with promise to respect 
Their several kinds alike, and equally protect. 25J0 
His gracious edict the same franchise yields 
To all the wild increase of woods and fields, 
And who in rocks aloof, and who in steeples builds : 
To Crows the like impartial grace affords, 
And Choughs and Daws, and such republic birds : 2545 
Secured with ample privilege to feed, 
Each has his district, and his bounds decreed : 
Combined in common interest with his own, 
But not to pass the Pigeons' Rubicon. 

Here ends the reign of this pretended Dove ; 2M0 
All prophecies accomplish'd from above, 
For Shiloh comes the sceptre to remove. 
Reduced from her imperial high abode, 
Like Dionysius to a private rod, 
The Passive Church, that with pretended grace 2s55 
Did her distinctive mark in duty place, 
Now touch'd, reviles her Maker to his face. 
What after happen'd is not hard to guess : 
The small beginnings had a large increase, 
And arts and wealth succeed (the secret spoils of 
peace.) 25C0 

'Tis said, the Doves repented, though too late, 
Become the smiths of their own foolish fate : 
Nor did their owner hasten their ill hour ; 
But, sunk in credit, they decreased in power : 
Like snows in warmth that mildly pass away, SfiK 
Dissolving in the silence of decay. ■ 

Tho Buzzard, not content with equal place, 
Invites tho feather'd Nimrods of his race ; 



Ver. 2519. And much the Buzzard in their cause did stir, 
Though naming not the patron, &c] 

On the fifth of November, 1684, Burnet preached a ser- 
mon in the Rolls chapel against Popery, in whiuh he drop- 
ped sonio oblique reflections on the king. On this account 
it was ordered he should preach in that place no more, 
and he soon after found it necessary to withdraw to Hol- 
land. The king demanded him of the States as a traitor, 
but they refused to acquiesce. It is said £.1000 was or- 
dered to be paid by the treasury to any person that r<uil(l 
contrive to deliver him into the king's hands. Derrick. 

Ver. 2537. His fowls of nature, &c] His fowl, Ac. 
Original edition. Todd. 

Ver. 2550. of this pretended Dove ;] Orig. edit. 

Todd. 

Ver. 2559. The small beginnings had a largi 

"— exiguis profecta initiis eo creverit." — Livy. 

John Wabtok. 



130 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER. 



To hide the thinness of their flock from sight, 
And all together make a seeming goodly flight : 
But each have separate interests of their own ; 2571 
Two Czars are one too many for a throne. 
Nor can the usurper long abstain from food ; 
Already he has tasted Pigeons' blood : 
And may be tempted to his former fare, 25?0 

When this indulgent lord shall late to heaven 

repair. 
Bare benting times, and moulting months may 

come, 
When, lagging late, they cannot reach their home; 
Or rent in schism (for so their fate decrees) 
Like the tumultuous college of the bees, 25S0 

They fight their quarrel, by themselves oppress'd ; 
The tyrant smiles below, and waits the falling 

feast. 
Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end, 
Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend; 



Ver. 2583. Tkv.s did the gentle HincC] It is observable that 
in this poem, full of fine versification and weak argument, 
our author keeps to some leading doctrines of Popery, and 
makes no defence of several of its absurd tenets, purgatory, 
monkery, celibacy, confession, reliques, nor of two which 
Swift has inimitably ridiculed, holy water and the Pope's 
bulls. > 

" Another discovery, for which Peter was much renowned, 
was his famous universal pickle. Por having remarked 
how your common pickle iu use among housewives, was of 
no further benefit than to preserve dead flesh, and certain 
kinds of vegetables ; Peter, with great cost as well as art, 
had contrived a pickle proper for houses, gardens, towns, 
men, women, children and cattle ; wherein he could pre- 
serve them as sound as insects in amber. Now this pickle 
to the taste, the smell, and the sight, appeared exactly the 
same, with what is in common service for beef, and butter, 
and herrings, (and has been often that way applied with 
great success,) but for its many sovereign virtues was quite 
a different thing. For Peter would put in a certain quantity 
of his powder pimperlimpimp, after which it never failed of 
success. The operation was performed by Sparge/action, in 
a proper time of the moon. The patient who was to be 
pickled, if it were a house, would infallibly be preserved 
from all spiders, rats, and weazels. If the party affected 
were a dog, he should be exempt from mange, madness, and 
hunger. It also infallibly took away all scabs and lice, 
and scald heads from children, never hindering the patient 
from any duty, either at bed or beard. 

" But of all Peter's rarities, he most valued a certain set 
of hulls, whose race was by great fortune preserved in a 
lineal descent from those that guarded the golden fleece, 
though some who pretended to observe them curiously, 
doubted the breed had not been kept entirely chaste; 



But, with affected yawnings at the close, 2585 

Seem'd to require her natural repose : 
For now the streaky light began to peep ; 
And setting stars admonish'd both to sleep. 
The dame withdrew, and, wishing to her guest 
The peace of Heaven, betook herself to rest. 2M0 
Ten thousand angels on her slumbers wait, 
With glorious visions of her future state. 

because they had degenerated from their ancestors in some 
qualities, and had acquired others, very extraordinary, but 
a foreign mixture. 

The bulls of Colchos are recorded to have brazen feet; but 
whether it happened by ill pasture, and running, by an allay 
from intervention of other parents, from stolen intrigues: 
whether a weakness in their progenitors had impaired the 
seminal virtue ; or by a decline necessary through a long 
course of time, the originals of nature being depraved in 
these latter sinful ages of the world: ■whatever was the 
cause, 'tis certain that Lord Peter's bulls were extremely 
vitiated, by the rust of time in the metal of their lead. 
However, the terrible roaring peculiar to their lineage was 
preserved ; as likewise that faculty of breathing out fire 
from their nostrils, which, notwithstanding, many of their 
detractors took to be a feat of art, and to be nothing so 
terrible as it appeared, proceeding only from their usual 
course of diet, which was that of squibs and crackers." 

Pope, it is said, used to mention this poem as the most 
correct specimen of Dryden's versification. I must own I 
cannot assent to this opinion. He tells us himself that he 
intended to give the majestic turn of heroic poesy to the 
first part. In this design he has woefully miscarried. The 
perspicuity and plausibility of his reasonings, however 
false and futile, show a great command of language. This 
poem our author intended as a defence for his sudden con- 
version to Popery, especially after his having written the 
Keligio Laid, where such opposite opinions were maintained 
and enforced. Whether this conversion was the effect of 
pure truth and conviction, must be left to the great Searcher 
of our hearts to determine ; but such a change in so abject 
a flatterer, would naturally be imputed to mercenary 
motives. It is remarkable that Congreve, in his laboured 
and elegant defence of his friend's character, speaks not a 
syllable on the subject. The conversions of two greater 
men to Popery, that of Henry IV. and Marshal Turenne, 
were reckoned interested and insincere. The following 
very severe lines are preserved in the State Poems, on this 
occasion : 

" At all religions to the last from first, 
Thou still hast rail'd, and then espoused the worst ; 
In this thy wisdom such as 'twas before, 
T' abuse all woman kind— then wed a whore." 

Dr. J. Warton. 
Ver. 2588. And setting stars admonish'd both to sleep.'] 
" Suadentque cadentia sidera somnos." — Virgil. 

John Wauton. 



BRITANNIA REDIVIVA. 



131 



BRITANNIA REDIVIVA; 



A POEM ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE. 



Dii Patrii Indigetcs, ct Romule, Vestaquc Mater, 
Quir, Tuscum Tiberim, et Romana l'alatia servas, 
Hunc saltern everso Puerum succurrere sseclo 
Ne prohibete : satis jampridem sanguine nostro 
LaomedontEetc luimus Perjuria Trojoe. — Vino. Georg. 1. 



Odr vows are heard betimes ! and Heaven takes 

care 
To grant, before we can conclude the prayer : 
Preventing angels met it half the way, 
And sent us back to praise, who came to pray. 

Just on the day, when the high-mounted sun 5 
Did farthest in his northern progress run, 
He bended forward, and ev'n stretch'd the sphere 
Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year, 
To view a brighter sun in Britain born ; 

* " On the 10th. of June, 1688, the queen was suddenly 
seized with labour-pains, and delivered of a son, who was 
baptised by the name of James, and declared Prince of 
Wales. — All the Catholics and friends of James were trans- 
ported with the most extravagant joy at the birth of this 
child ; while great part of the nation consoled themselves 
with the notion that it was altogether supposititious. They 
carefully collected a variety of circumstances, upon which 
this conjecture was founded ; and though they were incon- 
sistent, contradictory, and inconclusive, the inference was 
so agreeable to the views and passions of the people, that it 
made an impression which, in all probability, will never be 
totally effaced. Dr. Burnet, who seems to have been at un- 
common pains to establish this belief, and to have consulted 
all the Whig nurses in England upon the subject; first 
pretends to demonstrate, that the queen was not with child ; 
secondly, that she was with child, but miscarried ; thirdly, 
that a child was brought into the queen's apartment in a 
warming-pan ; fourthly, that there was no child at all in 
the room ; fifthly, that the queen actually bore a child, but 
it died that same day; sixthly, that the supposititious 
child had not the fits; seventhly, that it had the fits, of 
which it died at Richmond: therefore the Chevalier de 
St. George must be the fruit of four different impostures." 
— Smollett's History of England. Derrick. 

Ver. 1. Our vows are heard] It might be expected, that 
a late and zealous convert to Popery would join in the ge 
neral triumph and exultation, felt by all his brethren, on 
the birth of a prince who might be the means of perpetu- 
ating the Catholic religion on the throne of these kingdoms, 
especially as this important event was imputed to a vow 
made by the Duchess of Modcna to the Holy Virgin at 
Loretto, that her daughter might by her means have a son. 

" Jam nova progenies ccclo demittitur alto." 
Which was the motto of a long poem in hexameter verse, 
and not bad Latin, now before me, written by Mr. J. Plow- 
den at this time. Burnet certainly has disgraced his 
history by collecting all the idle and incredible tales, 
ind inconsistent accounts of the birth of this prince, in 
order to prove it was a supposititious child, and has given a, 
narration more worthy of a nurse or midwife, than of a 
bishop and historian. King William, with that generosity 
and magnanimity that distinguished bis character, gave 
no credit or countenance to this improbable fiction. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

Ver. 6. in his nortfiem progress] Thus the origi- 
nal edition in 1G88. Derrick has, its. Todd. 



That was the business of his longest mom ; 1 " 
The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn. 

Departing Spring could only stay to shed 
Her bloomy beauties on the genial bed, 
But left the manly Summer in her stead, 
With timely fruit the longing land to cheer, ,5 
And to fulfil the promise of the year. 
Betwixt two seasons comes the auspicious heir, 
This age to blossom, and the next to bear. 

* Last solemn sabbath saw the Church attend ; 
The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend ; ai 

But when his wondrous f octave roll'd again, 
He brought a royal infant in his train. 
So great a blessing to so good a king, 
None but the Eternal Comforter could bring. 

Or did the mighty Trinity conspire, K 

As once, in council to create our sire ? 
It seems as if they sent the new-born guest 
To wait on the procession of their feast ; 
And on their sacred anniverse decreed 
To stamp their image on the promised seed. m 
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd, 
An emblem of their mystic union show'd : 
The Mighty Trine the triple empire shared, 
As every person would have one to guard. 

Hail son of prayers ! by holy violence M 

Drawn down from Heaven ; but long be banish'd 

thence, 
And late to thy paternal skies retire : 
To mend our crimes whole ages would require ; 
To change the inveterate habit of our sins. 
And finish what thy godlike sire begins. m 

Kind Heaven, to make us Englishmen again, 
No less can give us than a patriarch's reign. 

The sacred cradle to your charge receive, 
Ye seraphs, and by turns the guard relieve ; 
Thy father's angel, and thy father join, * 

To keep possession, and secure the line ; 

Ver. 13. Her bloomy beauties] Original edition. Derrick, 
by an absurd error, has gloomy. Todd. 
* Whit-Sunday. Original edition. 

Ver. 20. The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend;] So Parnell : 
" The fiery pomp ascending left the view.'' 

Joan W.\nTON. 

t Trinity Sunday. Original edition. 
Ver. 37. And late to thy pat rnal ski s r 

" Serus in ccBlum micas." — Hor. 

John Warton. 
k2 



But long defer the honours of thy fate : 
Great may they be like his, like his be late ; 
That James this running century may view, 
And give his son an auspice to the new. 

Our wants exact at least that moderate stay : 
For see the Dragon* winged on his way, 
To watch the travail,+ and devour the prey. 
Or, if allusions may not rise so high, 
Thus, when Alcides raised his infant cry, 55 

The snakes besieged his young divinity : 
But vainly with their forked tongues they threat ; 
For opposition makes a hero great. 
To needful succour all the good will run, 
And Jove assert the godhead of his son. 60 

Oh still repining at your present state, 
Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate, 
Look up, and read in characters of light 
A blessing sent you in your own despite. 
The manna falls, yet that celestial bread M 

Like Jews you munch, and murmur while you 

feed. 
May not your fortune be like their's, exiled, 
Yet forty years to wander in the wild : 
Or if it be, may Moses live at least, 
To lead you to the verge of promised rest. "° 

Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow 
What plants will take the blight, and what will 

grow, 
By tracing Heaven his footsteps may be found : 
Behold ! how awfully he walks the round ! 
God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways, ' 6 

The rise of empires, and their fall surveys ; 
More (might I say) than with an usual eye, 
He sees his bleeding Church in ruin lie, 
And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar 

cry. 
Already has he lifted high the sign, J 80 

Which crown'd the conquering arms of Con- 

stantine : 
The moon § grows pale at that presaging sight, 
And half her train of stars have lost their light. 

Behold another Sylvester, || to bless 
The sacred standard, and secure success ; K 

Large of his treasures, of a soul so great, 
As fills and crowds his universal seat. 
Now view at home a second Constantine ; If 
(The former too was of the British line) 
Has not his healing balm your breaches closed, 90 
AVhose exile many sought, and few opposed 1 



this running century] Original edition. 

his son] Orig. edit. Derrick has, this 



Ver. 49. 
Todd. 

Ver. 50. 
son. Todd. 

* Alluding only to the Commonwealth party, here and 
in other places of the poem. Original edition. 

t Rev. xii. 4. Original edition. 

| The cross. Original edition. 

g The crescent which the Turks bear for their arms. 
Original edition. 

|| The Pope in the time of Constantine the Great, alluding 
to the present Pope. Original edition. 

Ver. 84. Belwld another Sylvester, &c] The Pope, in 
James the Second's time, is here compared to him who go- 
verned the Romish Church in the time of Constantine, to 
whom the king is likened a little lower down. Derrick. 

If King James the Second. Original edition. 

Ver. 89. The former too was of the British line] St. Helen, 
mother of Constantine the Great, was an Englishwoman ; 
and Archbishop Usher affirms, that the emperor himself 
was born in this kingdom. Derrick. 



Or, did not Heaven by its eternal doom 
Permit those evils, that this good might come 1 
So manifest, that e'en the moon-eyed sects 
See whom and what this Providence protects. •'"' 
Methinks, had we within our minds no more 
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal ore,* 
That only thought may make us think again, 
What wonders God reserves for such a reign. '" 
To dream that chance his preservation wrought, 
Were to think Noah was preserved for nought ; 
Or the surviving eight were not design'd 
To people earth, and to restore their kind. 

When humbly on the royal babe we gaze, 
The manly lines of a majestic face 105 

Give awful joy : 'tis paradise to look 
On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book : 
If the first opening page so charms the sight, 
Think how the unfolded volume will delight ! 
See how the venerable infant lies m 

In early pomp ; how through the mother's eyes 
The father's soul, with an undaunted view, 
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due. 
See on his future subjects how he smiles, 
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles; 1IS 
But with an open face, as on his throne, 
Assures our birthrights, and assumes his own. 
Born in broad day-light, that the ungrateful 

rout 
May find no room for a remaining doubt ; 
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun, 
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun. ] -' 

+Fain would the fiends have made a dubious 

birth, 
Loth to confess the godhead clothed in earth : 
But sicken'd, after all their baffled lies, 
To find an heir apparent of the skies : 125 

Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge, 
And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge. 

J Not great iEneas stood in plainer day, 
When, the dark mantling mist dissolved away, 
He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face, 13(l 

Shining with all his goddess mother's grace : 
For she herself had made his countenance 

bright, 
Breathed honour on his eyes, and her own purple 

light. 
If our victorious Edward, § as they say, 
Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, ,35 
Why may not years revolving with his fate 
Produce his like, but with a longer date ? 
One, who may carry to a distant shore 
The terror that his famed forefather bore. 
But why should James or his young hero stay 14 ° 
For slight presages of a name or day 1 
We need no Edward's fortune to adorn 
That happy moment when our prince was 

born : 



Ver. 92. Or, did not, &c.] Original edition. Derrick has, 
0, did not, &c. Todd. 

* The Lemmon ore. Original edition. 

Ver. 97. that one shipwreck on the fatal ore,] The 

sandbank, on which the Duke of York had like to have 
been lost in 1682, on his voyage to Scotland, is known by 
the name of Lemman Ore. Derrick. 

t Alluding to the temptations in the wilderness. Original 
edition. 

% Virg. iEneid. 1. Original edition. 

g Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday. 
Original edition. 



BRITANNIA REDIVIVA. 



133 



Our prince adorns his day, and ages hence 
Shall wish his birth-day for. some future prince. 

* Great Michael, prince of all the ethereal hosts, 
And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts; 146 
And thou,f the adopted patron of our isle, 
AVith cheerful aspects on this infant smile : 
The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping from 
above, 150 

Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love. 

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought, 
"When, to the dregs, we drank the bitter draught ; 
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire, 
Nor did the avenging angel yet retire, 155 

But purged our still increasing crimes with fire. 
Then perjured Plots, the still impending Test, 
And worse — but charity conceals the rest : 
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood ; 
Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs' blood ; 160 
But let their dying pangs, their living toil, 
Spread a rich harvest through their native soil : 
A harvest ripening for another reign, 
Of which this royal babe may reap the grain. 

Enough of early saints one womb has given ; 165 
Enough increased the family of heaven : 
Let them for his and our atonement go ; 
And reigning blest above, leave him to rule below. 

Enough already has the year foreslow'd 
His wonted course, the sea has overflow'd, 1 '° 

The meads were floated with a weeping spring, 
And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing : 
The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints, 
And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints. 
When will the minister of wrath give o'er 1 17s 
Behold him, at Araunah's J threshing-floor : 
He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming brand, 
Pleased with burnt incense from our David's hand. 
David has bought the Jebusite's abode, 
And raised an altar to the living God. 130 

Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys sincere ; 
No future ills nor accidents appear, 
To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year. 
Five months to discord and debate were given : 
He sanctifies the yet remaining seven. 1S5 

Sabbath of months ! henceforth in him be blest, 
And prelude to the realms perpetual rest ! 

Let his baptismal drops for us atone ; 
Lustrations for offences § not his own. 
Let Conscience, which is Interest ill disguised, 1M 
In the same font be cleansed, and all the land 
baptized. 

II Unnamed as yet ; at least unknown to fame : 
Is there a strife in heaven about his name 1 
Where every famous predecessor vies, 
And makes a faction for it in the skies 1 195 

Or must it be reserved to thought alone ? 
Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton. 

Ver. 144. Our prince adorns his day,'] Original edition. 
Todd. 

* The motto of the poem explained. Original edition. 
t St. George. Original edition. 

Ver. 169. — the year foreslow'd 

His warded course, &c] 
Original edition. Derrick has, foreshow'd. Todd. 
t Alluding to the passage in 1 Kings, xxiv. 20. Orig. 
edit. 

g Original sin. Original edition. 

|| The prince christened, hut not named. Original edi- 
tion. 

Ver. 197. the sacred Tetragrammaton. ~] Jehovah, 



Things worthy silence must not be reveal'd : 
Thus the true name of Rome was kept con- 
ceal' d, 
To shun the spells and sorceries of those 20 ° 

Who durst her infant Majesty oppose. 
But when his tender strength in time shall rise 
To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes; 
This isle, which hides the little thundcrer's fame, 
Shall be too narrow to contain his name : 2(l5 

The artillery of heaven shall make him known ; 
* Crete could not hold the god, when Jove was 

grown. 
As Jove's increase^ who from his brain was 

bom, 
Whom arms and arts did equally adorn, 
Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste 
Minerva's name to Venus had debased; 2 " 

So this imperial babe rejects the food 
That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood : 
Food that his inborn courage might control, 
Extinguish all the father in his soul, 2I5 

And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain, 
Might reproduce some second Richard's reign. 
Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood : 
But kings too tame are despicably good : 
Be this the mixture of this regal child, 22n 

By nature manly, but by virtue mild. 

Thus far the furious transport of the news 
Had to prophetic madness fired the Muse ; 
Madness ungovernable, uninspired, 
Swift to foretel whatever she desired. a2fi 

Was it for me the dark abyss to tread, 
And read the book which angels cannot read 1 
How was I punish'd, when the sudden blast, J 
The face of heaven, and our young sun o'ercast ! 
Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll'd, 23(J 
Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises 

told: 
At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town, 
And, like contagion, struck the loyal down. 
Down fell the wimiow'd wheat ; but mounted 

high, 
The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky. 235 
Here black rebellion shooting from below, 
(As earth's gigantic brood § by moments grow) 
And here the sons of God are petrified with woe : 
An apoplex of grief : so low were driven 
The saints, as hardly to defend their heaven. 24 ° 
As, when pent vapours run their hollow round, 
Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the 

ground, 
Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook, 
Till the third settles what the former shook ; 
Such heavings had our souls ; till, slow and late, 
Our life with his return'd, and faith prevail'd on 

fate. 246 



or the name of God, unlawful to he pronounced by the Jews, 
Original edition. 

Ver. 199. Thus the true name of Some was kept conceal' d] 
Some authors say, that the true name of Rome was kept a 
secret : " Ne hostes iucantainentis deos elicereut." Original 
edition. 

* Candie, where Jupiter was bom and bred secretly. 
Original edition. 

t Pallas, or Minerva, said by the poets to have been 
bred up by hand. Original edition. 

% The sudden false report of the prince's death. Orig. 
edit. 

g Those giants are feigned to have grown fifteen ells 
every day. Original edition. « 



134 



BRITANNIA REDIV1VA. 



By prayers the mighty blessing was implored, 
To. prayers was granted, and by prayers restored. 

So ere the Shunamite * a son conceived, 
The prophet promised, and the wife believed. 250 
A son was sent, the son so much desired ; 
But soon upon the mother's knees expired. 
The troubled Seer approach'd the mournful door, 
Ran, pray'd, and sent his pastoral staff before, 
Then stretch'd his limbs upon the child, and 
mourn'd, 255 

'Till warmth, and breath, and a new soul return'd. 

Thus Mercy stretches out her hand, and saves 
Desponding Peter sinking in the waves. 

As when a sudden storm of hail and rain 
Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, 2C0 
Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd 
On the fiat field, and on the naked void ; 
The light, unloaded stem, from tempest freed, 
Will raise the youthful honours of his head ; 
And, soon restored by native vigour, bear 26 ° 

The timely product of the bounteous year. 

Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past : 
For Heaven will exercise us to the last ; 
Sometimes will check us in our full career, 
With doubtful blessings, and with mingled fear ; 
That, still depending on his daily grace, 271 

His every mercy for an alms may pass ; 
With sparing hands will diet us to good, 
Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood. 
So feeds the mother-bird her craving young 2 ' 5 
With little morsels, and delays them long. 

True, this last blessing was a royal feast ; 
But, where 's the wedding-garment on the guest 1 
Our manners, as religion were a dream, 
Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme. 2S0 
In lusts we wallow, and with pride we swell, 
And injuries with injuries repel ; 
Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive, 
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe. 
Thus Israel sinn'd, impenitently hard, 285 

And vainly thought the present ark + their 

guard ; 
But when the haughty Philistines appear, 
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear ; 
Their God was absent, though his ark was there. 
Ah ! lest our crimes should snatch this pledge 
away, 29 ° 

And make our joys the blessings of a day ! 
For we have sinn'd him hence, and that he lives, 
God to his promise, not our practice gives. 

* In 2 Kings, iv. Original edition. 

Ver. 273. will diet us to good:~] Many striking 

examples of the strange inequalities, and of the mixture of 
good and bad, that appear in our author's works, may be 
given from this poem. I hope I may be pardoned for point- 
ing out some singular passages, in which may be found his 
elegancies and vulgarisms, his nights and descents, his 
reasonings and fallacies, bis just panegyric and sordid 
adulation, and his piety and profaneness. See from verse 
20 to 40, verse 53, verse 65, verse 69, verse 80, (in allusion 
to the story of Constantine's cross, now given up as fabu- 
lous by all candid historians. See. Fabricius, Bib. Gr. v. 6.) 
verse 100, verse 126, six elegant lines ; verse 111, gross 
flattery ; and also verse 136, verse 190, verse 196, verse 230, 
four fine lines, but disgraced by verse 233 ; verse 210, gross 
flattery ; verse 296, eight beautiful lines ; as also verse 256, 
to verse 269 ; verse 290, flattery ; and verse 292, profane ; 
verse 300 to verse 310, very elegant , verse 323, vulgar al- 
lusion; verse 329, almost burlesque; verse 331, and what 
follows of Aristides, verse 336, very nauseous adulation. 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

t 1 Sam. iv. 10. Original edition. 



Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty 

scale, 
But James, and Mary, and the Church prevail. 293 
Nor Amalek * can rout the chosen bands, 
While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses' hands. 

By living well, let us secure his days, 
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways. 
No force the free-born spirit can constrain, 30 ° 
But charity, and great examples gain. 
Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day, 
'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay. 

But you, propitious queen, translated here, 
From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged 
sphere, 305 

Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year : 
You, who your native climate have bereft 
Of all the virtues, and the vices left ; 
Whom piety and beauty make their boast, 
Though beautiful is well in pious lost ; 310 

So lost, as star-light is dissolved away, 
And melts into the brightness of the day ; 
Or gold about the regal diadem, 
Lost to improve the lustre of the gem. 
What can we add to your triumphant day 1 315 
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay. 
For should our thanks awake the rising sun, 
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run, 
That, tho' the longest day, would soon, too soon 

be done. 
Let angels' voices with their harps conspire, 320 
But keep the auspicious infant from the quire ; 
Late let him sing above, and let us know 
No sweeter music than his cries below. 

Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more 
Than such an annual income to your store ; ;E5 
The day which gave this Unit, did not shine 
For a less omen, than to fill the Trine. 
After a Prince, an Admiral beget ; 
The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet. 
Our isle has younger titles still in store, 33 ° 

And when the exhausted land can yield no more, 
Your line can force them from a foreign shore. 

The name of Great your martial mind will 
suit ; 
But justice is your darling attribute : 
Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's + due, ^ 
And, in him, Plutarch prophesied of you. 
A prince's favours but on few can fall, 
But justice is a virtue shared by all. 

Some kings the name of conquerors have 
assumed, 
Some to be great, some to be gods presumed ; 34 ° 
But boundless power, and arbitrary lust, 
Made tyrants still abhor the name of just ; 
They shunn'd the praise this god-like virtue gives, 
And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives. 

The power, from which all kings derive thejr 
state, 3« 

Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate, 
Is equal both to punish and reward ; 
For few would love their God, unless they fear'd. 



Exod. xvii. 8. Original edition. 



Ver. 313. the regal diadem,"] Original edition. 

Derrick has, royal. Todd. 

Ver. 319. That, tho' the longest day, would soon, too soon 
be done.] This is the punctuation of the original edition. 
Todd. 

t Aristides. See his life in Plutarch. Original edition. 



MAC FLECKNOE. 



IvtJ 



Resistless force and immortality 
Mako but a lame, imperfect, deity ; 35u 

Tempests have force unbounded to destroy, 
And deathless being ev'n the damn'd enjoy ; 
And yet Heaven's attributes, both last and first, 
One without life, and one with life accurst : 
But justice is Heaven's self, so strictly he, 355 

That, could it fail, the Godhead could not be. 



ThiB virtue is your own ; but life and state 
Are one to fortune subject, one to fate : 
Eimal to all, you justly frown or smile ; 
Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand bo- 
guile ; ™ 
Yourself our balance hold, the world's, our 
isle. 



MAC FLECKNOE. 



All human things are subject to decay, 

And when fate summons, monarchs must obey. 

• This is one of the best, as well as severest, satires ever 
produced in our language. Mr. Thomas Sluubvell is the 
hero of the piece, and introduced, as if pitched upon, by 
Flecknoe, to succeed him in the throne of dulness; for 
Flecknoe was never poet-laureat, as has been ignorantly 
asserted in Gibber's Lives of the Poets. 

Richard Flecknoe, Esq., from whom this poem derives its 
name, was an Irish priest, who had, according to his own 
declaration, laid aside the mechanic part of the priesthood. 
He was well known at court; yet, out of four plays which 
lie wrote, coula get only one of them acted, and that was 
damned. "He has," says Langbaine, "published sundry 
works, as he styles them, to continue his name to posterity, 
I lo iiiu.li possibly an enemy has done that for him, which his 
own endeavours could never have perfected : for, whatever 
may become of his own pieces, his name will continue 
whilst Mr. Dryden's satire, called Mac Flecknoe, shall re- 
main in vogue." 

From this poem Pope took the hint of his Dunciad. Der- 
rick. 
There is a copy of this satire in manuscript, among the 

uscripts in the Archiepiscopal Library at Lambeth 

Palace ; which presents some readings, different from the 
printed copies, that may probably amuse the reader, and 
perhaps, in two or three instances, induce him to prefer the 
in ill, a text. The MS. is numbered 711. 8. Todd. 

Ver. 1. All human things] Will it be thought an extra- 
vagant and exaggerated encomium to say, that in point of 
pleasantry, various sorts of wit, humour, satire, both 
oblique and direct, contempt and indignation, clear diction, 
and melodious versification, this poem is perhaps the best 
of its kind in any language. Boileau, who spent his life, 
exhausted his talents, and soured his temper, in proscribing 
bod poets, lias nothing equal to it. It is precisely in the 
style and manner mentioned by Horace — 

" mode tristi, same jocoso, 

Defendente vicem modi) Rhetorisatque Poeta?, 
Intcrdum urbani, parcentis viribus atque 
Extenuantis eas consulto." 
It is obvious to observe that this poem is the parent of 
the Dunciad, which, with all the labour bestowed upon it, 
is not equal to its original : though Dr. Johnson praises it, 
i being more extended in its plan, and more diversified in 
ils incidents. It certainly is more extended in its plan, by 
attacking sucli a multitude of mean scribblers, hut the 
attack, by being so divided, is of less force than if confined 
I" "no alone. And what plan does Dr. Johnson mean? 
I lie mean that in four books, in which the subject of 
electing Tibbald as king of the Dunces was totally altered, 
and enlarged into an account of the Empire of Dulness 

spreading over the whole world, instead of vesting it ii e 

monarch; which monarch was also unhappily and unskil- 
fully changed to Gibber instead of Tibbald. I shall uot 
what is said on this subject in the fifth volume of 
Ihe last edition of I'ope. As to the incidents being mora 
diversified, Dr. .Johnson alludes to the introduction of the 
I, which are described in the most offensive language, 



This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young 
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long ; 
In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute, 5 
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute. 
Tins aged prince, now flourishing in peace, 
And bless'd with issue of a large increase ; 
Worn out with business, did at length debate 
To settle the succession of the state : 10 

And, pondering, which of all his sons was fit 
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit, 
Cried, " 'Tis resolved ; for nature pleads, that 

he 
Should only rule, who most resembles me. 
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, 15 

Mature in dulness from his tender years : 
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he, 
Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity. 
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 
But Shadwell never deviates into sense. m 

Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, 
Strike through, and make a lucid interval ; 
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray, 
His rising fogs prevail upon the day. 



and in images gross and vulgar. It is difficult to under- 
stand fully the meaning of Pope in the fourth book of the 
Dunciad. Many species of false and trilling studies and 
pursuits are well exposed, Hut did he really mean to say, 
contrary to all experience, that the Empire of Dulness was 
becoming universal over all Europe, and that art after art 
was daily expiring, when every art is every day improving 
and enlarged? The numbers in Pope's Dunciad, by being 
very much laboured, are become the most bard and inhar- 
monious of any of his works. To make the poem tolerably 
intelligible, which every day renders more and more neces- 
sary, it has become unavoidable to print it, in a very late 
edition, with those many and long notes given to him by 
his friends, Swift, Arbiitliunt, Clcdand - i\ i; e, Warburton, 
and others, without which the names, families, abodes, and 
employments of the contemptible scribblers must have re- 
mained totally unknown. lint after all that is here said of 
the excellence of Mac Flecknoe, candour and justice oblige 
us to add, that Shadwell did not in justice deserve the 
character here given of him, because, in many of his plays 
are characters supported with true humonrand spirit, and 
plots skilfully enough conducted. So that neither Drydori 
nor I'ope were fortunate and just in their rospectii S heroes, 
as neither Shadwell nor (Jibber deserved to be placed in 
such ridiculous and contemptible situations. Dr. . \\ ah- 

TON. 

Ver. ll. which of till his emu was fit] which 

of all his sons wen ifitt MS. Todd. 

ye,-. 12. immortal war] immortal wars. 

MS. Todd. 



J 36 



MAC FLECKNOE. 



Besides, Ms goodly fabric fills the eye, 25 

And seems design'd for thoughtless majesty : 
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the 

plain, 
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign. 
Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee, 
Thou last great prophet of tautology. 
Ev 'n I, a dunce of more renown than they, 
Was sent before but to prepare thy way 
And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came 
To teach the nations in thy greater name. 
My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung, 35 
When to king John of Portugal I sung, 
Was but the prelude to that glorious day, 
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way, 
With well-timed oars before the royal barge, 
Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge ; 40 
And big with hymn, commander of an host, 
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd. 
Methinks I see the new Arion sail, 
The lute still trembling underneath thy nail. 
At thy well-sharpen'd thumb from shore to 

shore ^ 

The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar : 
Echoes from Pissing- Alley Shadwell call, 
And Shadwell they resound from Aston-Hall. 
About thy boat the little fishes throng, 
As at the morning toast that floats along. 5 " 

Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band, 
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing 

hand. 
St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time, 
Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme : 
Though they in number as in sense excel ; 65 

So just, so like tautology, they fell, 
That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore 
The lute and sword, which he in triumph bore, 
And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more." 
Here stopp'd the good old sire, aud wept for 

joy, 60 

In silent raptures of the hopeful boy. 
All arguments, but most his plays, persuade, 
That for anointed dulness he was made. 

Close to the walls which fail Augusta bind, 
(The fair Augusta much to fears inclined) ° 3 

An ancient fabric raised to inform the sight, 
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight : 
A watch-tower once ; but now, so fate ordains, 
Of all the pile an empty name remains : 
From its old ruins brothel-houses rise, <° 

Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys, 
Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets 

keep, 
And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep. 



Ver. 33. And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came] 
And coarsely cloath'd in rusty drugget came. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 39. With well-timed oars'] With well-trim' d oars. 
MS. Todd. 

Ver. 42. The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd.'] 
The like in Epsom blanket ne'er was tost. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 44. The bite still trembling] The lute she trembles, 
&c. MS. Todd. ' 

Ver. 53. St. Andre" 's fe?t ne'er kept, &c] A French danc- 
ing-master, at this time greatly admired. Derrick. 

Ver. 55. Though they in number as in sense excel ;] Though 
they in number as in verse excel. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 64. Close to the walls, &c.~\ Close bii the walls. &c 
MS. Todd 

Ver. 67. — 
MS. Todd. 



Barbican it hight:'} Barbican is hight. 



Near these a nursery erects its head, 
Where queens are form'd, and future heroes 
bred ; ' 75 

Where unfledged actors learn to laugh and cry, 
Where infant punks their tender voices try, 
And little Maximins the gods defy. 
Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here, 
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear ; m 

But gentle Simkin just reception finds 
Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds : 
Pure clinches the suburbian muse affords, 
And Panton waging harmless war with words. 
Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, ** 
Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne. 
For ancient Decker prophesied long since, 
That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, 
Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense : 
To whom true dulness should some Psyches owe, 
But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow ; 91 
Humorists and Hypocrites it should produce, 
Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce. 

Now empress Fame had publish'd the renown 
Of Shadwell's coronation through the town. 95 
Roused by report of fame, the nations meet, 
From near Bunhill, and distant Watling-street. 
No Persian carpets spread the imperial way, 
But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay : 
From dusty shops neglected authors come, 10 " 
Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum. 
Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby there lay, 
But loads of Shadwell almost choked the way. 
Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepared, 
And Herringman was captain of the guard 105 
The hoary prince in majesty appear'd, 
High on a throne of his own labours rear'd. 
At his right hand our young Ascanius sate, 
Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state. 
His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace, 1I0 
And lambent dulness play'd around his face. 
As Hannibal did to the altars come, 
Swore by his sire, a mortal foe to Rome ; 
So Shadwell swore, nor should his vow be vain, 
That he till death true dulness would maintain ; 
And, in his father's right, and realm's defence, 1I6 
Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense. 



Ver. 81. Simkin just reception finds] Simkin is a 

character of a cobbler in an interlude. Panton, who is 
mentioned soon after, was a famous punster. Deeeick. 

Ver. 88. That in this pile should reign, &c] That in this 
place should reign, &c. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 96. Boused by report of fame, &c] Roused by re- 
port of pomp, &c. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 102. Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby] Except Lopez 
de Vega, Heywood was the most voluminous of all play 
wi-iters, having had, as he himself quaintly expresses it, 
either an entire hand, or at the least a main finger in two 
hundred and twenty plays. He lived in the reigns of 
queen Elizabeth and James I. He also translated dialogues 
of Lucian and Erasmus, and in the year 1635 published, in 
folio, apoem called "The Hierarchy of the Blessed Angels." 
James Shirley deserved to be placed in better com- 
pany. He had a tine imagination; he was the author of 
thirty-nine plays, in many of which are fine passages, as 
there are in his poems. Ogleby was the well-known 
author of a dull translation of Homer and Virgil, which, 
however, as was his History of China, were adorned with 
valuable cuts by Hollar. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 107. Sigh on a throne, &c] High on a state, &c. MS. 
Todd. 

Ver. 113. Swore by his sire, &c] Sworn by his sire, &c. 
MS. Certainly the preferable reading. Todd. 

Ver. 117. nor truce with sense] Or truce with 

sense. MS. Todd. 



MAC FLECKNOE. 



137 



The king himself the sacred unction made, 
As king by office, and as priest by trade. 
In his sinister hand, instead of ball, 12 ° 

He placed a mighty mug of potent ale ; 
Love's Kingdom to his right he did convey, 
At once his sceptre, and his rule of sway ; 
Whose righteous lore the prince had practised 

young, 124 

And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung. 
His temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread, 
That nodding seem'd to consecrate his head. 
Just at the point of time, if fame not lie, 
On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly. 
So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tyber's brook, 13 ° 

Presage of sway from twice sis vultures took. 
The admiring throng loud acclamations make, 
And omens of his future empire take. 
The sire then shook the honours of his head, 
And from his brows damps of oblivion shed 135 
Full on the filial dulness : long he stood, 
Hcpolling from his breast the raging god ; 
At length burst out in this prophetic mood. 
" Heavens bless my son, from Ireland let him 

reign 
To far Barbadoes on the western main ; H0 

Of his dominion may no end be known, 
And greater than his father's be his throne ; 
Beyond Love's Kingdom let him stretch his 

pen !" — 
He paused, and all the people cried, Amen. 
Then thus continued he : " My son, advance 145 
Still in new impudence, new ignorance. 
Success let others teach, learn thou from me 
Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. 
Let Virtuosos in five years be writ ; 
Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. K0 
Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage, 
.Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage ; 
Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit, 
And in their folly show the writer's wit. 
Vet still thy fools shall staud in thy defence, l55 
And justify their artthor's want of sense. 
Let them be all by thy own model made 
Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid ; 
That they to future ages may be known, 
Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. lc0 

Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same, 
All full of thee, and differing but in name. 
But let no alien Sedley interpose, 
To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose. 

Ver. 138. At length burst out, &c] At length broke out, 
&c. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 143. Beyond Love's Kingdom, &c] This is the name 
of that one play of Flecknoe's which was acted, hut mis- 
carrird in the representation. Derrick. 

Ver. 144. . the people cried, Amen.] The people 

said, Amen. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 110. Let Virtuosos in five years he writ ;] Shadwell's 

of the Virtuoso, in which Sir Formal Trifle, a florid 

combical orator, is a principal character, was first 

acted in 1676; mid he tells the Duke of Newcastle, in the 

dedication, " that here he has endeavoured at humour, wit, 

and satire." DERRICK. 



Ver. 150. 

■ It. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 159. 

MS. Todd. 

\ 8 r. leu. 

own. Ms. T >. 

\ er. Hil. To lord with wit thy Hungry Epsom prose."] 
Alluding to Shadwell's comedy, called Epsom 'Wills, 
hi EtBICK, 



accuse thy toil of wit.] Accuse thy soil 
to future ayes, &c] To after ages, &c] 
but issue of thy own.] But issues of thy 



And when false flowers of rhetoric thou would'st 
cull, "a 

Trust nature, do not labour to be dull ; 
But write thy best, and top ; and, in each line, 
Sir Formal's oratory will be thine : 
Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill, 
And does thy northern dedications fill. 17 ° 

Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame, 
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name. 
Let Father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise, 
And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise. 
Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part : 
What share have we in nature, or in art? '" G 

Where did his wit on learning fix a brand, 
And rail at arts he did not understand I 
Where made he love in prince Meander's vein, 
Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain ] ls0 
Where sold he bargains, "whip-stitch, kiss my arse," 
Promised a play, and dwindled to a farce ! 
When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin, 
As thou whole Etherege dost transfuse to thine ! 
But so transfused, as oil and waters flow, ls5 

His always floats above, thine sinks below. 
This is thy province, this thy wondrous way, 
New humours to invent for each new play : 
This is that boasted bias of thy mind, 
By which one way to dulness 'tis inclined : wo 
AVhich makes thy writings lean on one side still, 
And, in all changes, that way bends thy wilL 
Nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence 
Of likeness ; thine 's a tympany of sense. 
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ, 195 

But sure thou 'rt but a kilderkin of wit. 
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep ; 
Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep. 
With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write, 
Thy inoffensive satires never bite. 20 ° 

In thy felonious art though venom lies, 
It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. 
Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame 
In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram. 
Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command, 
Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. 2UG 

There thou inay'st Wings display and Altars raise, 
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. 
Or, if thou would'st thy different talents suit, 
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute." 
He said; but his last words were scarcely 
heard : 2tl 

For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepared, 
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard. 
Sinking he left his drugget robe behind, 
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind. 2I5 

The mantle fell to the young prophet's part, 
With double portion of his father's art. 

Ver. 176. What share have we in nature, or in art f] For 
what have we in nature, or in art? MS. Todd. 

Ver. 178. And rail at arts, &c] Or raile at art, See. 
MS. Todd. 

Ver. 179. prior.' Nicandt r's •< in,] A character of 

a lover in the opera of Psyche. Debbicx. 

Ver. 190. By which one way, &c] lly which each way, 
&c. MS. Todd. 

Ver. 193. AW let thy mountain-belly, &C.] Alluding to 
Shadwell's firm, who was pretty lusty. DSBRICK. 

Ver. 204. mild Anagram.] Kind Anagram. MS. 

Todd. 

Ver. 207. and Altars raise,] And trophies raise. 

MS. Todd. 

Ver.212. For Brio, and LongvU, &c] Two very heavy 
characters in Shadwell's virtu..:.,., win. in he calls gentlemen 
of wit and good sense. Dkui.uk. 



138 



EPISTLES. 



EPISTLES. 



TO MY HONOURED FRIEND, ' 

SIR ROBERT HOWARD,* 

ON HIS EXCELLENT POEMS. 



As there is music uninform'd by art 

In those wild notes, which, with a merry heart, 



* Sir Robert Howard, a younger son of Thomas Earl of 
Berkshire, and brother to Mr. Dryden's lady, studied for 
some time in Magdalene-college. He suffered many op- 
pressions on account of his loyalty, and was one of the few 
of King Charles the Second's friends, whom that monarch 
did not forget. Perhaps he had his present ends in it ; for 
Sir Robert, who was a man of parts, helped him to obtain 
money in parliament, wherein he sate as burgess, first for 
Stockbridge, and afterwards for Castle-Rising in Norfolk. 
He was, soon after the restoration, made a knight of the 
Bath, and one of the auditors of the Exchequer, valued at 
£3000 per annum. Notwithstanding that he was supposed 
to be a great favourer of the Catholics, he soon took the 
oaths to King William, by whom he was made a privy- 
councillor in the beginning of the year 1689 ; and no man 
was a more open or inveterate enemy to the Nonjurors. 

Several of his pieces, both in prose and verse,' were pub- 
lished at different times ; among which are the Duel of the 
Stags, a celebrated poem ; the comedy of the Blind Lady ; 
the Committee, or, the Faithful Irishman; the Great 
Favourite, or, the Duke of Lerma ; the Indian Queen, a 
tragedy, written in conjunction with our author ; -the Sur- 
prisal, a tragi-comedy ; and the Vestal Virgin, or the 
Roman Ladies, a tragedy ; the last has two different con- 
clusions, one tragical, and the other, to use the author's own 
words, comical. The last five plays were collected together, 
and published by Tonson, in a small 12mo volume, in 1722. 
The Blind Lady was printed with some of his poems. 

Langbaine speaks in very high terms of Sir Robert's 
merit, in which he is copied by Giles Jacob. See their 
Lives of the Poets. 

This gentleman was, however, extremely positive, re- 
markably overbearing, and pretending to universal know- 
ledge ; which failings, joined to his having then been of an 
opposite party, drew upon him the censure of Shadwell, who 
has satirised him very severely in a play, called The Sullen 
Lovers, under the name of Sir Positive At-all, and his lady, 
whom he first kept and afterwards married, under that of 
Lady Vain. Derrick. 

Ver. 1. As there is music] One would have thought from 
this elegant exordium, that Sir Robert Howard was a son of 
fancy, and warbled his native wood-notes wild with pecu- 
liar freedom and felicity. His poems, which are hard and 
prosaic, are not of this kind. The edition to which these 
were prefixed were printed by Herringman, 1660, and con- 
tains a Panegyric to the King, Songs and Sonnets, the 
Blind Lady, a comedy; the fourth book of Virgil, the 
Achilleis of Statius, a panegyric on General Monk. The 
songs are without harmony of numbers ; the fourth book 
of Virgil lame and not faithful ; the notes added to the 
Achilleis are some of them learned; the panegyric on 
Monk very inferior to that of Dryden. He wrote besides 
the Committee, a comedy; the Great Favourite, a tragedy; 
the Indian Queen, a tragedy ; the Surprisal, a tragi-comedy 
the Vestal Virgin, a tragedy. He was member of Parlia- 
ment for Stockbridge, in Hampshire, and was brother-in- 
law to Mr. Dryden, who addressed his Annus Mirabilis to 



The birds in unfrequented shades express, 

Who, better taught at home, yet please us less : 

So in your verse a native sweetness dwells, 6 

Which shames composure, and its art excels. 

Singing no more can your soft numbers grace, 

Than paint add charms unto a beauteous face. 

Yet as, when mighty rivers gently creep, 

Their even calmness does suppose them deep ; 10 

Such is your muse : no metaphor swell'd high 

With dangerous boldness lifts her to the sky : 

Those mounting fancies, when they fall again, 

Show sand and dirt at bottom do remain. 

So firm a strength, and yet withal so sweet, 15 

Did never but in Samson's riddle meet. 

'Tis strange each line so great a weight should 

bear, 
And yet no sign of toil, no sweat appear. 
Either your art hides art, as stoics feign 
Then least to feel, when most they suffer pain ; * 
And we, dull souls, admire, but cannot see 
What hidden springs within the engine be ; 
Or 'tis some happiness that still pursues 
Each act and motion of your graceful muse. 
Or is it fortune's work, that in your head 25 

The curious net that is for fancies spread, 
Lets through its meshes every meaner thought, 
While rich ideas there are only caught 1 
Sure that 's not all'; this is a piece too fair 
To be the child of chance, and not of care. ^ 

No atoms casually together hurl'd 
Could e'er produce so beautiful a world. 
Nor dare I such a doctrine here admit, 
As would destroy the providence of wit. 
'Tis your strong genius then which does not feel 
Those weights, would make a weaker spirit 

reel. m 

To carry weight, and run so lightly too, 
Is what alone your Pegasus can do. 
Great Hercules himself could ne'er do more, 
Than not to feel those heavens and gods he 

bore. ' 40 

Your easier odes, which for delight were penn'd, 
Yet our instruction make their second end : 
We're both enrich'd and pleased, like them that 

woo 
At once a beauty, and a fortune too. 

him, but quarrelled with him afterwards on defending 
dramatic rhyme, which Dryden defended in his Dialogue 
on Dramatic Poetry. In this epistle, the lines 23, 25, 31, 
40, ii, 60, 100, are all of them full of fulsome and false 
adulation. The most celebrated of Howard's poems was 
the Duel of the Stags. Shadwell severely satirised him 
under the character of Sir Positive At-all in his Sullen 
Lovers. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 26. The curious net &c] A compliment to a poem 
of Sir Robert's, entitled Rete Mirabile. Derrick. 



EPISTLES. 



139 



Of moral knowledge poesy was queen, * 

And still she might, had wanton wits not been ; 
Who, like ill guardians, lived themselves at 

large, 
And, not content with that, debauch'd their 

charge. 
Like some brave captain, your successful pen 
Restores the exiled to her crown again : 5U 

And gives us hope, that having seen the days 
When nothing flourish'd but fanatic bays, 
All will at length in this opinion rest, 
"A sober prince's government is best." 
This is not all ; your art the way has found 5i 
To make the improvement of the richest ground, 
That soil which those immortal laurels bore, 
That once the sacred Maro's temples wore. 
Elisa's griefs are so express'd by you, 
They are too eloquent to have been true. Gu 

Had she so spoke, iEneas had obey'd 
What Dido, rather than what Jove had said. 
If funeral rites can give a ghost repose, 
Your muse so justly has discharged those, 
Elisa's shade may now its wand'ring cease, K 

And claim a title to the fields of peace. 
But if .<Eneas be obliged, no less 
Your kindness great Achilles doth confess; 
Who, drcss'd by Statius in too bold a look, 
Did ill become those virgin robes he took. '" 

To understand how much we owe to you, 
We must your numbers, with your author's 

view : 
Then we shall see his work was lamely rough, 
Each figure stiff, as if design'd in buff : 
His colours laid so thick on every place, ' 5 

As only show'd the paint, but hid the face. 
But as in perspective we beauties see, 
Which in the glass, not in the picture, be ; 
So here our sight obligingly mistakes 
That wealth, which his your bounty only makes. 80 
Thus vulgar dishes are, by cooks disguised, 
More for their dressing, than their substance 

prized. 
Your curious notes so search into that age, 
When all was fable but the sacred page, 
That, since in that dark night we needs must 

stray, M 

We are at least misled in pleasant way. 
But what we most admire, your verse no less 
The prophet than the poet doth confess. 
Ere our weak eyes discern'd the doubtful streak 
( )(' light, you saw great Charles his morning break : 
So skilful seamen ken the land from far, 91 

Which shows like mists to the dull passenger. 
To Charles your muse first pays her duteous 

love, 
As still the ancients did begin from Jove. 
With Monk you end, whose name preserved 

shall be, "5 

As Rome recorded Rufus' memory, 
Who thought it greater honour to obey 
His country's interest, than the world to sway. 
Bat to write worthy things of worthy men, 
Is the peculiar talent of your pen : 10 ° 

Yet lot me take your mantle up, and I 
Will venture in your right to prophesy. 
" This work, by merit first of fame secure, 
I likewise happy in its geniture : 
For, since 'tis born when Charles ascends the 

throne, "'" 

It shares at once his fortune and its own." 



TO MY HONOURED FRIEND, 



DR. CIIARLETON,' 



N HIS LEARNED AND USEFUL WORKS; BUT MORE PAR- 
TICULARLY HIS TREATISE OF BTONEHENGE, IIV HIM 
RESTORED TO THE TRUE FOUNDER, 



The longest tyranny that ever sway'd, 
Was that wherein our ancestors betray 'd 

* The book that occasioned this epistle made its appear- 
ance in quarto in 1663. It is dedicated to King Charles II. 
and entitled, " Chorea Gigantum ; or, The most famous 
Antiquity of Great Britain, Stone-Henge, standing on 
Salisbury-plain, restored to the Danes, by Dr. WalterChar- 
leton, M.D., and Physician in Ordinary to his Majesty." 
It was written in answer to a treatise of Inigo Jones's, 
which attributed this stupendous pile to the Romans, sup- 
posing it to be a temple, by tin m dedicated to the god 
Ccelum, or Coelus; and here that great architect let his 
imagination outrun his judgment, nay, his sense; for lie 
described it not as it is, but as it ought to be, in order to make 
it consistent with what he delivered. Dr. Charlcton, who 
will have this to be a Danish monument, was countenanced 
in his opinion by Olaus Wormius, who wrote him several 
letters upon the subject ; yet, that lie was mistaken, appears 
by the mention made of Stonehenge in Nennius's Hist. 
Britonum, a writer who lived two hundred years before the 
Danes came into England. Though his book was approved 
of by many men of great erudition, and is not only very 
learned, but abounds with curious observations, it was but 
indifferently received, and raised many clamours against 
the author. 

Envy, however, could not prevent Dr. Charleton's merits 
from being seen, nor divide him from the intimacy of Mr. 
Hobbes, the philosopher; Sir George Ent, a celebrated 
physician; the noble family of the Boyles; and Dr. William 
Harvey, whose claim to the discovery of the circulation of 
the blood, he forcibly defended against the claim thereto set 
on foot by Father Paul. Thus he 

From dark oblivion Harvey's name shall save. 

As that eminent physician was now dead, the doctor's 
behaviour upon this point was as generous an instance of 
gratitude and respect to his friend's memory, as it was a 
proof of his capacity and extensive learning. He was pre- 
sident of the college of physicians, from 16>>9 to 1691, when 
his affairs being not in the most flourishing state, he re- 
tired to the isle of Jersey, and died in 1707, aged eighty- 
eight years. Derrick. 

Ver. 1. The longest tyranny] The rude magnitude of 
Stonehenge has rendered it the admiration of all ages ; and 
as the enormous stones which compose it appear too big for 
land-carriage, and as Salisbury-plain, for many miles 
round, scarce affords any stones at all, it has been the 
opinion of some antiquaries, that these stones are artificial, 
and were made on the spot; but most authors are now 
agreed, that these stones are all natural, and that they 
were brought from a collection of stones called the Grey 
Wethers, growing out of the ground, about fifteen miles 
from Stonehenge. 

The use and origin of this work have been the subjects 
of various conjectures and debates; and much it is to be 
lamented, that' a tablet of tin, with an inscription, which 
was found here in the reign of Henry the Eighth, and 
might probably have set these points in a clear light, 
should not be preserved ; for as the characters were not 
understood by such as were consulted upon the occasion, the 
plate was destroyed, or at least thrown by and lost. The 
common tradition is, that Stonehenge was built by Am- 
brosius Aurelianus. Some will have it to be a funeral 
monument raised to the memory of some brave commander; 
and others maintain that it was erected to the honour "I 
Ilengist, the Snxon general; but this structure is probably 
more ancient. 

Sammes, in the Antiquities of Britain, conjectures it to 
have been a work of the Phoenicians; and tin- famous 
Inigo Jones, in a treatise called "Stonehenge restored," 
attempts to prove, that it was a temple of the Tuscan order, 
liuilt by the Romans, and dedicated to the god Caelum, or 
Terminus, in which ho is confirmed bj H 1 having been 
open at top. l';'. Charleton, physician in ordinary to 
King Charles the Second, wrote a treatise called "Stone- 
hen i n toredto the Danes," atteroj ting to prove thai this 
was a Danish monument, erected either for a burial-place 



140 



EPISTLES. 



Their free-born reason to the Stagirite, 

And made his torch their universal light. 

So truth, while only one supplied the state, 6 

Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate. 

Still it was bought, like emp'ric wares, or 

charms, 
Hard words seal'd up with Aristotle's arms. 
Columbus was the first that shook his throne, 
And found a temperate in a torrid zone : 10 

The feverish air fann'd by a cooling breeze, 
The fruitful vales set round with shady trees ; 
And guiltless men, who danced away their 

time, 
Fresh as their groves, and happy as their clime. 
Had we still paid that homage to a name, 15 

Which only God and nature justly claim ; 
The western seas had been our utmost bound, 
Where poets still might dream the sun was 

drown'd : 
And all the stars that shine in southern skies, 
Had been admired by none but savage eyes. 20 

Among the asserters of free reason's claim, 
Our nation 's not the least in worth or fame. 
The world to Bacon does not only owe 
Its present knowledge, but its future too. 
Gilbert shall live, till loadstones cease to 

draw, M 

Or British fleets the boundless ocean awe ; 
And noble Boyle, not less in nature seen, 
Than his great brother read in states and men. 



as a trophy for some victory, or for the election and coro- 
nation of their kings. And soon after the publication of 
Dr. Charleton's treatise, Mr. Webb, son-in-law of Inigo 
Jones, published a vindication of the opinions of his father- 
in-law upon this subject. But antiquaries have since 
agreed, that it was an ancient temple of the Druids, built, 
as Dr. Stukely thinks, before the Belgae came to Britain, 
and not long after Cambyses invaded Egypt, where he 
committed such horrid outrages among the priests and 
inhabitants in general, that they dispersed themselves to 
all quarters of the world, and some, no doubt, came into 
Britain. At this time, the Doctor conjectures the Egyptians 
introduced their arts, learning, and religion, among tbe 
Druids, and probably had a hand in this very work, being 
the only one of the Druids where the stones are chiselled : 
all their other works consisting of rude stones, not touched 
by any tool. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 25. Gilbert shall live,'] Dr. William Gilbert was 
physician both to Queen Elizabeth and King James. In 
the year 1600, he published a very curious dissertation on 
the magnet. Antiquarians are much divided in opinion 
concerning the iera of the first discovery of the loadstone. 
The Chinese boast of having discovered it many centuries 
ago, but did not apply it to any useful purposes. It is re- 
markable that Dante mentions it in the Inferno. But tbe 
Abbe" Tiraboschi, in his excellent History of Italian Lite- 
rature, vol. viii. p. 180, observes, that the most ancient 
work, after the poem of Guyot de Provins, in which any 
mention is made of the loadstone in Europe, is in the 
Eastern History of the Cardinal Jaques de Vitry, who died 
in 1224. It may be found in the 89th chapter of the Col- 
lection of Bongars. " Adamas in India reperitur — ferrum 
occulta quadam natura ad se trahit. Acus ferrea postquam 
adamantem contigerit, ad stellam septentrionalem semper 
convertitur, unde valde necessarius est navigantibus in 
mari." We may observe, that this author attributes to 
the diamond the virtues of the loadstone. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 27. And noble Boyle^] Every lover df science, reli- 
gion and virtue, will perpetually venerate the name of the 
Hon. Robert Boyle, seventh son of Richard, Earl of Cork 
and Burlington, born in 1677, not only as being the founder 
of the Royal Society, for which he is here celebrated, but 
also for being the founder of a lecture, which has produced 
a series of discourses in defence of natural and revealed 
religion, which, for learning and argument, cannot be pa- 
ralleled in any age or country. His brother, mentioned in 
the next line, Earl of Orrery, was a soldier and statesman, 
and wrote eight tragedies in rhyme, now totally forgotten. 
Dr. J. Warton. 



The circling streams, once thought but pools, 

of blood 
(Whether life's fuel, or the body's food) 
From dark oblivion Harvey's name shall save ; 
While Ent keeps all the honour that he gave. 
Nor are you, learned friend, the least renown'd ; 
Whose fame, not circumscribed with English 

ground, 
Flies like the nimble journeys of the light ; 35 
And is, like that, unspent too in its flight. 
Whatever truths have been, by art or chance, 
Redeem'd from error, or from ignorance, 
Thin in their authors, like rich veins of ore, 
Your works unite, and still discover more. 40 

Such is the healing virtue of your pen, 
To perfect cures on books, as well as men. 
Nor is this work the least : you well may give 
To men new vigour, who make stones to live. 
Through you, the Danes, their short dominion 

lost, 45 

A longer conquest than the Saxons boast. 
Stonehenge, once thought a temple, you have 

found 
A throne, where kings, our earthly gods, were 

crown'd ; 
Where by their wond'ring subjects they were 

seen, 
Joy'd with their stature, and their princely mien. 
Our sovereign here above the rest might stand, 51 
And here be chose again to rule the land. 

These ruins shelter'd once his sacred head, 
When he from Wor'ster's fatal battle fled ; 
Watch'd by the genius of this royal place, M 

And mighty visions of the Danish race. 



Ver. 30. Whether life's fuel,] The merit of the very im- 
portant discovery of the circulation of the blood, has been 
denied to our illustrious countryman, Dr. Harvey. It has 
been by some ascribed to the famous Father Paul. Dr. 
Wotton gives it to Servetus, who was so inhumanly burnt 
by Calvin. Sir George Ent, a celebrated physician, is the 
person mentioned, verse 32. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 53. These ruins shelter'd once, &c] In the dedica- 
tion, made by Dr. Charleton, of his book, concerning Stone- 
henge, to king Charles II., there is the following memora- 
ble passage, which gave occasion to the six concluding 
lines of this poem. " I have had the honour to hear from 
that oracle of truth and wisdom, your majesty's own mouth : 
you were pleased to visit that monument, and, for many 
hours together, entertain yourself with the delightful view 
thereof, when, after the defeat of your loyal army at Wor- 
cester, Almighty God, in infinite mercy to your three 
kingdoms, miraculously delivered you out of the bloody 
jaws of those ministers of sin and cruelty." Derrick, 

Ver. 55. Watch'd by] In surveying this stupendous 
work of the most remote antiquity, the mind is seized with 
that religious awe and superstition, most adapted to awaken 
and excite poetical enthusiasm : 

" quEcdam divina voluptas 

Percipit, atque horror ! " — Lucret. 

From his mentioning the genius of the place, and the 
mighty visions, one would have expected that our poet 
would have caught fire, and enlarged on so promising a 
subject ; but he has disappointed us, and given only a hint. 
Mr. Serjeant, in an elegant Ode on this subject, has shown 
how susceptible it was of true poetry ; as has the author of 
the following Sonnet, which I cannot forbear to insert in 
this place. 

SONNET. 

Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle ! 
Whether by Merlin's aid from Scythia's shore, 
To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore, 
Huge frame of giant-hands, the mighty pile, 
T' entomb his Britons slain by Hengist's guile : 
Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore, 
Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic lore ; 



ilis refuge then was for a temple shown : 
But, lie restored, 'tis now become a throne. 



TO 



THE LADY CASTLEMAIN, 



UPON 1IEE ENCOURAGING JUS FIRST PLAY. 



As seamen, shipwreck'd on some happy shore, 
Discover wealth in lands unknown before ; 
And, what their art had labour'd long in vain, 
By their misfortunes happily obtain : 
So my much-envied muse, by storms long toss'd, 5 
Is thrown upon your hospitable coast, 
And finds more favour by her ill success, 
Than she could hope for by her happiness. 
Once Cato's virtue did the gods oppose ; 
While they the victor, he the vanquish'd chose : 
But you have done what Cato could not do, n 
To choose the vanquish'd, and restore him too. 
Let others still triumph, and gain their cause 
By their deserts, or by the world's applause ; 
Let merit crowns, and justice laurels give, B 

But let me happy by your pity live. 
True poets empty fame and praise despise, 
Fame is the trumpet, but your smile the prize. 
You sit above, and see vain men below 
Contend for what you only can bestow : 
But those great actions others do by chance, 
Are, like your beauty, your inheritance : 
So great a soul, such sweetness join'd in one, 
Could only spring from noble Grandison. 
You, like the stars, not by reflection bright, - 5 
Are born to your own heaven, and your own light ; 
Like them are good, but from a nobler cause, 
From your own knowledge, not from nature's laws. 

Or Danish chiefs, enrich'd with savage spoil, 

To victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine, 

Kear'd the rude heap; or, in thy hallow'd round, 

Repose the kings of Brutus' genuine line; 

Or here those kings in solemn state were crown'd; 

Studious to trace thy wond'rous origine, 

We muse on many an ancient tale renown'd. 

Dr. J. Warton. 

* Mr. Dryden's first play, called the Wild Gallant, was 

exhibited with but indifferent success. The lady, whose 

patronage he acknowledges in this epistle, was Barbara, 

daughter of William Villiers Lord Grandison, who was 

killed in the king's service at the battle of Edge-hill, in 

1642, and buried in Christ Church, in Oxford. This lady 

was one of Charles the Second's favourite mistresses for 

many years, and she bore him several children : — 1. Charles 

Fitzroy, Duke of Southampton ; 2. Henry Fitzroy, Earl of 

Eunton and Duke of Grafton; 3. George Fitzroy, Earl of 

Northumberland; 4. Charlotta, married to Sir Edward 

Henry Lee, of Ditchley, in Oxfordshire, afterwards Earl of 

l.iehrield, and brother to Elconora, Countess of Abingdqn, 

hom Dryden has written a beautiful elegy; 5. A 

titer, whom the king denied to be his. 

I liis lady was, before she was known to his majesty, 

married to Roger Palmer, Esq., who was created Earl of 

main, by whom she had a daughter, whom the king 

adopted, and who married with Thomas Lord Dacres, Earl 

The Countess of Castlemain was afterwards created 
Duchess of Cleveland. Dehhick. 

Ver. 9. Once Caida virtwt did the gods oppose; 

fnil they Ho victor, !■■ tm ixmquish'd chose:] 
"Victrix causa dcis placuit sedvictn Catone." 

John Warton. 



Your power you never use, but for defence, 
To guard your own, or others' innocence : M 

Your foes are such, as they, not you, have made, 
And virtue may repel, though not invade. 
Such courage did the ancient heroes show, 
Who, when they might prevent, would wait the 

blow : 
With such assurance as they meant to say, M 
We will o'ercome, but scorn the safest way. 
What further fear of danger can there be ' 
Beauty, which captives all things, sets me free. 
Posterity will judge by my success, 
I had the Grecian poet's happiness, <n 

Who, waiving plots, found out a better way ; 
Some God descended, and preserved the play. 
When first the triumphs of your sex were sung 
By those old poets, beauty was but young, 
And few admired the native red and white, * 
Till poets dress'd them up to charm the sight ; 
So beauty took on trust, and did engage 
For sums of praises till she came to age. 
But this long-growing debt to poetry 
You justly, madam, have discharged to me, "" 
When your applause and favour did infuse 
New life to my condemn'd and dying muse. 



TO MR. LEE, 



ON HIS "ALEXANDER." 



The blast of common censure could I fear, 
Before your play my name should not appear ; 
For 'twill be thought, and with some colour too, 
I pay the bribe I first received from you ; 
That mutual vouchers for our fame we stand, 5 
And play the game into each other's hand ; 
And as cheap pen'orths to ourselves afford, 
As Bessus and the brothers of the sword. 
Such libels private men may well endure, 
When states and kings themselves are not se- 
cure : "' 
For ill men, conscious of their inward guilt, 
Think the best actions on by-ends are built. 
And yet my silence had not 'scaped their spite ; 
Then, envy had not suffer'd me to write ; 
For, since I could not ignorance pretend, 



Ver. 1. The blftsi of common] Every reader of taste must 
agree with Addison, from whose opinions it is always ha- 
zardous to dissent, that none of our poets had a genius more 
strongly turned for tragedy than Lie. Notwithstanding 
his many rants and extravagancies, for which Dryden 
skilfully and elegantly apologizes in ten admirable lines 
of this epistle, from verse 45. yet are there many beautiful 
touches of nature and passion iii his Alexander, his Lncius 
.1. Brutus, and Theodosius. So true was what he himself 
once replied to a puny objector : " It is nol an easy thing to 
write like a madman, but it is very easy to write like a 
fool." When Lord Rochester objected, 

"That Lee makes temperate Seipio fret and rave, 
And Annibal a whining amorous slave:" 
it ought to bo remembered, that this is a fault Into which 
the most applauded tragedians have frequentlj fallen, and 
none more so than Corneille and Racine, though the latter 
correct a Bcholar. Lee losl his life in a lamentable 
manner; returning home at midnight, In one of bis lit> of 
Intoxication, he Stumbled and fell down in the street, and 

perished In a deep snow, 1692. i>u. J. ^ ibtoh. 



142 



EPISTLES. 



Such merit I must envy or commend. 

So many candidates there stand for wit, 

A place at court is scarce so hard to get : 

In vain they crowd each other at the door j 

For e'en reversions are all begg'd before : 20 

Desert, how known soe'er, is long delay'd ; 

And then too fools and knaves are better paid. 

Yet, as some actions bear so great a name, 

That courts themselves are just, for fear of shame; 

So has the mighty merit of your play 25 

Extorted praise, and forced itself away. 

'Tis here as 'tis at sea ; who farthest goes, 

Or dares the most, makes all the rest his foes. 

Yet when some virtue much outgrows the rest, 

It shoots too fast, and high, to be express'd ; M 

As his heroic worth struck envy dumb, 

Who took the Dutchman, and who cut the boom. 

Such praise is your's, while you the passions move, 

That 'tis no longer feign' d, 'tis real love, 

Where nature triumphs over wretched art ; B 

We only warm the head, but you the heart. 

Always you warm ; and if the rising year, 

As in hot regions, brings the sun too near, 

'Tis but to make your fragrant spices blow, 

Which in our cooler climates will not grow. 40 

They only think you animate your theme 

With too much fire, who are themselves all 

phlegm. 
Prizes would be for lags of slowest pace, 
Were cripples made the judges of the race. 
Despise those drones, who praise, while they 

accuse 45 

The too much vigour of your youthful muse. 
That humble style which they your virtue make, 
Is in your power ; you need but stoop and take. 
Your beauteous images must be allow'd 
By all, but some vile poets of the crowd. 50 

But how should any sign-post dauber know 
The worth of Titian or of Angelo ? 
Hard features every bungler can command ; 
To draw true beauty shows a master's hand. 



TO 



THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON, 

ON HIS EXCELLENT ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VEESE. 



Whether the fruitful Nile, or Tyrian shore, 
The seeds of arts and infant science bore, 
'Tis sure the noble plant, translated first, 
Advanced its head in Grecian gardens nursed. 
The Grecians added verse : their tuneful tongue 5 
Made nature first, and nature's God their song. 
Nor stopp'd translation here : for conqu'ring 

Rome, 
With Grecian spoils, brought Grecian numbers 

home; 
Enrich'd by those Athenian muses more, 
Than all the vanquish'd world could yield be- 
fore, if 
'Till barbarous nations, and more barbarous 

times, 
Debased the majesty of verse to rhymes ; 

Ver. 12. Debased the majesty of verse to rhymes ;] The 
advocates for rhyme seem not to advert to what Servius 



Those rude at first : a kind of hobbling prose, 
That limp'd along, and tinkled in the close. 
But Italy, reviving from the trance ,s 

Of Vandal, Goth, and Monkish ignorance, 
With pauses, cadence, and well-vowell'd words, 
And all the graces a good ear affords, 
Made rhyme an art, and Dante's polish'd page 
Restored a silver, not a golden age. 
Then Petrarch follow'd, and in him we see, 
What rhyme improved in all its height can be : 
At best a pleasing sound, and fair barbarity. 
The French pursued their steps ; and Britain, 

last, 
In manly sweetness all the rest surpass'd. B 

The wit of Greece, the gravity of Rome, 
Appear exalted in the British loom : 
The Muse's empire is restored again, 
In Charles his reign, and by Roscommon's pen. 
Yet modestly he does his work survey, 30 

And calls a finish'd Poem an Essay ; 
For all the needful rules are scatter'd here ; 
Truth smoothly told, and pleasantly severe ; 
So well is art disguised, for nature to appear. 
Nor need those rules to give translation light : M 
His own example is a flame so bright, 
That he who but arrives to copy well, 
Unguided will advance, unknowing will excel. 
Scarce his own Horace could such rules ordain, 
Or his own Virgil sing a nobler strain. * 

How much in him may rising Ireland boast, 
How much in gaining him has Britain lost ! 
Their island in revenge has ours reclaim'd ; 
The more instructed we, the more we still are 

shamed. 
'Tis well for us his generous blood did flow, w 
Derived from British channels long ago, 

says, that rhyme was used in the time of the Saturnalia by 
the Roman populace in their rude songs, and by the soldiers 
in their acclamations, and at their feasts in honour of their 
victorious generals. We may apply to rhyme what Seneca 
says of the subtleties of logic, " Comminuitur et debilitatur 
generosa indoles in istas angustias conjecta." John 
Waeton. 

Ver. 14. • and tinkled in the closed] Drydsn adopts 

the contemptuous description of rhyme from preceding au- 
thors, and those of no mean note. Thus in Ben Jonson's 
Masque of The Fortunate Isles, Skogan, the jester, is repre- 
sented as a writer "in rime, fine tinckling rime!" And 
Andrew Marvell, in his spirited verses to Milton on his 
Paradise Lost, thus exclaims : 

" "Well might' st thou scorn thy readers to allure 
With tinkling rhime, of thy own sense secure." 

Todd. 

Ver. 19. Dante's polish'd page'] There is a very 

ancient Italian poem, entitled; Aspramonte, containing an 
account of the war of king Guarnieri and Agolante against 
Rome and Charlemagne ; which, from the circumstance of 
the style being a mixture of the Tuscan with other Italian 
dialects, appears to be prior to Dante. There was an edition 
of it at Venice, 1615. It is become extremely rare, and is 
a great curiosity. It is mentioned by Quadrio in his History 
of Italian Poetry. Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 21. Then Petrarch follow'd,'] It was on the sixth of 
April, 1327, that Petrarch fell in love with Laura, in the 
twenty-third year of his age. Paul Jovius reports, that it 
was a common saying in Italy, that Petrarch did not suc- 
ceed in writing prose, nor Boccacio in writing verse. Few 
books are so entertaining as the Abbe Sade's circumstantial 
Life of Petrarch, which contains also a curious picture of 
the manners and opinions of that age. It is pleasant to 
observe, that Petrarch's Lanra was allegorized to mean the 
Christian Religion by one commentator ; the Soul by ano- 
ther ; and the Virgin Mary by a third. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ibid. Then Petrarch follow'd,] No reasoning from the 
Italian language to the English about rhyme and blank 
verse. One language (says Johnson) cannot communicate 
its rules to another. John Warton. 



EPISTLES. 



143 



That here his conqii'ring ancestors were nursed ; 
And Ireland but translated England first : 
By this reprisal we regain our right, 
Else must the two contending nations fight ; 50 
A nobler quarrel for his native earth, 
Than what divided Greece for Homer's birth. 
To what perfection will our tongue arrive, 
How will invention and translation thrive, 
When authors nobly born will bear their part, 5S 
And not disdain the inglorious praise of art ! 
Great generals thus, descending from command, 
With their own toil provoke the soldier's hand. 
How will sweet Ovid's ghost be pleased to bear 
His fame augmented by an English peer ; m 

How he embellishes his Helen's loves, 
Outdoes his softness, and his sense improves 1 
When these translate, and teach translators too, 
Nor firstling kid, nor any vulgar vow, 
Should at Apollo's grateful altar stand : 65 

Roscommon writes : to that auspicious hand, 
Muse, feed the bull that spurns the yellow sand. 
Roscommon, whom both court and camps com- 
mend, 
True to his prince, and faithful to his friend ; 
Roscommon, first in fields of honour known, '° 
First in the peaceful triumphs of the gown ; 
Who both Minervas justly makes his own. 
Now let the few beloved by Jove, and they 
Whom infused Titan form'd of better clay, 
On equal terms with ancient wit engage, 7 5 

Nor mighty Homer fear, nor sacred Virgil's page : 
Our English palace opens wide in state ; 
And without stooping they may pass the gate. 



TO 



THE DUCHESS OF YORK/ 

ON UEE KETUKN FE05I SCOTLAND IN THE YEAR 1682. 



When factious rage to cruel exile drove 

The queen of beauty, and the court of love, 

The Muses droop'd, with their forsaken arts, 

And the sad Cupids broke their useless darts : 

Our fruitful plains to wilds and deserts turn'd, 5 

Like Eden's face, when banish'd man it mourn'd. 

Love was no more, when loyalty was gone, 

The great supporter of his awful throne. 

Love could no longer after beauty stay, 

But wander'd northward to the verge of day, ln 

As if the sun and he had lost their way. 

But now the illustrious nymph, return'd again, 

Brings every grace triumphant in her train. 

Vcr. 67. Muse, fei d the bull] 
" Jam corau petat, et pedibus qui spargat arenam." 

John Wakton. 
Ver. 74. Whom infused Titan] 

" E melioro lutu finxit prajcordia Titan."— Juv. 

John Wakton. 
* On the twenty-first of November 1673, tlio duke of 
York was married to the princess Mary d'Este, then about 
Bfteen years of age, and extremely handsome. The cere- 
mony was performed at Dover by the Kishop of Oxford. 
It was against the rules of policy for him at that time to 
wed Roman Catholic; and the Parliament addressed 
against it. Dkiciuck. 



The wond'ring Nereids, though they raised no 

storm, 
Foreslow'd her passage, to behold her form : i: > 
Some cried, A Venus ; some, A Thetis pass'd ; 
But this was not so fair, nor that so chaste. 
Far from her sight flew Faction, Strife, and 

Pride ; 
And Envy did but look on her, and died. 
Whate'er we suffer'd from our sullen fate, 20 

Her sight is purchased at an easy rate. 
Three gloomy years against this day were set ; 
But this one mighty sum has clear'd the debt : 
Like Joseph's dream, but with a better doom, 
The famine past, the plenty still to come. 2S 

For her the weeping heavens become serene ; 
For her the ground is clad in cheerful green : 
For her the nightingales are taught to sing, 
And Nature has for her delay'd the spring. 
The Muse resumes her long- forgotten lays, 30 

And Love restored his ancient realm surveys, 
Recals our beauties, and revives our plays ; 
His waste dominions peoples once again, 
And from her presence dates his second reign. 
But awful charms on her fair forehead sit, *■ 

Dispensing what she never will admit : 
Pleasing, yet cold, like Cynthia's silver beam, 
The people's wonder, and the poet's theme. 
Distemper'd Zeal, Sedition, canker'd Hate, 
No more shall vex the church, and tear the 

state : * 

No more shall Faction civil discords move, 
Or only discords of too tender love : 
Discord, like that of music's various parts ; 
Discord, that makes the harmony of hearts ; 
Discord, that only this dispute shall bring, tt 

Who best shall love the duke, and serve the king. 



A LETTER TO 

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. 



To you who live in chill degree, 
As map informs, of fifty-three, 
And do not much for cold atone, 
By bringing thither fifty-one, 
Methinks all climes should be alike, 
From tropic e'en to pole artique ; 
Since you have such a constitution 
As no where suffers diminution. 
You can be old in grave debate, 
And young in love-affairs of state ; 
And both to wives and husbands show 
The vigour of a plenipo. 

Vcr. 1. To you who live] Sir George Etherege gained 
great reputation by his three comedies, The Comical lie 
venge, 1664, She Would if She Could, 1608, Tho Han of 
Mode, 1676. The last has been deemed one of our most 
elegant comedies, and contains a most just and lively pic- 
ture of the manners of persons in high life in the a 
Charles II. Having dedicated this comedy to the dui 
of York, she procured his being sent ambassador to Ratis- 
bon, where he resided when Dryden addressed this epistle 
to him, and where, in a lit of intoxication, t.. which hi 
too much habituated, he tumbled down stairs and broke 
his neck. He had a daughter by Mrs. Barry, to vrhom he 
left six thousand pounds. Dr. J. Wab ros. 



144 



EPISTLES. 



Like mighty missioner you come 

" Ad Partes Infidelium." 

A work of wondrous merit sure, 16 

So far to go, so much t 'endure ; 

And all to preach to German dame, 

Where sound of Cupid never came. 

Less had you done, had you been sent, 

As far as Drake or Pinto went, 

For cloves or nutmegs to the line a, 

Or e'en for oranges to China. 

That had indeed been charity ; 

Where love-sick ladies helpless lie, 

Chapp'd, and for want of liquor dry. 25 

But you have made your zeal appear 

Within the circle of the Bear. 

What region of the earth 's so dull, 

That is not of your labours full ? 

Triptolemus (so sung the Nine) ^ 

Strew'd plenty from his cart divine. 

But 'spite of all these fable-makers, 

He never sow'd on Almain acres : 

No, that was left by fate's decree, 

To be perform'd and sung by thee. 

Thou break' st through forms with as much 

ease 
As the French king through articles. 
In grand affairs thy days are spent, 
In waging weighty compliment, 
With such as monarchs represent. 40 

They, whom such vast fatigues attend, 
Want some soft minutes to unbend, 
To show the world that now and then 
Great ministers are mortal men. 
Then Rhenish rummers walk the round ; 45 
In bumpers every king is crown'd ; 
Besides three holy mitred Hectors, 
And the whole college of Electors. 
No health of potentate is sunk, 
That pays to make his envoy drunk. s0 

These Dutch delights, I mention'd last, 
Suit not, I know, your English taste : 
For wine to leave a whore or play 
Was ne'er your Excellency's way. 
Nor need this title give offence, f° 

For here you were your Excellence, 
For gaming, writing, speaking, keeping, 
His Excellence for all but sleeping. 
Now if you tope in form, and treat, 
'Tis the sour sauce to the sweet meat, m 

The fine you pay for being great. 
Nay, here 's a harder imposition, 
Which is indeed the court's petition, 
That setting worldly pomp aside, 
Which poet has at font denied, 65 

You would be pleased in humble way 
To write a trifle call'd a Play. 
This truly is a degradation, 
But would oblige the crown and nation 
Next to your wise negotiation. 
If you pretend, as well you may, 
Your high degree, your friends will say, 
The duke St. Aignon made a play. 
If Gallic wit convince you scarce, 
His grace of Bucks has made a farce, 7S 

And you, whose comic wit is terse all, 
Can hardly fall below Rehearsal. 
Then finish what you have began ; 
But scribble faster if you can : 
For yet no George, to our discerning, m 

Has writ without a ten years' warning. 



TO MR. SOUTHERNE, 

ON HI3 COMEDY CALLED, "THE WIVES' EXCUSE.' 



Suee there 's a fate in plays, and 'tis in vain 

To write while these malignant planets reign. 

Some very foolish influence rules the pit, 

Not always kind to sense, or just to wit : 

And whilst it lasts, let buffoon'ry succeed, 5 

To make us laugh ; for never was more need. 

Farce, in itself, is of a nasty scent ; 

But the gain smells not of the excrement. 

The Spanish nymph, a wit and beauty too, 

With all her channs, bore but a single show : 10 

But let a monster Muscovite appear, 

He draws a crowded audience round the year. 

May be thou hast not pleased the box and pit ; 

Yet those who blame thy tale applaud thy wit : 

So Terence plotted, but so Terence writ. 15 

Like his thy thoughts are true, thy language clean; 

E'en lewdness is made moral in thy scene. 

The hearers may for want of Nokes repine ; 

But rest secure, the readers will be thine. 

Nor was thy labour'd drama damn'd or hiss'd, w 

But with a kind civility dismiss'd ; 

With such good manners, as the Wife did use, 

Who, not accepting, did but just refuse. 

There was a glance at parting ; such a look, 

As bids thee not give o'er, for one rebuke. 25 

But if thou would'st be seen, as well as read, 

Copy one living author, and one dead : 

The standard of thy style let Etherege be ; , 

For wit, the immortal spring of Wycherley : 

Learn, after both, to draw some just design, 3 " 

And the next age will learn to copy thine. 



TO HENRY HIGDEN, Esq.,+ 

ON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



The Grecian wits, who Satire first began, 
Were pleasant Pasquins on the life of man ; 



* The success of this play was but indifferent; but so 
high was our author's opinion of its merit, that, on this 
very account, he bequeathed to this poet the writing of the 
last act of his Cleomenes ; which, Southeme says, " when it 
comes into the world, will appear so considerable a trust, 
that all the town will pardon me for defending this play, 
that preferred me to it." Derrick. 

Ver. 1. Sure there 's a fate] No two writers were ever of 
more dissimilar geniuses than Southeme and Dryden, the 
latter having no turn for, nor idea of the pathetic, of which 
the former was so perfect a master, and of which his Oro- 
nooko and Isabella will remain lasting and striking exam- 
ples. But Dryden used to confess that he had no relish for 
Euripides, and affected to despise Otway. Of all our poets, 
Southeme was distinguished by three remarkable circum- 
stances, — for the purity of his morals and irreproachable 
conduct, for the length of his life, and for gaining more by 
his dramatic labours than certainly any of his predecessors, 
or perhaps of his successors. Dr. J. Warton. 

f This gentleman brought a comedy on the stage in 1693, 
called The Wary Widow, or Sir Noisy Parrot, which was 
damned, and he complains hardly of the ill usage ; for the 

Ver. 1. The Grecian wits,] The first edition of this 
imitation, dedicated to Lord Lumley, in quarto, 1690, is a 



EPISTLES. 



45 



At mighty villains, who the state oppress'd, 

They durst not rail, perhaps ; they lash'd, at least, 

And turn'd them out of office with a jest. 5 

No fool could peep abroad, but ready stand 

The drolls to clap a bauble in his hand. 

Wise legislators never yet could draw 

A fop within the reach of common law ; 

For posture, dress, grimace and affectation, 10 

Though foes to sense, are harmless to the nation. 

( Kir last redress is dint of verse to toy, 

And Satire is our court of Chancery. 

This way took Horace to reform an age, 

Not bad enough to need an author's rage. 15 

But yours, who lived in more degenerate times, 

Was forced to fasten deep, and worry crimes. 

Yet you, my friend, have temper'd him so well, 

You make him smile in spite of all his zeal : 

An art peculiar to yourself alone, 2U 

To join the virtues of two styles in one. 

Oh ! were your author's principle received. 
Half of the labouring world would be relieved : 
For not to wish is not to be deceived. 
Revenge would into charity be changed, 25 

Because it costs too dear to be revenged : 
It costs our quiet and content of mind, 
And when 'tis compass'd leaves a sting behind. 
Suppose I had the better end o'the staff, 
Why should I help the ill-natured world to laugh 1 
'Tis all alike to them, who get the day ; 31 

They love the spite and mischief of the fray. 
No ; I have cured myself of that disease ; 
Nor will I be provoked, but when I please : 
But let me half that cure to you restore ; m 

You give the salve, I laid it to the sore. 

Our kind relief against a rainy day, 
Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play, 
We take your book, and laugh our spleen away. 
If all your tribe, too studious of debate, 40 

Would cease false hopes and titles to create, 
Led by the rare example you begun, 
Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone. 



TO MY DEAR FRIEND, 

MR. CONGREVE, 

ON II1S COMEDY CALLED, "THE DOUBLE DEALER.' 



Well then, the promised hour is come at last, 
The present age of wit obscures the past : 

Bear-Garden critics treated it with cat-calls. It is printed, 
and dedicated to the courtly Earl of Dorset : Sir Charles 
Sedley wrote the prologue, and it was ushered into the 
world with several copies of verses. The audience were 
dismissed at the end of the third act, the author having 
contrived so much drinking of punch in the play, that the 
all got drunk, and were unable to finish it. — See 
Q. Jacob's Lives of the Poets. Derrick. 



ipicable performance, in short, eight syllable verses, 
with ;ni affectation of Hndibrastic humour and diction, di- 
rectlj opposite to thestateliness and majesty of the original. 
II was a disgrace to Dryden to prefix to it these com- 

i datory verses in conjunction with Afra Helm and 

Elkanah Settle. 

" Curru servus portatur eodem." 

Dr. J. Warton. 
Ver. 1. Well then,] To be able to write a good comedy 
' * tdently implies and pre-supposes an acquaintance with 



Strong were our sires, and as they fought they 

writ, 
Conquering with force of arms, and dint of wit : 
Theirs was the giant race, before the flood : 5 

And thus, when Charles retum'd, our empire 

stood. 
Like Janus he the stubborn soil manured, 
With rules of husbandry the rankness cured ; 
Tamed us to manner:!, when the stage was rude; 
And boisterous English wit with art indued. 10 
Our age was cultivated thus at length ; 
But what we gain'd in skill we lost in strength. 
Our builders were with want of genius cursed ; 
The second temple was not like the first : 
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length ; 15 
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength. 
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base : 
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space : 
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. 
In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise ; -" 

He moved the mind, but had not power to raise. 
Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please ; 
Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. 
In differing talents both adorn'd their age ; 
One for the study, t'other for the stage. ^ 

But both to Congreve justly shall submit, 
One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatch'd in wit. 
In him all beauties of this age we see, 
Etherege his courtship, Southern's purity, & 

The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherley. 
All this in blooming youth you have achieved : 
Nor are your foil'd contemporaries grieved. 
So much the sweetness of your manners move, 
We cannot envy you, because we love. 
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw *> 

A beardless consul made against the law, 
And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome ; 
Though he with Hannibal was overcome. 
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame, 
And scholar to the j T outh he taught became. 40 

Oh that your brows my laurel had sustain'd ! 
Well had I been deposed, if you had reign'd : 
The father had descended for the son ; 
For only you are lineal to the throne. 
Thus, when the state one Edward did depose, 45 
A greater Edward in his room arose. 
But now, not I, but poetry is cursed ; 
For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first. 



real life and living manners, a long commerce with the 
world, with much experience and observation. To produce, 
therefore, such a comedy as the Old Bachelor, at only one 
and twenty years, was an extraordinary phenomenon. 
Dryden, on its perusal, expressed great astonishment at 
seeing such a first play. Dr. Johnson thinks the idea of 
the comic characters might have been caught from a dili- 
gent perusal of former writers. The chief fault ascribed to 
it, as to all his other pieces, is a superabundance and affec- 
tation of wit on all subjects and occasions, and the universal 
confession, that his fools are not fords indeed. In the next 
year, 1694, he brought out his " Double Dealer.'' which did 
not meet with the expected applause; and the year after his 
fertile pen produced Love for Love, in my humble opinion 
the most pleasing of all his comedies. Sis last play, the 
Way of the World, was so ill received, that in deep disgust 

he determined to write no more for the theatre. The pau- 
city of Congreve's phn , cannot lint remind one of the mul- 
titude produced by the most celebrated ancients. Menander 
wrote one hundred comedies; Philemon ninety-seven; and 
Sophocles, according to Suidas, one hundred and twenty- 
three tragedies.— There is something very affecting in our 
old poet entreating his young friend, at verse 7;!, to he kind 

to his remains. Me earnestly complied with his tw 
and with equal affection and eloquence placed his character 
in a very amiable light. Dr. J. Waimon. 



146 



EPISTLES. 



But let them not mistake my patron's part, 
Nor call his charity their own desert. 
Yet this I prophesy ; thou shalt be seen, 
(Though with some short parenthesis between) 
High on the throne of wit, and, seated there, 
Not mine, that 's little, but thy laurel wear. 
Thy first attempt an early promise made ; 65 

That early promise this has more than paid. 
So bold, yet so judiciously you dare, 
That your least praise is to be regular. 
Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought ; 
But genius must be born, and never can be taught. 
This is your portion ; this your native store ; 01 
Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, 
To Shakspeare gave as much ; she could not give 
him more. 
Maintain your post: that's all the fame you 
need; 
For 'tis impossible you should proceed. M 

Already I am worn with cares and age, 
And just abandoning the ungrateful stage : 
Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expence, 
I live a rentrcharge on his providence : 
But you, whom every muse and grace adorn, 70 
Whom I foresee to better fortune born, 
Be kind to my remains ; and oh, defend, 
Against your judgment, your departed friend ! 
Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, 
But shade those laurels which descend to you : 75 
And take for tribute what these lines express : 
You merit more ; nor could my love do less. 



TO 



MR. GRANVILLE, 

ON HIS EXCELLENT TRAGEDY, CALLED, "HEROIC LOVE." 



Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend, 
How could I envy, what I must commend ! 
But since 'tis nature's law, in love and wit, 
That youth should reign, and withering age submit, 
With less regret those laurels I resign, 6 

Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine. 
With better grace an ancient chief may yield 
The long-contended honours of the field, 
Than venture all his fortune at a cast, 
And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last. ,0 

Young princes, obstinate to win the prize, 
Though yearly beaten, yearly yet they rise : 
Old monarchs, though successful, still in doubt, 
Catch at a peace, and wisely turn devout. 
Thine be the laurel then ; thy blooming age 15 
Can best, if any can, support the stage ; 
Which so declines, that shortly we may see 
Players and plays reduced to second infancy. 
Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown, 
They plot not on the stage, but on the town, 20 
And, in despair their empty pit to fill, 
Set up some foreign monster in a bill. 

Ver. 1. Auspicious poet,'] Though amiable in his life 
and manners, Mr. George Granville, afterwards Lord 
Lansdowne, was a very indifferent poet ; a faint copier of 
Waller. The tragedy so much here extolled was acted in 
1698, and is in all respects the most vm-Homerical of all 
compositions. Dr. J. Warton. 



Thus they jog on, still tricking, never thriving, 
And murdering plays, which they miscal reviving. 
Our sense is nonsense, through their pipes con- 

vey'd ; a 

Scarce can a poet know the play he made ; 
'Tis so disguised in death ; nor thinks 'tis he 
That suffers in the mangled tragedy. 
Thus Itys first was kill'd, and after dress'd 
For his own sire, the chief invited guest. M 

I say not this of thy successful scenes, 
Where thine was all the glory, theirs the gains. 
With length of time, much judgment, and more 

toil, 
Not ill they acted, what they could not spoil. 
Their setting-sun still shoots a glimmering ray, *> 
Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay : 
And better gleanings their worn soil can boast, 
Than the crab-vintage of the neighbouring coast. 
This difference yet the judging world will see ; 
Thou copyest Homer, and they copy thee. *> 



TO MY FRIEND, 



MR. MOTTEUX, 



ON HIS TRAGEDY CALLED, "BEAUTY IN DISTRESS." 



'Tis hard, my friend, to write in such an age, 
As damns, not only poets, but the stage. 
That sacred art, by Heaven itself infused, 
Which Moses, David, Solomon have used, 
Is now to be no more : the Muses' foes 5 

Would sink their Maker's praises into prose. 
Were they content to prune the lavish vine 
Of straggling branches, and improve the wine, 
Who, but a madman, would his thoughts defend ? 
All would submit ; for all but fools will mend. 10 
But when to common sense they give the lie, 
And turn distorted words to blasphemy, 
They give the scandal ; and the wise discern, 
Their glosses teach an age, too apt to learn. 
What I have loosely, or profanely writ, ls 

Let them to fires, their due desert, commit : 
Nor, when accused by me, let them complain : 
Their faults, and not their function, I arraign.' 
Rebellion, worse than witchcraft, they pursued ; 
The pulpit preach'd the crime, the people rued. ^ 



* Peter Motteux, to whom this piece is addressed, was 
born in Normandy, but settled as a merchant in London 
very young, and lived in repute. He died in a house of ill- 
fame near the Strand, and was supposed to have been mur- 
dered, in 1718. He produced eleven dramatic pieces, and 
his Beauty in Distress is thought much the best of them ■ 
it was played in Lincoln's-inn-fields by Betterton's com- 
pany in 1698. Derrick. 

Ver. 1. 'Tis hard, my friend,'] No French refugee seems 
to have made himself so perfect a master of the English 
language as Peter Motteux. He has given a very good 
translation of Don Quixote, which my friend, Mr. Bowie, 
preferred to more modern ones. By trading in a large 
East India warehouse, and by a place in the post-office, he 
gained a considerable income. It was supposed he was 
murdered in a house of ill-fame. He wrote fifteen plays; 
this of Beauty in Distress was acted in 1698. Dryden 
seems to have felt a particular regard for him. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

Ver. 19. Rebellion, worse than witchcraft^] From 1 Sam. 
xv. 23. " For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft," &c. 
Todd. 



I 



EPISTLES. 



147 



The stage was silenced ; for the saints would see 

In fields porform'd their plotted tragedy. 

But let us first reform, and then so live, 

That we may teach our teachers to forgive : 

Our desk be placed below their lofty chairs ; 25 

Ours be the practice, as the precept theirs. 

The moral part, at least, we may divide, 

Humility reward, and punish pride ; 

Ambition, interest, avarice, accuse : 

These are the province of a tragic muse. x 

These hast thou chosen ; and the public voice 

Has equall'd thy performance with thy choice. 

Time, action, place, are so preserved by thee, 

That e'en Corneille might with envy see 

The alliance of his Tripled Unity. M 

Thy incidents, perhaps, too thick are sown ; 

But too much plenty is thy fault alone. 

At least but two can that good crime commit, 

Thou in design, and Wycherley in wit. 

Let thy own Gauls condemn thee, if they 

dare ; 40 

Contented to be thinly regular : 
Born there, but not for them, our fruitful soil 
With more increase rewards thy happy toil. 
Their tongue, enfeebled, is refined too much ; 
And, like pure gold, it bends at every touch : 4S 
Our sturdy Teuton yet will art obey, 
More fit for manly thought, and strengthen'd 

with allay. 
But whence art thou inspired, and thou alone, 
To flourish in an idiom not thy own ? 
It moves our wonder, that a foreign guest 50 

Should over-match the most, and match the best. 
In under-praising thy deserts, I wrong ; 
Here find the first deficience of our tongue : 
Words, once my stock, are wanting, to commend 
So great a poet, and so good a friend. 65 



TO MY HONOURED KINSMAN, 

JOHN DRYDEN, 

OF CHESTERTON, IN THE COUNTY OF HUNTINGDON, ESQ.* 



How bless'd is he, who leads a counti-y life, 
Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife ! 
Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, 
Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age : 
All who deserve his love, he makes his own ; ° 
And, to be loved himself, needs only to be 

known. 
Just, good and wise, contending neighbours 

come, 
Prom your award to wait their final doom; 
And, foes before, return in friendship home. 
Without their cost, you terminate the cause ; 10 
And savo the expenco of long litigious laws : 

• This poem was written in 1699. The person to whom 
it is addressed was cousin-german to the poet, and a 
I .it brother of the baronet. Derrick. 

Ver. 1. limn bless'd is 7ie,~\ This is one of the most truly 
Horatian epistles in our language, comprehending a variety 
"I topics and useful reflections, and sliding from subject to 
BUbJect with ease and propriety. Writing this note in the 
year 1799, I am much struck with the lines that follow the 
L75th, as containing the souudest political truths. Dr. J. 

\Y \ II TON. 



Where suits are traversed ; and so little won, 
That he who conquers, is but last undone : 
Such are not your decrees ; but so design'd, 
The sanction leaves a lasting peace behind : w 
Like your own soul, serene ; a pattern of your 
mind. 

Promoting concord, and composing strife, 
Lord of yourself, uncumber'd with a wife ; 
Where, for a year, a month, perhaps a night, 
Long penitence succeeds a short delight : M 

Minds are so hardly match'd, that ev'n the first, 
Though pair'd by Heaven, in Paradise were 

cursed. 
For man and woman, though in one they grow, 
Yet, first or last, return again to two. 
He to God's image, she to his was made ; 2i 

So, farther from the fount, the stream at random 
stray'd. 

How could he stand, when, put to double pain, 
He must a weaker than himself sustain ! 
Each might have stood perhaps ; but each alone ; 
Two wrestlers help to pull each other down. • so 

Not that my verse would blemish all the fair ; 
But yet if some be bad, 'tis wisdom to beware ; 
Andbettershun the bait, than struggle in the snare. 
Thus have you shunn'd, and shun the married 

state, 
Trusting as little as you can to fate. B 

No porter guards the passage of your door, 
T' admit the wealthy, and exclude the poor ; 
For God, who gave the riches, gave the heart 
To sanctify the whole, by giving part ; 
Heaven, who foresaw the will, the means has 
wrought, 4U 

And to the second son a blessing brought ; 
The first-begotten had his father's share : 
But you, like Jacob, are Rebecca's heir. 

So may your stores, and fruitful fields increase ; 
And ever be you bless'd, who live to bless. 45 

As Ceres sow'd, where'er her chariot flew ; 
As Heaven in deserts rain'd the bread of dew ; 
So free to many, to relations most, 
You feed with manna your own Israel host. 

With crowds attended of your ancient race, 50 
You seek the champain sports, or sylvan chaoe : 
With well-breath'd beagles you surround the 

wood, 
Ev'n then, industrious of the common good : 
And often have 3'ou brought the wily fox 
To suffer for the firstlings of the flocks ; 
Chased even amid the folds ; and made to bleed, 
Like felons, where they did the murderous deed. 
This fiery game your active youth maintain'd, 
Not yet by years extinguish'd, though restrain'd : 
You season still with sports your serious hours : "" 
For age but tastes of pleasures, youth devours. 
The hare in pastures or in plains is found, 
Emblem of human life, who runs the round ; 
And, after all his wandering ways are done, 
His circle fills, and ends where he begun, 
Just as the setting moots the rising sun. 

Thus princes ease their cares; but happier ho, 

Who seeks not pleasure through necessity, 

Than such as once on slippery thrones were 

placed ; " 9 

And chasing, sigh to think themselves are chased. 

So lived our sires, ere doctors learn'd to kill, 
And multiplied with theirs the weekly bill. 
The first physicians by debauch were made 
Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade, 



148 



EPISTLES. 



Pity the generous kind their cares bestow ' 5 

To search forbidden truths ; (a sin to know : ) 
To which if human science could attain, 
The doom of death, pronounced by God, were 

vain. 
In vain the leech would interpose delay ; 
Fate fastens first, and vindicates the prey. s0 

What help from art's endeavours can we have 1 
Gibbons but guesses, nor is sure to save : 
But Maurus sweeps whole parishes, and peoples 

every grave ; 
And no more mercy to mankind will use, 
Than when he robb'd and murder'd Maro's 

muse. 85 

Would'st thou be soon despatch'd, and perish 

whole, 
Trust Maurus with thy life, and Milbourn with 

thy soul. 
By chace our long-lived fathers earn'd their 

food ; 
Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood : 
But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men, (J0 

Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 
Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, 
Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught ; 
The wise, for cure, on exercise depend ; 
God never made his work, for man to mend. 05 

The tree of knowledge, once in Eden placed, 
Was easy found, but was forbid the taste : 
Oh, had our grandsire walk'd without his wife, 
He first had sought the better plant of life ! 
Now both are lost : yet, wandering in the 

dark, lu ° 

Physicians, for the tree, have found the bark : 
They, labouring for relief of human kind, 
With sharpen'd sight some remedies may find ; 
The apothecary-train is wholly blind. 
From files a random recipe they take, ,0B 

And many deaths of one prescription make. 
Garth, generous as his muse, prescribes and 

gives; 
The shopman sells ; and by destruction lives : 
Ungrateful tribe ! who, like the viper's brood, 
From med'cine issuing, suck their mother's 
blood ! »» 

Let these obey ; and let the leam'd prescribe ; 
That men may die, without a double bribe : 
Let them, but under their superiors, kill ; 
When doctors first have sign'd the bloody bill ; 
He 'scapes the best, who, nature to repair, 115 

Draws physic from the fields, in draughts of vital 
air. 
You hoard not health, for your own private 
use ; 
But on the public spend the rich produce. 
When, often urged, unwilling to be great, 
Your country calls you from your loved retreat, 
And sends to senates, charged with common 
care, m 

Which none more shuns : and none can better 

bear: 
Where could they find another fbrm'd so fit, 
To poise, with solid sense, a sprightly wit ? 



Yer. 82. Gibbons but guesses, nor is sure to save : 
But Maurus sweeps whole parishes, &c] 

Dr. Gibbons was a physician at this time justly in high 
esteem. By Maurus is meant Sir Richard Blackmore, 
physician to King William, and author of many epic poems. 
Milbourn was a nonjuring minister. Derrick. 



Were these both wanting, as they both abound, ,ss 
Where could so firm integrity be found ] 
Well born, and wealthy, wanting no support, 
You steer betwixt the country and the court : 
Nor gratify whate'er the great desire; 
Nor grudging give what public needs require. m 
Part must be left, a fund when foes invade ; 
And part employ'd to roll the watery trade : 
Ev'n Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil, 
Required a sabbath-year to mend the meagre soil. 

Good senators (and such as you) so give, 18s 
That kings may be supplied, the people thrive. 
And he, when want requires, is truly wise, 
Who slights not foreign aids, nor over-buys ; 
But on our native strength, in time of need, re- 
lies. 
Munster was bought, we boast not the success ; 140 
Who fights for gain, for greater makes his peace. 
Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace em- 
braced : 
The peace both parties want, is like to last : 
Which if secure, securely we may trade ; 
Or, not secure, should never have been made. I45 
Safe in ourselves, while on ourselves we stand, 
The sea is ours, and that defends the land. 
Be, then, the naval stores the nation's care, 
New ships to build, and batter'd to repair. 

Observe the war, in every annual course ; 15 ° 
What has been done, was done with British 

force : 
Namur subdued, is England's palm alone ; 
The rest besieged ; but we constrain'd the town : 
We saw the event that follow'd our success ; 
France, though pretending arms, pursued the 
peace ; 155 

Obliged, by one sole treaty, to restore 
What twenty years of war had won before. 
Enough for Europe has our Albion fought : 
Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought. 
When once the Persian king was put to flight, 1G0 
The weary Macedons refused to fight : 
Themselves their own mortality confess'd ; 
And left the son of Jove to quarrel for the rest. 

Ev'n victors are by victories undone ; 
Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won, 165 

To Carthage was recall'd, too late to keep his 

own. 
While sore of battle, while our wounds are green, 
Why should we tempt the doubtful die again? 
In wars renew'd, uncertain of success ; 
Sure of a share, as umpires of the peace. 1 "° 

A patriot both the king and country serves : 
Prerogative, and privilege, preserves: 
Of each our laws the certain limit show ; 
One must not ebb, nor t'other overflow : 
Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand ; 176 
The barriers of the state on either hand : 
May neither overflow, for then they drown the 

land. 
When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode; 
Like those that water'd once the paradise of God. 
Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share ; 1S0 
In peace the people, and the prince in war : 



Ver. 152. Namur subdued, is England *s palm &c] In the 
year 1695, William III. carried Namur, after a siege of one 
month. The garrison retired to the citadel, which capitu- 
lated upon honourable terms in another month. The courage 
of our men in this siege was much admired, as was the 
conduct of the king. Derrick. 



EPISTLES. 



149 



Consuls of moderate power in calms were made; 
When the Gauls came, one sole dictator sway'd. 

Patriots, in peace, assert the people's right ; 
With noble stubbornness resisting might : 185 

No lawless mandates from the court receive, 
Nor lend by force, but in a body give. 
Such was your generous grandsire : free to grant 
In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want : 
But so tenacious of the common cause, 19 ° 

As not to lend the king against his laws. 
And in a loathsome dungeon doom'd to lie, 
In bonds refcain'd his birthright liberty, 
And shamed oppression, till it set him free. 
' true descendant of a patriot line, 195 

Who, while thou shar'st their lustre, lend'st them 

thine, 
Vouchsafe this picture of thy soul to see; 
Tis so far good, as it resembles thee : 
The beauties to the original I owe ; 
Which when I miss, my own defects I show : 200 
Nor think the kindred muses thy disgrace : 
A poet is not born in every race. 
Two of a house few ages can afford ; 
One to perform, another to record. 
Praiseworthy actions are by thee embraced ; 205 
And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises last. 
For eVn when death dissolves our human frame, 
The soul returns to heaven from whence it came; 
Earth keeps the body, verse preserves the fame. 



SIR GODFREY KNELLER, 



PRINCIPAL PAINTER TO HIS MAJESTY. 



Onoe I beheld the fairest of her kind, 
And still the sweet idea charms my mind : 
True, she was dumb ; for Nature gazed so long, 
Pleased with her work, that she forgot her 
tongue ; 

Ver. 1. Once I beheld] Sir Godfrey Kneller was born at 
Lubeck in 1648. Discovering early a predominant genius 
for painting, his father sent him to Amsterdam, where he 
studied under Hoi, and had some instructions from Rem- 
brandt. But Kneller was no servile imitator or disciple. 
Even in Italy, whither he went in 1672, he followed no par- 
ticular master, not even at Venice, where lie long resided. 
In 1676 he came to England, and was soon patronised by 
(hallos II. and James. Ten sovereigns at different times 
sat to him: Charles II., James II., and his queen, William 
and Mary, George I., Louis XIV., and Charles VI. lie 
stuck to portrait, painting as the most lucrative, though 
Dryden in this very epistle inveighs so much against it. 
Of all his works he valued most the converted Chinese in 
Windsor Castle. But Mr.Walpole thinks his portrait of 
Gibbon superior to it. This epistle is full of just taste and 
knowledge of painting, particularly what he says of Light, 
Shade, Perspective, and Grace. It is certainly superior to 
Pope's address to his friend Jervas, though Pope himself 
was a practitioner in the art. Not only Dryden, but Prior, 
Pope, Steele, Tickell, and Addison, all wrote high enco- 
miums on Sir Godfrey; but not one so elegant as that of 
Addison, who with matchless art and dexterity applied t he 
characters of those heathen gods whom Phidias had carved, 
to the English princes that Kneller had painted; making 
Pan, Saturn, Mars, Minerva, Thetis, and Jupiter, stand for 
Charles II,, James II., William III., queen Mary, Anne, 

I George I. Sir Godfrey was a man of much original wit 

and humour, but tinctured with a mixture of profaneness 
and ribaldry. Dr. J. Warton. 



But, smiling, said, She still shall gain the prize; 
I only have transferr'd it to her eyes. 
Such are thy pictures, Kneller : such thy skill, 
That Nature seems obedient to thy will : 
Comes out, and meets thy pencil in the draught ; 
Lives there, and wants but words to speak her 
thought. 1|: 

At least thy pictures look a voice ; and we 
Imagine sounds, deceived to that degree, 
We think 'tis somewhat more than just to see. 

Shadows are but privations of the light ; 
Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the sight; 
With us approach, retire, arise, and fall ; lfi 

Nothing themselves, and yet expressing all. 
Such arc thy pieces, imitating life 
So near, they almost conquer in the strife; 
And from their animated canvas came, -" 

Demanding souls, and loosen'd from the frame. 

Prometheus, were he here, would cast away 
His Adam, and refuse a soul to clay ; 
And either would thy noble work inspire, 
Or think it warm enough, without his fire. " 

But vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise ; 
This is the least attendant on thy praise : 
From hence the rudiments of art began ; 
A coal, or chalk, first imitated man : 
Perhaps the shadow, taken on a wall, 3fl 

Gave outlines to the rude original : 
Ere canvas yet was strain'd, before the grace 
Of blended colours found their use and place, 
Or cypress tablets first received a face. 

By slow degrees the godlike art advanced ; M 
As man grew polish'd, picture was inhanced : 
Greece added posture, shade, and perspective ; 
And then the mimic piece began to live. 
Yet perspective was lame, no distance true, 
But all came forward in one common view : ' l0 
No point of light was known, no bounds of art ; 
When light was there, it knew not to depart, 
But glaring on remoter objects play'd ; 
Not languished, and insensibly decay 'd. 

Rome raised not art, but barely kept alive, 4b 
And with old Greece unequally did strive : 
Till Goths, and Vandals, a rude northern race, 
Did all the matchless monuments deface. 
Then all the Muses in one ruin lie, 
And rhyme began to enervate poetry. 5 " 

Thus, in a stupid military state, 
The pen and pencil find an equal fate. 
Flat faces, such as would disgrace a screen, 
Such as in Bantam's embassy were seen, 
Unraised, unrounded, were the rude delight 55 
Of brutal nations, only born to fight. 
Long time the sister Arts, in iron sleep, 
A heavy sabbath did supinely keep : ■ 
At length, in Raphael's age, at once they rise, 
Stretch all their limbs, and open all their eyes. 60 

Thence rose the Roman, and the Lombard line : 
One colour'd best, and one did best design. 
Raphael's, like Homer's, was the nobler part, 
But Titian's painting look'd like Virgil's art. 

Thy genius gives thee both ; where true design, 
Postures unforced, and lively colours join. 

Ver, 50.] It is remarkable that be mentions rhyme as one 
instance of barbarism. Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 57. Longtime] The art of painting expired in the 
year 580. It revived under Ciniahue in 1240, but it was 
And. Mantegna, who was born in 1431, and whose cartoons 
are at Hampton Court, who was the first that revived a true 
taste for the antique. Dr. J. Warton. 



150 



EPISTLES. 



Likeness is ever there ; but still the best, 
Like proper thoughts in lofty language dress'd : 
Where light, to shades descending, plays, not 

strives, 
Dies by degrees, and by degrees revives. 70 

Of various parts a perfect whole is wrought : 
Thy pictures think, and we divine their thought. 

Shakspeare, thy gift, I place before my sight ; 
With awe, I ask his blessing ere I write ; 
With reverence look on his majestic face ; " 5 

Proud to be less, but of his godlike race. 
His soul inspires me, while thy praise I write, 
And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight : 
Bids thee, through me, be bold ; with dauntless 

breast 
Contemn the bad, and emulate the best. 80 

Like bis, thy critics in the attempt are lost : 
When most they rail, know then, they envy 

most. 
In vain they snarl aloof; a noisy crowd, 
Like women's anger, impotent and loud. 
While they their barren industry deplore, ^ 

Pass on secure, and mind the goal before. 
OJd as she is, my Muse shall march behind, 
Bear off the blast, and intercept the wind. 
Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth ; 
For hymns were sung in Eden's happy earth : M 
But oh, the painter Muse, though last in place, 
Has seized the blessing first, like Jacob's race. 
Apelles' art an Alexander found ; 
And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound ; 
But Homer was with barren laurel crown'd. m 
Thou hadst thy Charles a while, and so had I ; 
But pass we that unpleasing image by. 
Rich in thyself, and of thyself divine ; 
All pilgrims come and offer at thy shrine. 
A graceful truth thy pencil can command ; M0 
The fair themselves go mended from thy hand. 
Likeness appears in every lineament ; 
But likeness in thy work is eloquent. 
Though nature there her true resemblance bears, 
A nobler beauty in thy piece appears. - 105 

So warm thy work, so glows the generous frame, 
Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame. 
Thou paint'st as we describe, improving still, 
When on wild nature we engraft our skill ; 
But not creating beauties at our will. I10 

But poets are confined in narrower space, 
To speak the language of their native place : 
The painter widely stretches his command ; 
Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. 



Ver. 94. 
his pencil. 



-with. Leo's gold] Raphael flattered with 



In his Attila, his Coronation of Charlemagne, 
the siege of Ostia, and King Pepin, he has represented St. 
Leo, Leo III., Stephen II., and Leo IV., with an exact 
likeness of Leo X. Dr. J. Warton. 



From hence, my friend, all climates are your 
own, " 5 

Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none. 
All nations all immunities will give 
To make you theirs, where'er you please to live ; 
And not seven cities, but the world would strive. 

Sure some propitious planet then did smile, m 
When first you were conducted to this isle : 
Our genius brought you here, to enlarge our 

fame ; 
For your good stars are every where the same. 
Thy matchless hand, of every region free, 
Adopts our climate, not our climate thee. ,25 

Great Rome and Venice early did impart 
To thee the examples of their wondrous art. 
Those masters then, but seen, not understood, 
With generous emulation fired thy blood : 
For what in nature's dawn the child admired, 13 ° 
The youth endeavour'd, and the man acquired. 

If yet thou hast not reach'd their high degree, 
'Tis only wanting to this age, not thee. 
Thy genius, bounded by the times, like mine, 
Drudges on petty draughts, nor dare design 13s 
A more exalted work, and more divine. 
For what a song, or senseless opera 
Is to the living labour of a play ; 
Or what a play to Virgil's work would be, 
Such is a single piece to history. 14 ° 

But we, who life bestow, ourselves must live ; 
Kings cannot reign, unless their subjects give ; 
And they, who pay the taxes, bear the rule : 
Thus thou, sometimes, art forced to draw a 

fool: 
But so his follies in thy posture sink, 145 

The senseless idiot seems at last to think. 

Good Heaven ! that sots and knaves should be 
so vain, 
To wish their vile resemblance may remain ! 
And stand recorded, at their own request, 
To future days, a libel or a jest ! 15 ° 

Else should we see your noble pencil trace 
Our unities of action, time, and place : 
A whole composed of parts, and those the best, 
With every various character express'd : 
Heroes at large, and at a nearer view ; MS 

Less, and at distance, an ignobler crew. 
While all the figures in one action join, 
As tending to complete the main design. 

More cannot be by mortal art express'd ; 
But venerable age shall add the rest. lco 

For Time shall with his ready pencil stand ; 
Retouch your figures with his ripening hand ; 
Mellow your colours, and imbrown the teint ; 
Add every grace, which time alone can grant ; 
To future ages shall your fame convey, 165 

And give more beauties than he takes away. 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



151 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



TO 



TUB MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM. 



Farewell, too little, and too lately known, 
Whom I began to think, and call my own : 
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine 
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. 
One common note on either lyre did strike, 5 
And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike. 
To the same goal did both our studies drive ; 
The last set out, the soonest did arrive. 
Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place, 
Whilst his young friend perfonn'd, and won the 

race. lu 

Oh early ripe ! to thy abundant store 
What could advancing age have added more 1 
It might (what nature never gives the young) 
Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue. 
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine ,6 
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line. 
A noble error, and but seldom made, 
When poets are by too much force betray*d. 
Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their 

prime, 
Still show'd a quickness ; and maturing time ^ 
But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of 

rhyme. 
Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell, thou 

young, 
But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue ! 
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound ; 
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee 

around. M 



TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OP THE ACCOMPLISHED 
YOUNG LADY, 

MRS. ANNE KILLIGRBW, 

EXCELLENT IN THE TWO SISTER ARTS OF POESY 
AND TAINTING. 



AN ODE. 



Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, 
Made in the last promotion of the bless'd ; 



Ver. 1. Farewell, too little,'] This short elegy is finished 
with the most exquisite art mid skill. Not hii epithet or 



Ver. 1. Thou youngest virgin,] At length we are arrived 
at the Ode on the Death of Mrs. Anne Killigrcw, which Dr. 



Whose palms, new pluck'd from paradise, 
In spreading branches more sublimely rise, 
Rich with immortal green above the rest : 6 

Whether, adopted to some neighb'ring star, 
Thou roll'st above us, in thy wandering race, 

Or, in procession frx'd and regular, 

Mov'st with the heaven's majestic pace ; 

Or, call'd to more superior bliss, l0 

Thou tread'st, with seraphims, the vast abyss : 
Whatever happy region is thy place, 
Cease thy celestial song a little space ; 
Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine, 

Since heaven's eternal year is thine. " 

Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse, 
In no ignoble verse ; 

expression can be changed for a better. It is also the most 
harmonious in its numbers of all that this great master of 
harmony has produced. Oldham's Satire on the Jesuits is 
written with vigour and energy. It is remarkable that 
Dryden calls Oldham his brother in satire, hinting that this 
was the characteristical turn of both their geniuses. 

To the same goal did both our studies drive. — Ver 7. 
Dr. J. Wakton. 



Johnson, by an unaccountable perversity of judgment, and 
want of taste for true poetiy, has pronounced to be un- 
doubtedly the noblest Ode that our language ever has 
produced. The first stanza, he says, flows with a torrent of 
enthusiasm. To a cool and candid reader, it appears 
absolutely unintelligible. Examples of bad writing, of 
tumid expressions, violent metaphors, far sought conceits, 
hyperbolical adulation, unnatural amplifications, inter- 
spersed, as usual, with tine lines, might be collected from 
this applauded Ode, so very inferior in all respects to the 
divine Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. But such a paradoxical 
judgment cannot be wondered at in a critic, that despised 
the Lycidas of Milton, and the Bard of Gray. 1 have been 
censured, I am informed, for contradicting some of Johnson's 
critical opinions. As I knew him well, I ever respected 
his talents, and more so his integrity ; but a love of paradox 
and contradiction, at the bottom of which was vanity, gave 
an unpleasant tincture to his manners, and made his con- 
versation boisterous and offensive. I often used to tell 
the mild and sensible Sir Joshua Reynolds, that he and 
his friends had contributed to spoil Johnson, by constantly 
and cowardly assenting to all he advanced on any subject. 
Mr. Burke only kept him in order, as did Mr. Heauclercalso, 
sometimes by his playful wit. It was a great pleasure for 
Beauclerc to lay traps for him to induce him to oppose and 
contradict one day what he bad maintained on a former. 
Lest the censure presumed to be passed on this Ode should 
be thought too uncandid and severe, the reader is desired 
attentively to consider stanzas the third, sixth, seventh, 
ninth, and tenth. In a word, Dryden, by his inequality, 
much resembles another great genius, Casimir, of l'oland ; 
who, in the very midst of some poetical strokes in liis Ode 
on the Deluge, mars all by his usual mixtures of Ovidiau 
puerilities. After saying 

" vacuas spatiosa cete 

Ludunt per aulas, ac thalamos pigrffl 

Pressere l'hoca;; " 

comes this idle conceit, 

" ot refixio 

Ad pelagns . - i n Gemma*." — Lib. iv. Od. 

Mason ban too much commended an Ode of Casimir on 
th, .I'.olian Harp. Dr. J. Wakton. 



152 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



But such, as thy own voice did practise here, 
When thy first-fruits of Poesy were given ; 
To make thyself a welcome inmate there : 
While yet a young probationer, 
And candidate of heaven. 



If by traduction came thy mind, 
Our wonder is the less to find 
A soul so charming from a stock so good ; 
Thy father was transfused into thy blood : 
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain, 
An early, rich, and inexhausted vein. 
But if thy pre-existing soul 
Was form'd at first, with myriads more, h0 

It did through all the mighty poets roll, 

Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, 
And was that Sappho last, which once it was 
before. 
If so, then cease thy flight, heaven-born 
mind ! 
Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich 
ore : ^ 

Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find, 
Than was the beauteous frame she left behind : 
Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial 
kind. 

in. 
May we presume to say, that, at thy birth, 
New joy was sprung in heaven, as well as here 
on earth. 40 

For sure the milder planets did combine 
On thy auspicious horoscope to shine, 
And e'en the most malicious were in trine. 
Thy brother-angels at thy birth 

Strung each his lyre, and tuned it high, 45 
That all the people of the sky 
Might know a poetess was born on earth. 

And then, if ever, mortal ears 
Had heard the music of the spheres. 
And if no clustering swarm of bees 50 

On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew, 
'Twas that such vulgar miracles 
Heaven had not leisure to renew : 
For all thy blest fraternity of love 
Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holyday 
above. 65 

IV. 

gracious God ! how far have we 
Profaned thy heavenly gift of poesy 1 
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, 
Debased to each obscene and impious use, 
Whose harmony was first ordain'd above m 

For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love ?- 
Oh wretched we ! why were we hurried down 

This lubrique and adulterate age, 
(Nay, added fat pollutions of our own) 

To increase the streaming ordures of the stage ? 
What can we say to excuse our second fall ? 66 
Let this thy vestal, Heaven, atone for all : 
Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd, 

Ver. 33. And was that Sappho last, &c] Our author here 
compliments Mrs. Killigrew, with admitting the doctrine of 
metempsychosis, and supposing the soul that informs her 
hody to be the same with that of Sappho's, who lived six 
hundred years before the birth of Christ, and was equally 
renowned fur poetry and love. She was called the tenth 
Muse. Phaon, whom she loved, treating her with indif- 
ference, she jumped into the sea, and was drowned. 
Deksick. 



Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefiled ; 
Her wit was more than man, her innocence 
child. : 



Art she had none, yet wanted none ; 

For Nature did that want supply : 

So rich in treasures of her own, 

She might our boasted stores defy : 
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn, 75 

That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born. 
Her morals too were in her bosom bred, 

By great examples daily fed, 
What in the best of books, her father's life, she 

read. 
And to be read herself she need not fear ; 80 

Each test, and every light, her muse will bear, 
Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. 
E'en love (for love sometimes her muse express'd) 
Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her 
breast : 

Light as the vapours of a morning dream, S5 
So cold herself, whilst she such warmth express'd, 

'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream. 



Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, 

One would have thought, she should have been 

content 
To manage well that mighty government ; 90 
But what can young ambitious souls confine ] 
To the next realm she stretch'd her sway, 
For Painture near adjoining lay, 
A plenteous province, and alluring prey. 

A Chamber of Dependencies was framed, 95 
(As conquerors will never want pretence, 

When arm'd, to justify the offence) 
And the whole fief, in right of poetry, she claim'd. 
The country open lay without defence : 
For poets frequent inroads there had made, ,co 
And perfectly could represent 
The shape, the face, with every lineament, 
And all the large domains which the Dumb Sister 
swayed. 
All bow'd beneath her government, 
Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went. 105 
Her pencil drew, whate'er her soul design'd, 
And oft the happy draught surpass'd the image 
in her mind. 
The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks, 
And fruitful plains and barren rocks, 
Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear, no 

The bottom did the top appear ; 
Of deeper too and ampler floods, 
Which, as in mirrors, show'd the woods ; 
Of lofty trees, with sacred shades, 
And perspectives of pleasant glades, I15 

Where nymphs of brightest form appear, 
And shaggy satyrs standing near, 
Which them at once admire and fear. 
The ruins too of some majestic piece, 
Boasting the power of ancient Rome, or Greece, 
Whose statues, friezes, columns, broken lie, I21 
And, though defaced, the wonder of the eye ; 
What nature, art, bold fiction, e'er durst frame, 
Her forming hand gave feature to the name. 
So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, 
But when the peopled ark the whole creation 
bore. ™ 



The scene then changed, with bold erected 

look 
Our martial king the sight with reverence strook : 
For not content to express his outward part, 
Her hand call'd out the image of his heart : 13n 
His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear, 
His high-designing thoughts were figured there, 
As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear. 

Our phoenix queen was pourtray'd too so bright, 
Beauty alone could beauty take so right : 135 

Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace, 
Were all observed, as well as heavenly face. 
With such a peerless majesty she stands, 
As in that day she took the crown from sacred 

hands : 
Before a train of heroines was seen, u " 

In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen. 
Thus nothing to her genius was denied, 
But like a ball of fire the further thrown, 
Still with a greater blaze she shone, 
And her bright soul broke out on every side. 145 
What next she had design'd, Heaven only knows: 
To such immoderate growth her conquest rose, 
That fate alone its progress could oppose. 



Now all those charms, that blooming grace. 
The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face, 
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes ; 151 

In earth the much-lamented virgin lies. 
Not wit, nor piety could fate prevent ; 
Nor was the cruel destiny content 
To finish all the murder at a blow, IM 

To sweep at once her life, and beauty too ; 
But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride 
To work more mischievously slow, 
And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd. 
double sacrilege on things divine, 1G0 

To rob the relic, and deface the shrine ! 

But thus Orinda died : 
Heaven, by the same disease, did both trans- 
late ; 
As equal were their souls, so equal was their 
fate. 

IX. 

Meantime her warlike brother on the seas 16S 
His waving streamers to the winds displays, 
And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays. 
Ah, generous youth, that wish forbear, 
The winds too soon will waft thee here ' 



Ver. 162. But thus Orinda died:'] The matchless Orinda, 
Mrs. [Catherine Philips, was author of a book of poems 
published in folio, and wrote several other things. She 
died also of the small-pox in 1664, being only thirty-two 
years of age. She was a woman of an indifferent appear- 
ance; but of great virtue, taste, and erudition, which en- 
deared her to the first people of the age. The Duke of 
Ormnnd, the Earls of Orrery and Roscommon, Lady Corke, 
ilr. Dryden, Mr. Cowley, &c. &c. were all her friends. 
Derrick- 



Slack all thy sails, and fear to come, >~ n 

Alas, thou know'st not, thou art wreck'd at home ! 
No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, 
Thou hast already had her last embrace. 
But look aloft, and if thou kenn'st from far 
Among the Pleiads a new-kindled star, '^ 

If any sparkles than the rest more bright ; 
'Tis she that shines in that propitious light. 



When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, 
To raise the nations under ground : 
When in the valley of Jehoshaphat, ls0 

The judging Ood shall close the book of fate ; 
And there the last assizes keep, 
For those who wake, and those who sleep : 
When rattling bones together fly, 
From the four corners of the sky ; 185 

When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread,- 
Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the 

dead ; 
The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, 
And foremost from the tomb shall bound, 
For they are cover'd with the lightest ground ; I9 ° 
And straight, with in-born vigour, on the wing, 
Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing. 
There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shall go, 
As harbinger of heaven, the way to show, 
The way which thou so well hast leam'd below. ,95 



UPON THE DEATH 



THE EARL OF DUNDEE. 



Oh last and best of Scots ! who didst maintain 
Thy country's freedom from a foreign reign ; 
New people fill the land now thou art gone, 
New gods the temples, and new kings the 

throne. 
Scotland and thee did each in other live ; 5 

Nor would'st thou her, nor could she thee 

survive. 
Farewell, who dying didst support the state, 
And could'st not fall but with thy country's fate. 



Ver. 1. Oh Inst and best] The conduct and death of this 
truly valiant chieftain is described with much eloquence 
and animation in his account of the important battle at 
Killicrankie, by Sir John Dalrymple, in the first volume of 
his Memoirs. Dundee, being wounded by a musket-ball, 
rode off the field, desiring his mischance to be concealed, 
and fainting, dropped from his horse; as soon as lie was 
recovered, he desired to be raised, looked to the field, and 
asked, "J low tilings went?" Being told, "All well;" then 
said he, '• I am well," and expired. Dr. J. Waktox. 



154 ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



ELEONOKA; 

A PANEGYRICAL POEM, 

DEDICATED TO THE MEMOET OP THE LATE COUNTESS OP ABINGDON. 



TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OE ABINGDON, &c. 



My Lord, 
The commands, with which you honoured me some months ago, are now performed : they had been 
sooner ; but betwixt ill health, some business, and many troubles, I was forced to defer them till this 
time. Ovid, going to his banishment, and writing from on shipboard to his friends, excused the 
faults of his poetry by his misfortunes ; and told them, that good verses never flow, but from a serene 
and composed spirit. Wit, which is a kind of Mercury, with wings fastened to his head and heels, can 
fly but slowly in a damp air. I therefore chose rather to obey you late than ill : if at least I am 
capable of writing any thing, at any time, which is worthy your perusal and your patronage. I 
cannot say that I have escaped from a shipwreck ; but have only gained a rock by hard swimming ; 
where I may pant a while and gather breath ; for the doctors give me a sad assurance, that my disease 
never took its leave of any man, but with a purpose to return. However, my lord, I have laid hold 
on the interval, and managed the small stock, which age has left me, to the best advantage, in 
performing this inconsiderable service to my lady's memory. We, who are priests of Apollo, have not 
the inspiration when we please ; but must wait till the god comes rushing on us, and invades us with 
a fury, which we are not able to resist : which gives us double strength while the fit continues, and 
leaves us languishing and spent, at its departure. Let me not seem to boast, my lord, for I have 
really felt it on this occasion, and prophesied beyond my natural power. Let me add, and hope to 
be believed, that the excellency of the subject contributed much to the happiness of the execution; 
and that the weight of thirty years was taken off me, while I was writing. I swam with the tide, and 
the water under me was buoyant. The reader will easily observe, that I was transported by the 
multitude and variety of my similitudes ; which are generally the product of a luxuriant fancy, and 
the wantonness of wit. Had I called in my judgment to my assistance, I had certainly retrenched 
many of them. But I defend them not ; let them pass for beautiful faults amongst the better sort of 
critics : for the whole poem, though written in that which they call Heroic verse, is of the Pindaric 
nature, as well in the thought as the expression ; and, as such, requires the same grains of allowance 
for it. It was intended, as your lordship sees in the title, not for an elegy, but a panegyric : a kind of 
apotheosis, indeed, if a heathen word may be applied to a Christian use. And on all occasions of 
praise, if we take the ancients for our patterns, we are bound by prescription to employ the 
magnificence of words, and the force of figures, to adorn the sublimity of thoughts. Isocrates amongst 
the Grecian orators, and Cicero, and the younger Pliny, amongst the Romans, have left us their 
precedents for our security : for I think I need not mention the inimitable Pindar, who stretches on 
these pinions out of sight, and is carried upward, as it were, into another world. 

This, at least, my lord, I may justly plead, that, if I have not performed so well as I think I have, 
yet I have used my best endeavours to excel myself. One disadvantage I have had ; which is, never 
to have known or seen my lady : and to draw the lineaments of her mind, from the description which 
I have received from others, is for a painter to set himself at work without the living original before 
him ; which, the more beautiful it is, will be so much the more difficult for him to conceive, when he 
has only a relation given him of such and such features by an acquaintance or a friend, without the 
nice touches, which give the best resemblance, and make the graces of the picture. Every artist is 



DEDICATION. 155 



apt enough to natter himself (and I amongst the rest) that their own ocular observations would have 
discovered more perfections, at least others, than have been delivered to them : though I have 
received mine from the best hands, that is, from persons who neither want a just understanding of 
my lady's worth, nor a due veneration for her memory. 

Doctor Donne, the greatest wit, though not the greatest poet of our nation, acknowledges, that he 
had never seen Mrs. Drury, whom he has made immortal in his admirable Anniversaries. I have had 
the same fortune, though I have not succeeded to the same genius. However, I have followed his 
footsteps in the design of his panegyric ; which was to raise an emulation in the living, to copy out 
the example of the dead. And therefore it was, that I once intended to have called this poem, The 
Pattern : and though, on a second consideration, I changed the title into the name of the illustrious 
person, yet the design continues, and Eleonora is still the pattern of charity, devotion, and humility ; 
of the best wife, the best mother, and the best of friends. 

And now, my lord, though I have endeavoured to answer your commands, yet I could not answer 
it to the world, nor to my conscience, if I gave not your lordship my testimony of being the best 
husband now living : I say my testimony only ; for the praise of it is given you by yourself. They 
who despise the rules of virtue both in their practice and their morals, will think this a very trivial 
commendation. But I think it the peculiar happiness of the Countess of Abingdon, to have been so 
truly loved by you, while she was living, and so gratefully honoured, after she was dead. Few there 
are who have either had, or could have, such a loss ; and yet fewer who carried their love and con- 
stancy beyond the grave. The exteriors of mourning, a decent funeral, and black habits, are the usual 
stints of common husbands : and perhaps their wives deserve no better than to be mourned with 
hypocrisy, and forgot with ease. But you have distinguished yourself from ordinary lovers, by a real 
and lasting grief for the deceased ; and by endeavouring to raise for her the most durable monument, 
which is that of verse. And so it would have proved, if the workman had been equal to the work, 
and your choice of the artificer as happy as your design. Yet, as Phidias, when he had made the 
statue of Minerva, could not forbear to engrave his own name, as author of the piece : so give me leave 
to hope, that, by subscribing mine to this poem, I may live by the goddess, and transmit my name to 
posterity by the memory of hers. 'Tis no flattery to assure your lordship, that she is remembered, 
in the present age, by all who have had the honour of her conversation and acquaintance ; and that 
I have never been in any company since the news of her death was first brought me, where they have 
not extolled her virtues, and even spoken the same things of her in prose, which I have done in 
verse. 

I therefore think myself obliged to thank your lordship for the commission which you have given 
me: how I have acquitted myself of it, must be left to the opinion of the world, in spite of any pro- 
testation which I can enter against the present age, as incompetent or corrupt judges. For my com- 
fort, they are but Englishmen, and, as such, if they think ill of me to-day, they are inconstant enough 
to think well of me to-morrow. And after all, I have not much to thank my fortune that I was born 
amongst them. The good of both sexes are so few, in England, that they stand like exceptions against 
general rules : and though one of them has deserved a greater commendation than I could give her, 
they have taken care that I should not tire my pen with frequent exercise on the liko subjects ; that 
praises, like taxes, should be appropriated, and left almost as individual as the person. They say, my 
talent is satire : if it be so, 'tis a fruitful age, and there is an extraordinary crop to gather. But a 
single hand is insufficient for such a harvest : they have sown the dragon's teeth themselves, and 'tis 
but just they should reap each other in lampoons. You, my lord, who have the character of honour, 
though 'tis not my happiness to know you, may stand aside, with the small remainders of the English 
nobility, truly such, and, unhurt yourselves, behold the mad combat. If I have pleased you, and some 
few others, I have obtidned my end. You see I have disabled myself, like an elected Speaker of the 
House : yet like him I have undertaken the charge, and find the burden sufficiently recompensed by 
the honour. Be pleased to accept of these my unworthy labours, this paper monument ; and let her 
pious memory, which I am sure is sacred to you, not only plead the pardon of my many faults, but 
gain me your protection, which is ambitiously sought by, 

My Lord, 
Your Lordship's most obedient Servant, 

JOHN DRYDKN. 



156 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



ELEONORA.* 



As when some great and gracious monarch dies, 
Soft whispers first, and mournful murmurs rise 
Among the sad attendants ; then the sound 
Soon gathers voice, and spreads the news around, 
Through town and country, till the dreadful blast 
Is blown to distant colonies at last ; 6 

Who, then, perhaps, were offering vows in vain, 
For his long life, and for his happy reign : 
So slowly, by degrees, unwilling fame 
Did matchless Eleonora's fate proclaim, 10 

Till public as the loss the newp became. 

The nation felt it in the extremest parts, 
With eyes o'erflowing, and with bleeding hearts ; 
But most the poor, whom daily she supplied, 
Beginning to be such but when she died. 15 

For, while she lived, they slept in peace by night, 
Secure of bread, as of returning light ; 
And with such firm dependence on the day, 
That need grew pamper'd, and forgot to pray : 
So sure the dole, so ready at their call, 20 

They stood prepared to see the manna fall. 

Such multitudes she fed, she clothed, she nursed, 
That she herself might fear her wanting first. 
Of her five talents, other five she made ; 
Heaven, that had largely given, was largely paid : 25 
And in few lives, in wondrous few, we find 
A fortune better fitted to the mind. 
Nor did her alms from ostentation fall, 
Or proud desire of praise ; the soul gave all : 
Unbribed it gave ; or, if a bribe appear, , 30 

No less than heaven; to heap huge treasures there. 

Want pass'd for merit at her open door : 
Heaven saw, he safely might increase his poor, 
And trust their sustenance with her so well, 
As not to be at charge of miracle. M 

None could be needy, whom she saw, or knew ; 
All in the compass of her sphere she drew : 
He, who could touch her garment, was as sure, 
As the first Christians of the apostles' cure. 
The distant heard, by fame, her pious deeds, * 
And laid her up for their extremest needs ; 
A future cordial for a fainting mind ; 
For, what was ne'er refused, all hoped to find, 
Each in his turn : the rich might freely come, 
As to a friend ; but to the poor, 'twas home. 4S 
As to some holy house the afflicted came, 
The hunger-starved, the naked and the lame ; 
Want and diseases fled before her name. 
For zeal like her's her servants were too slow ; 



* It appears, from the dedication to the Earl of Abingdon, 
that this poem was written at his Lordship's own desire. 
The lady whom the poem affects to praise, was one of the 
coheiresses of Sir Henry Lee of Chicheley in Oxfordshire, 
and sister to the celebrated Mrs. Anne Wharton, a lady 
eminent for her poetical genius, whom Mr. Waller has 
celebrated in an elegant copy of verses. Derrick. 

The Earl is said to have given Dryden 500 guineas for 
this poem. Todd. 



She was the first, where need required, to go ; 50 
Herself the foundress and attendant too. 

Sure she had guests sometimes to entertain, 
Guests in disguise, of her great Master's train : 
Her Lord himself might come, for aught we know; 
Since in a servant's form he lived below : 63 

Beneath her roof he might be pleased to stay ; 
Or some benighted angel, in his way, 
Might ease his wings, and, seeing heaven appear 
In its best work of mercy, think it there, 
AYhere all the deeds of charity and love w 

Were in as constant method, as above, 
All carried on ; all of a piece with theirs ; 
As free her alms, as diligent her cares ; 
As loud her praises, and as warm her prayers. M 

Yet was she not profuse ; but fear'd to waste, 
And wisely managed, that the stock might last ; 
That all might be supplied, and she not grieve, 
When crowds appear'd, she had not to relieve : 
Which to prevent, she still increased her store ; 
Laid up, and spared, that she might give the more. 
So Pharaoh, or some greater king than he, 71 

Provided for the seventh necessity : 
Taught from above his magazines to frame ; 
That famine was prevented ere it came. 
Thus Heaven, though all-sufficient, shows a thrift 7S 
In his economy, and bounds his gift : 
Creating, for our day, one single light ; 
And his reflection too supplies the night. 
Perhaps a thousand other worlds, that lie 
Remote from us, and latent in the sky, 
Are lighten'd by his beams, and kindly nursed ; 
Of which our earthly dunghill is the worst. 

Now, as all virtues keep the middle line, 
Yet somewhat more to one extreme incline, 
Such was her soul ; abhorring avarice, K 

Bounteous, but almost bounteous to a vice : 
Had she given more, it had profusion been, 
And turn'd the excess of goodness into sin. 

These virtues raised her fabric to the sky ; 
For that, which is next heaven, is charity. 9,) 

But, as high turrets, for their airy steep, 
Require foundations, in proportion deep ; 
And lofty cedars as far upward shoot, 
As to the nether heavens they drive the root : 
So low did her secure foundation lie, 95 

She was not humble, but Humility. 
Scarcely she knew that she was great, or fair, 
Or wise, beyond what other women are, 
Or, which is better, knew, but never durst 

compare. 
For to be conscious of what all admire, lw 

And not be vain, advances virtue higher. 



-think it there. 



Ver. 59. 

Where all the deeds &c] 
So the original edition points the passage. Derrick places 
i colon after there. Todd. 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



157 



But still she found, or rather thought she found, 
Her own worth wanting, others' to abound ; 
Ascribed above their due to every one, 
Unjust and scanty to herself alone. 105 

Such her devotion was, as might give rules 
Of speculation to disputing schools, 
And teach us equally the scales to hold 
Betwixt the two extremes of hot and cold; 
That pious heat may mod'rately prevail, "° 

And we be warm'd, but not be scorch'd with 

zeal. 
Busin3ss might shorten, not disturb, her 

prayer ; 
Heaven had the best, if not the greater share. 
An active life longt>risons forbids ; 
Yet still she pray'd, for still she pray'd by 

deeds. 115 

Her every day was sabbath ; only free 
From hours of prayer, for hours of charity. 
Such as the Jews from servile toil released ; 
Where works of mercy were a part of rest ; 
Such as blest angels exercise above, 12 ° 

Varied with sacred hymns and acts of love : 
Such sabbaths as that one she now enjoys, 
E'en that perpetual one, which she employs, 
(For such vicissitudes in heaven there are) 
In praise alternate, and alternate prayer. 12s 

All this she practised here ; that when she 

sprung 
Amidst the choirs, at the first sight she sung : 
Sung, and was sung herself in angels' lays ; 
For, praising her, they did her Maker praise. 
All offices of heaven so well she knew, VM 

Before she came, that nothing there was new : 
And she was so familiarly received, 
As one returning, not as one arrived. 

Muse, down again precipitate thy flight : 
For how can mortal eyes sustain immortal 

light 1 135 

But as the sun in water we can bear, 
Yet not the sun, but his reflection there, 
So let us view her, here, in what she was, 
And take her image in this watery glass : 
Yet look not ever3 7 lineament to see ; 1, ° 

Some will be cast in shades, and some will be 
So lamely drawn, you '11 scarcely know 'tis 

she. 
For where such various virtues we recite, 
'Tis like the milky-way^ all over bright, 
But sown so thick with stars, 'tis undistinguish'd 

light. 14 « 

Her virtue, not her virtues, let us call ; 
For one heroic comprehends them all : 
One, as a constellation is but one, 
Though 'tis a train of stars, that, rolling on, 
Rise in their turn, and in the zodiac run : ,sn 

Ever in motion ; now 'tis Faith ascends, 
Now Hope, now Charity, that upward tends, 
And downwards with diffusive good descends. 
As in perfumes composed with art and cost, 
'Tis hard to say what scent is uppermost; 1M 

Nor this part musk or civet can we call, 
Or amber, but a rich result of all ; 
So she was all a sweet, whose every part, 
In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's 

art. 

Ver. 142. So lamely drawn, you'll scarcely know, &c] 
Derrick. The original edition reads, 

So lamely drawn, you scarcely know, &c. 

Todd. 



No single virtue we could most commend, l,jU 

Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend ; 

For she was all, in that supreme degree, 

That as no one prevail'd, so all was she. 

The several parts lay hidden in the piece ; 

The occasion but exerted that, or this. n* 

A wife as tender, and as true withal, 
As the first woman was before her fall : 
Made for the man, of whom she was a part ; 
Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart. 
A second Eve, but by no crime accursed ; 17 ° 

As beauteous, not as brittle as the first. 
Had she been first, still Paradise had been, 
And death had found no entrance by her sin. 
So she not only had preserved from ill 
Her sex and ours, but lived their pattern still. m 

Love and obedience to her lord she bore ; 
She much obey'd him, but she loved him more : 
Not awed to duty by superior sway, 
But taught by his indulgence to obey. 
Thus we love God, as author of our good ; 180 
So subjects love just kings, or so they shou'd. 
Nor was it with ingratitude return'd ; 
In equal fires the blissful couple burn'd ; 
One joy possess'd them both, and in one grief 

they mourn'd. 
His passion still improved ; he loved so fast, 185 
As if he feai - 'd each day would be her last. 
Too true a prophet to foresee the fate 
That should so soon divide their happy state : 
When he to heaven entirely must restore 
That love, that heart, where he went halves 
before. uo 

Yet as the soul is all in every part, 
So God and he might each have all her heart. 

So had her children too ; for Charity 
Was not more fruitful, or more kind than she : 
Each under other by degrees they grew ; 19i 

A goodly perspective of distant view. 
Anchises look'd not with so pleased a face, 
In numbering o'er his future Roman race, 
And marshalling the heroes of his name, 
As, in their order, next to light they came. ,;00 
Nor Cybele, with half so kind an eye, 
Survey 'd her sous and daughters of the sky; 
Proud, shall I say, of her immortal fruit 1 
As far as pride with heavenly minds may suit. 
Her pious love exceU'd to all she bore ; ao6 

New objects only multiplied it more. 
And as the chosen found the pearly grain 
As much as every vessel could contain ; 
As in the blissful vision each shall share 
As much of glory as his soul can bear ; 21 ° 

So did she love, and so dispense her care. 
Her eldest thus, by consequence, was best, 
As longer cultivated than the rest. 
The babe had all that infant care beguiles, 
And early knew his mother in her smiles : - ,s 

But when dilated organs let in day 
To the young soul, and gave it room to play, 
At his first aptness, the maternal love 
Those rudiments of reason did improve: 
The tender age was pliant to command ; 
Like wax it yielded to the forming hand : 



Ver. ISO. 



author of our good ; 

So subject! Inn fust longs, or so they shou'd.) 



The original edition here rightly prints, for the sake 
both of the eye and ear 1 suppose, shou'd. Derrick lias 
should. Todd. 



True to the artificer, the labour' d mind 
With ease was pious, generous, just, and kind : 
Soft for impression, from the first prepared, 
'Till virtue with long exercise grew hard : ?25 

With every act confirm'd, and made at last 
So durable as not to be effaced, 
It turn'd to habit ; and, from vices free, 
Goodness resolved into necessity. 

Thus fix'd she virtue's image, that 's her own, m 
'Till the whole mother in the children shone ; 
For that was their perfection : she was such, 
They never could express her mind too much. 
So unexhausted her perfections were, 
That, for more children, she had more to 

spare; 235 

For souls unborn, whom her untimely death 
Deprived of bodies, and of mortal breath ; 
And (could they take the impressions of her 

mind) 
Enough still left to sanctify her kind. 

Then wonder not to see this soul extend 240 
The bounds, and seek some other self, a friend : 
As swelling seas to gentle rivers glide, 
To seek repose, and empty out the tide ; 
So this full soul, in narrow limits pent, 
Unable to contain her, sought a vent, 245 

To issue out, and in some friendly breast 
Discharge her treasures, and securely rest : 
To unbosom all the secrets of her heart, 
Take good advice, but better to impart. 
For 'tis the bliss of friendship's holy state, 250 

To mix their minds, and to communicate ; 
Though bodies cannot, souls can penetrate : 
Fix'd to her choice, inviolably true, 
And wisely choosing, for she chose but few. 
Some she must have ; but in no one could find ss5 
A tally fitted for so large a mind. 

The souls of friends like kings in progress are ; 
Still in their own, though from the palace far : 
Thus her friend's heart her country dwelling 

was, 
A sweet retirement to a coarser place ; - 26 ° 

Where pomp and ceremonies enter'd not, 
Where greatness was shut out, and business well 

forgot. 
This is the imperfect draught; but short as 

far 
As the true height and bigness of a star 
Exceeds the measures of the astronomer. 265 

She shines above, we know ; but in what place, 
How near the throne, and Heaven's imperial 

face, 
By our weak optics is but vainly guess'd ; 
Distance and altitude conceal the rest. 

Though all these rare endowments of the 

mind 270 

Were in a narrow space of life confined, 
The figure was with full perfection crown'd ; 
Though not so large an orb, as truly round. 

As when in glory, through the public place, 
The spoils of conquer'd nations were to pass, ^ 
And but one day for triumph was allow'd, 
The consul was constrain'd his pomp to crowd ; 
And so the swift procession hurried on, 
That all, though not distinctly, might be 

shown : 
So in the straiten'd bounds of life confined s" 
She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind : 
And multitudes of virtues pass'd along ; 
Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, 



Ambitious to be seen, and then make room 
For greater multitudes that were to come. *■ 

Yet unemploy'd no minute slipp'd away ; 
Moments were precious in so short a stay. 
The haste of Heaven to have her was so great, 
That some were single acts, though each com- 
plete ; 
But every act stood ready to repeat. 

Her fellow-saints with busy care will look 
For her blest name in fate's eternal book ; 
And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see 
Numberless virtues, endless charity : 
But more will wonder at so short an age, w 

To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page : 
And with a pious fear begin to doubt 
The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. 
But 'twas her Saviour's time; and, could there 

be 
A copy near the original, 'twas she. m 

As precious gums are not for lasting fire, 
They but perfume the temple, and expire : 
So was she soon exhaled, and vanish'd hence ; 
A short sweet odour, of a vast expence. 
She vanish'd, we can scarcely say she died ; •* 5 
For but a now did heaven and earth divide : 
She pass'd serenely with a single breath; 
This moment perfect health, the next was 

death : 
One sigh did her eternal bliss assure ; 
So little penance needs, when souls are almost 

pure. 31 ° 

As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue; 
Or, one dream pass'd, we slide into a new ; 
So close they follow, such wild order keep, 
We think ourselves awake, and are asleep : 
So softly death succeeded life in her : 3 " 

She did. but dream of heaven, and she was 

there. 
No pains she suffer'd, nor expired with noise ; 
Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still 

voice ; 
As an old friend is beckon'd to a feast, 
And treated like a long-familiar guest. 
He took her as he found, but found her so, 
As one in hourly readiness to go : 
E'en on that day, in all her trim prepared ; 
As early notice she from heaven had heard, 
And some descending courier from above 
Had given her timely warning to remove ; 
Or counsell'd her to dress the nuptial room, 
For on that night the bridegroom was to come. 
He kept his hour, and found her where she lay 
Clothed all in white, the livery of the day : 33 ° 
Scarce had she sinn'd in thought, or word, or j 

act; 
Unless omissions were to pass for fact : 
That hardly death a consequence could draw, 
To make her liable to nature's law. 
And, that she died, we only have to show 
The mortal part of her she left below : 
The rest, so smooth, so suddenly she went, 
Look'd like translation through the firmament, 
Or, like the fiery car on the third errand sent. 
happy soul ! if thou canst view from high, 3 
Where thou art all intelligence, all eye, 



Ver. 325. 



-descending courier.] The original edition 



by a laughable error of the press — descending courtier. 
Toon. 
Ver. 341. Where thou art all intelligence., all eye,'] Dryden 



If looking up to God, or down to us, 
Thou find'st that any way be pervious, 
Survey the ruins of thy house, and see 
Thy widov/d, and thy orphan family : M5 

Look on thy tender pledges left behind ; 
And, if thou canst a vacant minute find 
From heavenly joys, that interval afford 
To thy sad children, and thy mourning lord. 
See how they grieve, mistaken in their love, 35u 
And shed a beam of comfort from above ; 
Give them, as much as mortal eyes can bear, 
A transient view of thy full glories there ; 
That they with moderate sorrow may sustain 
And mollify their losses in thy gain. 355 

Or else divide the grief; for such thou wert, 
That should not all relations bear a part, 
It were enough to break a single heart. 

Let this suffice : nor thou, great saint, refuse 
This humble tribute of no vulgar muse : m 

Who, not by cares, or wants, or age depress'd, 
Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast ; 
And dares to sing thy praises in a clime 
Where vice triumphs, and virtue is a crime ; 
Where e'en to draw the picture of thy mind, 365 
Is satire on the most of human kind : 
Take it, while yet 'tis praise ; before my rage, 
Unsafely just, break loose on this bad age ; 
So bad, that thou thyself hadst no defence 
From vice, but barely by departing hence. 3 '° 

Be what, and where thou art : to wish thy 
place, 
Were, in the best, presumption more than grace. 
Thy relics (such thy works of mercy are) 
Have, in this poem, been my holy care. 
As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky, 3 ' 5 
So shall this verse preserve thy memory; 
For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of 
thee. 



ON 



THE DEATH OF AMYNTAS. 



A PASTORAL ELF.OY. 



'Twas on a joyless and a gloomy morn, 

Wet was the grass, and hung with pearls the 

thorn ; 
When Damon, who design'd to pass the day 
With hounds and horns, and chase the flying 

prey, 
Rose early from his bed ; but soon he found 6 
The welkin pitch'd with sullen clouds around, 
An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground. 
Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey 
The fields, and cursed the ill omens of the day, 
He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace ; 10 

Wet were his eyes, and cheerless was his face : 

haps had in memory his master's description of spirits, 
Par. Lost, B. vi. 350. 

" All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, 
All intellect, all sense " Todd. 

Ver.377. For thou shall make] Our author owned ho did 
not know the person on whom he wrote this long panegyric. 
This must be his excuse for the coldness and insipidity of 
the piece. Dr. J. Warton. 



He wrung his hands, distracted with his care, 
And sent his voice before him from afar. 
Return, he cried, return, unhappy swain. 
The spongy clouds are fill'd with gathering rain : 
The promise of the day not on]y cross'd, 16 

But e'en the spring, the spring itself is lost. 
Amyntas — oh ! — he could not speak the rest, 
Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd. 
Equal with Heaven young Damon loved the boy, 
The boast of Nature, both his parents' joy. 2l 

His graceful form revolving in his mind ; 
So great a genius, and a soul so kind, 
Gave sad assurance that his fears were true ; 
Too well the envy of the gods he knew : a 

For when their gifts too lavishly arc placed, 
Soon they repent, and will not make them last. 
For sure it was too bountiful a dole, 
The mother's features, and the father's soul. 
Then thus he cried : The mom bespoke the 
news : ' M 

The morning did her cheerful light diffuse : 
But see how suddenly she changed her face, 
And brought on clouds and rain, the day's dis- 
grace ; 
Just such, Amyntas, was thy promised race. 
What charms adorn'd thy youth, where Nature 
smiled, : *> 

And more than man was given us in a child ! 
His infancy was ripe : a soul sublime 
In years so tender that prevented time : 
Heaven gave him all at once ; then snatch'd away, 
Ere mortals all his beauties could survey : m 

Just like the flower that buds and withers in a 
day. 

MENALCAS. 

The mother, lovely, though with grief oppress'd 
Reclined his dying head upon her breast. 
The mournful family stood all around ; 
One groan was heard, one universal sound : 45 

All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow 

drown'd. 
So dire a sadness sat on every look, 
E'en Death repented he had given the stroke. 
He grieved his fatal work had been ordain'd, 
But promised length of life to those who yet 

rcmain'd. 50 

The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace, 
It seems, had bribed him to prolong their space. 
The father bore it with undaunted soul, 
Like one who durst his destiny control : 
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part, M 

Resign'd his son, but not resigu'd his heart. 
Patient as Job ; and may he live to see, 
Like him, a new increasing family ! 



DAMON. 

Such is my wish, and such my prophecy, 
For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould 

mains ; 
Long may she exercise her fruitful pains ! 
But, ah ! with better hap, and bring a race 
More lasting, and endued with equal grace ! 
Equal she may, but farther none can go : 
For he was all that was exact below. 



rc- 



MENALCAS. 

Damon, behold yon breaking purplo cloud ; 
Hcar'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud ? 



ICO 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



There mounts Amyntas ; the young cherubs play 
About their godlike mate, and sing him on his 

way. 
He cleaves the liquid air, behold, he flies, 7 ° 

And every moment gains upon the skies. 
The new-come guest admires the ethereal state, 
The sapphire portal, and the golden gate ; 
And now admitted in the shining throng, 
He shows the passport which he brought along. 
His passport is his innocence and grace, 76 

Well known to all the natives of the place. 
Now sing, ye j oyful angels, and admire 
Your brother's voice that comes to mend your 

quire : 
Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow ; 
For like Amyntas none is left below. sl 



ON THE DEATH OF 



A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN. 



He who could view the book of destiny, 
And read whatever there was writ of thee, 

charming youth, in the first opening page, 
So many graces in so green an age, 

Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, d 
A soul at once so manly, and so kind ; 
Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, 
And after some few leaves should find no more, 
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, 
A step of life that promised such a race. I0 

We must not, dare not think, that Heaven began 
A child, and could not finish him a man ; 
Reflecting what a mighty store was laid 
Of rich materials, and a model made : 
The cost already furnish'd ; so bestow'd, 15 

As more was never to one soul allow'd : ' 
Yet after this profusion spent in vain, 
Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain, 

1 guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, 

Yet durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself; 20 
And giving us the use, did soon recal, 
Eve we could spare, the mighty principal. 
Thus then he disappear' d, was rarified ; 
For 'tis improper speech to say he died : 
He was exhaled ; his great Creator drew 25 

His spirit, as the sun the morning dew. 
'Tis sin produces death ; and he had none, 
But the taint Adam left on every son. 
He added not, he was so pure, so good, 
'Twas but the original forfeit of his blood : x 

And that so little, that the river ran 
More clear than the corrupted fount began. 
Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay ; 
The length of course had wash'd it in the way : 
So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold 35 
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold. 
As such we loved, admired, almost adored, 
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford. 
Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above 
Grew angry at our superstitious love : ■»» 



Ver. 81. For like Amyntas] This pastoral is very un- 
worthy of our author. Dr. J. Warton. 



For when we more than human homage pay, 
The charming cause is justly snatch'd away. 

Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone : 
And yet we murmur that he went so soon ; 
Though miracles are short and rarely shown. *■ 

Learn then, ye mournful parents, and divide 
That love in many, which in one was tied. 
That individual blessing is no more, 
But multiplied in your remaining store. 
The flame 's dispersed, but does not all expire ; 50 
The sparkles blaze, though not the globe of 

fire. 
Love him by parts, in all your numerous race, 
And from those parts form one collected grace ; 
Then, when you have refined to that degree, 
Imagine all in one, and think that one is he. M 



UPON 
YOUNG MR. ROGERS, 

OP GLOUCESTERSHIRE. 



Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure, 
Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, 
Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, 
A large provision for so short a race ; • 
More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his 
date, 5 

Too early fitted for a better state ; 
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay, 
He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way. 



ON 



THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL. 

SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BLOW. 



Mark how the lark and linnet sing ; 
With rival notes 
They strain their warbling throats, 
To welcome in the spring. 
But in the close of night, 
When Philomel begins her heavenly lay, 
They cease their mutual spite, 
Drink in her music with delight, 
And, list'ning, silently obey. 



So ceased the rival crew, when Purcell came ; 10 
They sung no more, or only sung his fame : 
Struck dumb, they all admired the godlike man : 
The godlike man, 
Alas ! too soon i-etired, 
As he too late began. 15 

We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore : 
Had he been there, 
Their sovereign's fear 
Had sent him back before. 
The power of harmony too well they knew : M 
He long ere this had tuned their jarring sphere, 
And left no hell below. 



i 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



161 



The heavenly choir, who heard his notes frorn 

high, 
Let down the scale of music from the sky : 

They handed liim along, a > 

And all the way he taught, and all the way they 

sung. 
Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice, 
Lament his lot ; but at your own rejoice : 
Now live secure, and linger out your days ; 
The gods are pleased alone with Purcell's lays, x 
Nor know to mend their choice. 



EPITAPH ON 



THE LADY WIIITMORE. 



Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, 
A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one, 
Eest in this tomb, raised at thy husband's cost, 
Here sadly summing, what he had, and lost. 

Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join, 5 
Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine ; 
Pray but for half the virtues of this wife, 
Compound for all the rest, with longer life ; 
And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd, 
So loved when living, and when dead so mourn'd. 10 



EPITAPH ON 

SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB 

IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 

Sacred to the immortal memory of Sir Palmes Fnirbone, Kni-dit, 
Governor of Tangier; in execution of which command, he was 
mortally wounded by n shot from the Moors, then besieging the 
town, in the forty-sixth year of his age. October 24, 1680. 



Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep, 
Here, undisturb'd by ware, in quiet sleep : 
Discharge the tnist, which, when it was below, 
Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo, 
And be the town's Palladium from the foe. 5 

Alive and dead these walls he will defend : 
Great actions great examples must attend. 
The Candian siege his early valour knew, 
Where Turkish blood did his young hands im- 
brue. 
From thence returning with deserved applause, 
Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he 
draws; u 

The same the courage, and the same the cause. 
His youth and age, his life and death, combine, 
As in some great and regular design, 
All of a piece throughout, and all divine. ' 5 

Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more blight, 
Like rising flames expanding in their height ; 
The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight. 
More bravely British general never fell, 
Nor general's death was e'er revenged so well ; 20 
Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close, 
Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes. 
To his lamented loss for time to come 
His pious widow consecrates this tomb. 



UNDER 

MR. MILTON'S PICTURE, 

BEFORE HIS PARADISE LOST. 



Three Poets in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of thought Surpass'd ; 
The next in majesty; in both the last. 
The force of nature could no further go; 
To make a third, she join'd the former two. 



ON THE MONUMENT OF 

A FAIR MAIDEN LADY, 

WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED.' 



Below this marble monument is laid 
All that heaven wants of this celestial maid. 
Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust consign'd ; 
The mould was made on purpose for the mind : 



Ver. 1. Three Poets] If any other proof was wanting cf 
the high respect and veneration which our poet entertained 
of the superior genius of Milton, these six nervous lines 
will forever remain as a strong and indisputable testimony. 
They are a confirmation of an anecdote communicated by 
Richardson, that the Earl of Dorset, having sent the 
Paradise Lost to Dryden, when he returned the book, he 
said, " This man cuts us all out, and the ancients too." 
I cannot therefore be induced to think that Dryden himself 
would have been pleased with the preference Johnson 
endeavours to give him to Milton, especially after saying 
(in express contradiction to Addison) that Milton wrote no 
language, but formed a Babylonish dialect, harsh and bar- 
barous. He adds, that with respect to English poetry, 
Dryden 

" Lateritiam invenit, marmoream reliquit." 

Milton most assuredly did not build bis lofty rhyme with 
coarse and perishable brick, but with the most costly and 
durable porphyry; nor would Dryden have thanked Johnson 
for saying in another place that " JProm his contemporaries 
he was in no danger; that he stood hi the highest place; and 
that there was no name, above his own" 

The genius of Milton is universally allowed ; but lam 
of opinion that his taste and judgment were equally ex- 
cellent : witness the majesty with which lie has drawn the 
figure of Satan, so different from what his favourite Dante 
had done, who was so likely to dazzle and mislead him, 
and who has so strangely mixed the grotesque with the 
great. Satan, says Dante in the Inferno, had a vast and 
most gigantic appearance; he stood up to his middle in ice, 
eagerly trying to disentangle himself, and for that purpose 
violently flapping his huge leathern wings, lie has throe 
different faces, a livid, a black, and a scarlet one. He has 
six blood-shot eyes; three mouths that pour forth torrents 
of blood ; and in each mouth he holds a sinner. This is 
not, like Milton's, the figure of an archangel fallen. The 
Satan in the Davideis disgraces Cow lev. l>r. ,J. \Varton. 

• This lady is interred in the Abbey-church. The epi- 
taph is on a white marble stone fixed in the wall, together 
with this inscription: "Here lies the body of .Man-, third 
daughter of Richard Frampton of Moreton in Dorsetshire, 
Esq., and of Jane his wife, solo daughter <>f Sir Francis 
Coffington of FounthiU in Wilts, who was bom January l, 
1676, and died after seven weeks illness on the 6th of Sep- 
tember 1698. 

"This monument was erected by Catharine Frampton, 
her second sister and executrix, in testimony "1" her grid, 
affection, and gratitude." Hi I BI< •■■ 



162 



ELEGIES AND EPITAPHS. 



And she would lose, if, at the latter day, 5 

One atom could be mix'd of other clay. 
Such were the features of her heavenly face, 
Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious 

grace; 
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole 
Had been an emanation of the soul ; 10 

Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd ; 
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal'd. 
Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded light : 
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight. 
Each thought was visible that roll'd within : 15 
As through a crystal case the figured hours are 

seen. 
And Heaven did this transparent veil provide, 
Because she had no guilty thought to hide. 
All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies : 
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes. w 

High though her wit, yet humble was her mind ; 
As if she could not, or she would not find 
How much her worth transcended all her kind. 
Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below, 
That, when arrived, she scarce had more to 

know : 25 

But only to refresh the former hint ; 
And read her Maker in a fairer print. 
So pious, as she had no time to spare 
For human thoughts, but was confined to prayer. 
Yet in such charities she pass'd the day, 3° 

'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray. 
A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows, 
Which passion could but curl, not discompose. 
A female softness, with a manly mind : 
A daughter duteous, and a sister kind : 35 

In sickness patient, and in death resign'd. 



EPITAPH ON 

MRS. MARGARET PASTON, 

OF BUKNINGHAM If NORFOLK. 



So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet, 
So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit, 



Require at least an age in one to meet. 

In her they met ; but long they could not stay, 

'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay. 

Heaven's image was in her so well express'd, 

Her very sight upbraided all the rest; 

Too justly ravish'd from an age like this, 

Now she is gone, the world is of a piece. 



ON THE MONUMENT 

OF THE 

MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER. 



He who in impious times undaunted stood, 
And 'midst rebellion durst be just and good : 
Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more 
Confirm'd the cause for which he fought before, 
Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince ; 5 
For what his earthly could not recompense. 
Pray, reader, that such times no more appear : 
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here. 
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty, 
Which to preserve them, Heaven confined in 
thee. 10 

Few subjects could a king like thine deserve : 
And fewer such a king so well could serve. 
Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state 
By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate. 
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given 15 
To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven. 



Ver. 1. He who in impious] He was a nobleman of great 
spirit and intrepidity, "who withstood, in his magnificent 
castle of Basing in Hampshire, an obstinate siege of two 
years against the rebels, who levelled it to the ground, 
because in every window was written Aymer LoyauU. He 
died in 1674, and was buried in the church of Englefield in 
Berkshire, where his monument with this epitaph still 
remains. It is remarkable that Milton wrote a beautiful 
epitaph on the Marchioness his lady. It was the singular 
lot, both of husband and wife, to have raceived the honour 
of being celebrated by two such poets. Dr. J. Waetoh. 



I 



SONGS. 



163 



SONGS,. ODES, AND A MASQUE. 



THE FAIR STRANGER : 

A SONG. 



Happy and free, securely blest, 
No beauty could disturb my rest ; 
My amorous heart was in despair, 
To find a new victorious fair. 



Till you descending on our plains, 
With foreign force renew my chains ; 
Where now you rule without control 
The mighty sovereign of my soul. 



Tom- smiles have more of conquering charms, 
Than all your native country arms : 10 

Their troops we can expel with ease, 
Who vanquish only when we please. 



But in your eyes, oh ! there's the spell, 
Who can see them, and not rebel ? 
You make us captives by your stay, 
Yet kill us if you go away. 



THE YOUNG STATESMEN. 



Clarendon had law and sense, 

Clifford was fierce and brave ; 
Bennet's grave look was a pretence, 
And Danby's matchless impudence 

Help'd to support the knave. 5 

But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory, 
These will appear such chits in story, 

'Twill turn all politics to jests, 
To be repeated like John Dory, 

When fiddlers sing at feasts. 10 

• This song is a compliment to the Duchess of Portsmouth 
on her first coming to England. Derrick. 
Ver. 6. But Sunderland,'] This nobleman had certainly 

Ireai and various abilities, with a complete versatility of 
nil] and a most insinuating address; but he was 
1 ill] vi 'id of all principles, moral or religious, and a much 
abandoned character than Shaftesbury, whom it is so 
"in to calumniate. He certainly urged James II. to 



Protect us, mighty Providence, 

What would these madmen have ? 
First, they would bribe us without pence, 
Deceive us without common sense, 

And without power enslave. 15 

Shall free-born men, in humble awe, 

Submit to servile shame ; 
Who from consent and custom draw 
The same right to be ruled by law, 

Which kings pretend to reign ? M 

The duke shall wield his conquering sword, 
The chancellor make a speech, 

The king shall pass his honest word, 

The pawn'd revenue sums afford, 

And then, come kiss my breech. ^ 

So have I seen a king on chess 

(His rooks and knights withdrawn, 
His queen and bishops in distress) 
Shifting about, grow less and less, 

With here and there a pawn. ' M 



A SONG 

FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687. 



From harmony, from heavenly harmony 

This universal frame began : 

When nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay, 
And could not heave her head, 5 

The tuneful voice was heard from high, 

Arise, ye more than dead. 

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, 

In order to their stations leap, 

And Music's power obey. 10 

pursue arbitrary and illegal measures, that he intended 
should be his ruin, and betrayed him to the Prince of 
Orange. The Abbe de Longuenie relates, that Dr. Massey, 
of Christ Church, assured him, he once received an order 
from King James to expel twenty-four students of that 
college in Oxford, if they did not embrace popery. Massey, 
astonished at the order, was advised by a friend to go to 
London, and show it to the king, who assured him In- had 
never given such an order, and com mended .Massey fur not 
having obeyed it; yet still this infatuated monarch conti- 
nued to trust Sunderland. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1. From harmony,] The picture of Jubal in the 
second stanza is finely imagined ; but this Ode Ls l<>st in 
the lustre of the subsequent one upon this subject. Dr. J. 
Warton. 

U '.» 



164 



SONGS. 



From harmony, from heavenly harmony 

This universal frame began : 

From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 

The diapason closing full in Man. 15 

ii. 

What passion cannot Music raise and quell 1 
"When Jubal struck the chorded shell, 
His listening brethren stood around, 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 
To worship that celestial sound. 
Less than a God they thought there could not 
dwell 
Within the hollow of that shell, 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 

in. 
The trumpet's loud clangor 

Excites us to arms, 
With shrill notes of anger, 

And mortal alarms. 
The double double double beat 

Of the thundering drum b0 

Cries, hark ! the foes come ; 
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. 

IV. 

The soft complaining flute 
In dying notes discovers 
The woes of hopeless lovers, 35 

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. 

v. 

Sharp violins proclaim 
Their jealous pangs, and desperation, 
Fury, frantic indignation, 
Depth of pains, and height of passion, 40 

For the fair, disdainful, dame. 



But oh ! what art can teach, 
What human voice can reach, 

The sacred organ's praise ? 
Notes inspiring holy love, 
Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
To mend the choirs above. 



Orpheus could lead the savage race ; 
And trees uprooted left their place, 

Sequacious of the lyre : 
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : 
When to her organ vocal breath was given, 
An angel heard, and straight appear'd 

Mistaking earth for heaven. 

GRAND CHORUS. 

As from the power of sacred lays 
The spheres began to move, 

And sung the great Creator's praise 
To all the bless'd above ; 



Ver. 37. Sharp violins] It is a judicious remark of 
Mr. Mason, that Dryden with propriety gives this epithet 
to the instrument ; because, in the poet's time, they could 
not have arrived at that delicacy of tone, even in the hands 
of the best masters, which they now have in those of an 
inferior kind. See Essays on English Church Mustek, by 
the Rev. W. Mason, M.A., Precentor of York, 12mo. 1795, 
p. 218. Todd. 



So when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour, 
The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die, 
And Music shall untune the sky. 



SONG. 

FAKEWELL, FAIR ARMIDA.* 

Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief, 
In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief; 
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe, 
Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me de- 
spair : 
Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content 5 
The fate which in pity you would not prevent : 
To languish in love, were to find by delay 
A death that 's more welcome the speediest way. 

On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire, 
The danger is less than in hopeless desire ; 10 

My death's wound you give, though far off I bear 
My fall from your sight — not to cost you a tear : 
But if the kind flood on a wave should convey 
And under your window my body should lay, 
The wound on my breast when you happen to 
see, 15 

You'll say with a sigh — it was given by me. 



THE LADY'S SONG. 



A choir of bright beauties in spring did appear, 
To choose a May-lady to govern the year ; 

* This song, written on the death of Captain Digby, has 
been given by Mr. Malone in his Life of Dryden, on 
account, he says, of its "not having been preserved in 
Dryden's works, and being found entire only in a scarce 
Miscellany, viz., Covent Garden Drollery." I must, how- 
ever, observe, that the Song is printed entire in New Court- 
Songs and Poems, by E. V. Gent. 8vo. 1672, p. 78. In this 
collection the second line runs thus : — 

" In vain I have loved you, xa&find no relief." 
The sixth, 

" A fate which in pity," &c. 
The twelfth, 

" My fate from your sight," &c. 
An answer from Armida, as she is called, follows the 
Song in this collection ; but it is not worth citing. The 
ridiculous parody on this Song in the Rehearsal is too well 
known to require copying here. But the following ludi- 
crous stanza, which I have seen in MS. and which is a 
coeval parody on Dryden's Song to Armida, deserves to bo 
cited : — 

" Or if the king please that I may, at his charge, 
Just under your window be brought in a barge ; 
Nay, 'twill be enough, as I died a brave fighter, 
If but to your window I come in a lighter ; 
Or, rather than faile to shew my love fuller, 
I would be content to arrive in a sculler ; 
But if me these favours my fate hath deny'd, 
I hope to come floating up with a spring tyde." 
Armida is said to have been the beautiful Frances Stuart, ; 
wife of Charles, Duke of Richmond. Captain Digby was 
killed at sea in the engagement between the English and 
Dutch fleet, off Southwold Bay, in 1672. Todd. 



SONGS. 



165 



All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds 

in green; 
The garland was given, and Phillis was queen : 
But Phillis refused it, and sighing did say, 6 

I '11 not wear a garland while Pan is away. 



While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore, 
The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more : 
The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, 
Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires : 10 
And vows that himself, and his mother, will 

mourn, 
'Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return. 



Forbear your addresses, and court us no more, 
For we will perform what the deity swore : 
But if you dare think of deserving our charms, 15 
Away with your sheephooks, and take to your 

arms : 
Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn, 
When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx, return. 



A SONG. 
— ♦ — 



Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize 
Reserved for your victorious eyes : 
From crowds, whom at your feet you see, 
Oh pity, and distinguish me ! 
As I from thousand beauties more 
Distinguish you, and only you adore. 



Your face for conquest was design'd, 

Your every motion charms my mind ; 

Angels, when you your silence break, 

Forget their hymns, to hear you speak ; 

But when at once they hear and view, 

Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you. 



No graces can your form improve, 
But all are lost, unless you love ; 
While that sweet passion you disdain. 
Your veil and beauty are in vain : 
In pity then prevent my fate, 
For after dying all reprieve 's too late. 



A SONG. 



High state and honours to others impart, 

But give me your heart : 
That treasure, that treasure alone, 

I beg for my own. 
So gentle a love, so fervent a fire, 

My soul does inspire ; 



That treasure, that treasure alone, 

I beg for my own. 
Your love let me crave ; 
Give me in possessing 
So matchless a blessing ; 
That empire is all I would have. 
Love's my petition, 
All my ambition; 
If e'er you discover 
So faithful a lover, 
So real a flame, 
I'll die, I'll die, 
So give up my game. 



A SONG. 



Go tell Amynta, gentle swain, 
I would not die, nor dare complain : 
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, 
Thy words will more prevail than mine, 
To souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief, 
The gods ordain this kind relief; 
That music should in sounds convey, 
What dying lovers dare not say. 



A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give, 
But love on pity cannot live. 
Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, 
And love with love is only paid. 
Tell her my pains so fast increase, 
That soon they will be past redress ; 
But ah ! the wretch, that speechless lies, 
Attends but death to close his eyes. 



A SONG. 



TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE TOWN 
IN THE SPBING. 



Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring 
So long delays her flowers to bear ; 

Why warbling birds forget to sing, 
And winter storms invert the year : 

Chloris is gone, and fate provides 

To make it Spring, where she resides. 



Chloris is gone, the cruel fair ; 

She cast not back a pitying eye : 
But left her lover in despair, 

To sigh, to languish, and to die : 
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure 
To give the wounds they will not cure ! 

in. 
Great god of love, why hast thou made 

A face that can all hearts command, 
That all religions can invade, 

And change the laws of every land i 



166 



AN ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. 



Where thou hadst placed such power before, 
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more. 



When Chloris to the temple comes, 
Adoring crowds before her fall ; 

She can restore the dead from tombs, 
And every life but mine recal. 

I only am by Love design'd 

To be the victim for mankind. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST; 

OE, THE POWER OF MUSIC: 

AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAT. 

♦ 



'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son : 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne : 5 

His valiant peers were placed around ; 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ; 
(So should desert in arms be crown'd.) 
The lovely Thais, by his side, 
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride ,0 

In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave deserves the fair. ,5 



Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave deserves the fair. 



Timotheus, placed on high M 

Amid the tuneful quire, 

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 25 

Who left his blissful seats above, 
(Such is the power of mighty love.) 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
Sublime on radiant spires he rode, 

When be to fair Olyrnpia press'd : 30 

And while he sought her snowy breast : 
Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, 
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of 
the world. 



Ver. 20. Dr. Burney has given a learned, full, and en- 
tertaining account of Timotheus, the musician, in his first 
volume of his History of Music, p. 405. Mr. Jackson, 
whose taste and feeling on the subject of music must be 
allowed to be just and exquisite, censures Dryden for 
extending the powers of music over the passions, and 
affirms that pleasure only can be excited. Dr. J. Warton. 



The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, 

A present deity they shout around : 

A present deity the vaulted roofs rebound : 

With ravish'd ears 

The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

CHORUS. 

With ravish'd ears 
The monarch hears, 
Assumes the god, 
Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 



The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician 
sung, 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : 
The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
Sound the trumpets ; beat the drums ; m 
Flush'd with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face : 
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he 
comes. 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 

Drinking joys did first ordain; M 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
Rich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure, 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. i: 

CHORUS. 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 

Rich the treasure, 

Sweet the pleasure, 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 



Soothed with the sound the king grew vain; 
Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes ; and thrice he 
slew the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 70 



Ver. 56. Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Mich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure, 
Sweet is pleasure after pain.'] 

" I know not how, but martial men are given to love ; 
I think it is, but as they are given to wine ; for perils 
commonly ask to be paid with pleasure." — Bacon. John 
Warton. 

Ver. 66. Suidas, torn. ii. p. 713, mentions the Orthian 
style in music, in which Timotheus is said to have played 
to Alexander ; and one Antigenides inflamed this prince 
still more by striking- into what were called Harmatian 
measures. See Plutarch de Fortuna Alexand. II. Orat., 
and Suidas in the word ccefActTiics, a strain usually played 
in the theatres when Hector was dragged at the chariot 
wheels, if' Uef^cra;. Q. Curtius, lib. r. 67, gives a minute 
description of the burning the palace at Persepolis, when 
Alexander was attended by Thais. But it does not appear 
in the accurate Arrian, lib. iii. cap. 18, that Thais had any 
share in this transaction. Arrian, but more so Aristobulus, 
endeavoured to exculpate Alexander from the charge of 
frequent ebriety ; but from a fragment of Menander, pre- 
served in the curious repository of anecdotes, Athenseus, 
lib. x. p. 434, tv y.okocyA, he plainly mentions the drunkenness 
of Alexander as proverbial. Dr. J. Warton. 



AN ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. 



1G7 



And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand, and check'd his pride. 

He chose a mournful muse 

Soft pity to infuse : 
He sung Darius great and good, 

By too severe a fate, 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
Fallen from his high estate, 

And welt'ring in his blood ; 
Deserted, at his utmost need, 
By those his former bounty fed ; 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 

Revolving in his alter'd soul 

The various turns of chance below ; 

And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; 
And tears began to flow. 

CHORUS. 

Revolving in his alter'd soul 

The various turns of chance below ; 

And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; 
And tears began to flow. 



The mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, 95 

For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
. Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honour, but an empty bubble ; 10 ° 

Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying : 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, oh think it worth enjoying : 

Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 105 

Take the good the gods provide thee. 
The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 

Gazed on the fair n0 

Who caused his care, 
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, 
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. lls 



Ver. 73. The mention of this pathetic air reminds me of 
a story of the celebrated Lully, who having been one day 
accused of never setting any thing to music, but the 
languid verses- of Quinault, was immediately animated with 
the reproach, and as it were, seized with a kind of enthu- 
siasm ; he ran instantly to his harpsichord, and striking a 
few chords, sung in recitative these four lines in the Iphi- 
genia of Racine, which are full of the strongest imagery, 
and are therefore much more difficult to express in music, 
than verses of more sentiment : 

" Un pretre environne d'une foule cruelle, 
Portera sur ma fille une main criminelle, 
Dechirera son sein, ct d'un oeil curieux, 
Dans son coeur palpitant consultera les dieux." 

One of the company has often declared, that they all 
thought themselves present at this dreadful spectacle, and 
that the notes, with which Lully accompanied these words, 
erected the hair of their heads with horror. Dr. J. W a in on. 

Ver. 114. with hue and wine at once oppregs'd,'] Alexan- 
der, however inclined to hard drinking, as indeed were the 
Creeks, yet multiplied his debauches of this kind after he 
conquered Persia, in which country the character of a 
drunkard was reckoned honourable, as may be seen in 
Plutarch's Sympos. lib. i. Dr. .1. Wartox. 



The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 12 

At length with love and wine at once oppress'd, 
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. 



Now strike the golden lyre again : 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. 
Break his bands of sleep asimder, 125 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark, hark, the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head : 
As awaked from the dead, 
And amazed, he staves around. 13>l 

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, 
See the furies arise : 
See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! I35 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
Those are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain, 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain : W) 

Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 145 
The princes applaud with a furious joy ; 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to 
destroy ; 

Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey, 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 15 ° 



And 



CHORDS. 

seized a flambeau with zeal to 



the king 
destroy ; 

Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey, 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 



Thus long ago, ,55 

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, 
While organs yet were mute ; 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute, 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 101 

Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, "'""' 

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown 
before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
She drew an angel down. 

GRAND CHOIU'S. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame ; 



16S 



THE SECULAR MASQUE. 



The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, irs 
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown 
before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies ; 

She drew an angel down. ls0 



VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS, 



1'ARAPHP.ASF.H. 



Creator Spirit, by whose aid 

The world's foundations first were laid, 

Come visit every pious mind ; 

Come pour thy joys on human kind ; 

From sin and sorrow set us free, 6 

And make thy temples worthy thee. 

source of uncreated light, 
The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ; in 

Come, and thy sacred unction bring 
To sanctify us, while we sing. 

Plenteous of grace, descend from high, 
Rich in thy sevenfold energy ! 
Thou strength of his Almighty hand, 15 

Whose power does heaven and earth command. 
Proceeding Spirit, our defence, 
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, 
And crown' st thy gift with eloquence ! 
Refine and purge our earthly parts ; ^ 

But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts ! 
Our frailties help, our vice control, 
Submit the senses to the soul ; 



Ver. 180. If Dryden had nevei written any thing but 
this Ode, his name would have been immortal, as would 
that of Gray, if he had never written any thing but his Bard. 
It is difficult to find new terms to express our admiration 
of the variety, richness, and melody of its numbers ; the 
force, beauty, and distinctness of its images ; the succession 
of so many different passions and feelings ; and the match- 
less perspicuity of its diction. The scene opens, in the first 
stanza, in an awful and august manner. The amours of 
Jupiter are described in a majestic manner in the second, 
with allusions to Alexander's being flattered with the idea 
of his being the son of Jupiter and a god. But the sweet 
musician alters his tone in the third stanza to the praises 
of Bacchus, and the effects of wine ; which inspiring the 
king with a kind of momentary frenzy and pride, Timo- 
theus suddenly changes his hand, and in an air exquisitely 
pathetic, particularly the repetition of the words fallen, 
fallen, &c, sets before our eyes the fall and death of Darius, 
without a friend to attend him in his last moments. But 
the artist, knowing how nearly allied pity was to love, re- 
minds the hero of the presence of his beautiful Thais, and 
describes minutely the effects of his passion for her. He 
does not, however, suffer him long to loiter in the lap of 
pleasure, but instantly rouses him with deeper and louder 
notes, till he, staring around, Eumenidum demens videt 
agmina, with their eyes full of indignation, and their hair 
crowded with hissing serpents, followed by a band of Gre- 
cian ghosts, who demand vengeance from their leader, 
tossing on high the torches they held in their hands, and 
pointing to the Persian temples and palaces, urging him to 
destroy them with fire. Such is the unexampled combina- 
tion of poetical beauties, of almost every sort, in which this 
justly admired Ode abounds. No particle of it can be 
wished away, but the epigrammatic turn of the four con- 
cluding lines. Dr. J. Waeton. 



And when rebellious they are grown, 
Then lay thy hand, and hold 'em down. 

Chase from our minds the infernal foe, 
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; 
And lest our feet should step astray, 
Protect and guide us in the way. 

Make us eternal truths receive, 
And practise all that we believe : 
Give us thyself, that we may see 
The Father, and the Son, by thee. 

Immortal honour, endless fame, 
Attend the Almighty Father's name : 
The Saviour Son be glorified, 
Who for lost man's redemption died : 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to thee. 



THE SECULAR MASQUE. 

Enter Jakus. 

JANDS. 

Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace, 

An hundred times the rolling sun 

Around the radiant belt has run 

In his revolving race. 

Behold, behold, the goal in sight, 5 

Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight. 

Enter Chronos, with a scythe in his hand, and a globe on his 
back, which he sets down at his entrance. 



Weary, weary of my weight, 

Let me, let me drop my freight, 

And leave the world behind. 

I could not bear, "' 

Another year, 
The load of human-kind. 

Enter MoMUS laughing. 

MOMUS. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! well hast thou done 

To lay down thy pack, 

And lighten thy back, 
The world was a fool, e'er since it begun, 
And since neither Janus, nor Chronos, nor I, 

Can hinder the crimes, 

Or mend the bad times, 
'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 

CHORUS OF ALL THREE. 

'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 

JANUS. 

Since Momus comes to laugh below, 

Old Time begin the show, 
That he may see, in every scene, 
What changes in this age have been. ^ 

CHRONOS. 

Then goddess of the silver bow begin. 
[Horns, or huntingwusic within^] 

Ver. 39. Eternal Paraclete,'] This is a most elegant and 
beautiful little morsel, and one of his most correct com- 
positions. Its poetry and piety aid each other. Dr. J. 
Wabton. 



SONGS. 



109 



Eidn- Diana. 
DIANA. 

With horns and with hounds, I waken the day; 
And hie to the woodland-walks away : 
I tuck up my robe, and am buskin'd soon, 
And tie to my forehead a wexing moon. 30 

I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox, 
And chase the wild goats o'er summits of rocks, 

With shouting and hooting we pierce through the 
sky, 

And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. M 

CHORUS OF ALL. 

With shouting and hooting we pierce through the 

sky, 
And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. 

JANUS. 

Then our age was in its prime : 

CHRONOS. 

Free from rage : 

DIANA. 

— And free from crime : 

MOMUS. 

A very merry, dancing, drinking, m 

Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. 

CHORUS OP ALL. 

Then our age was in its prime, 
Free from rage and free from crime, 
A very merry, dancing, drinking, 
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. '•' 
[Dance of Diana's attendants^ 
Enter Mars. 
MARS. 
Inspire the vocal brass, inspire ; 
The world is past its infant age : 
Arms and honour, 
Anns and honour, 
Sot the martial mind on fire, 5 " 

And kindle manly rage. 
Mars has look'd the sky to red ; 
And Peace, the lazy good, is fled. 
Plenty, peace, and pleasure fly ; 

The sprightly green, 
In woodland-walks no more is seen ; 
The sprightly green has drunk the Tyrian dye. 

CHORUS OF ALL. 

Plenty, peace, &c. 

MARS. 

Sound the trumpet, boat the drum ; 
Through all the world around, '" 

Sound a reveille, sound, sound, 
The warrior god is come. 

CHORUS OF ALL. 

Sound the trumpet, &c. 

MOMUS. 

Thy sword within the scabbard keep, 

And let mankind agree ; '■■'• 

Better the world were fast asleep, 
Than kept awako by thee. 



The fools arc only thinner, 

With ail our cost and care ; 
But neither side a winner, -„ 

For things are as they were. 

CHORUS OK ALL. 

The fools are only, &c. 

Enter Venus. 
VENUS. 

Calms appear, when storms are past ; 

Love will have his hour at last : 

Nature is my kindly care : 75 

Mars destroys, and I repair ; 

Take me, take me, while you may, 

Venus comes not every day. 

CHORUS OF ALL. 

Take her, take her, &c. 

CHRONOS. 

The world was then so light, m 

I scarcely felt the weight ; 
Joy ruled the day, and Love the night. 
But, since the queen of pleasure left the ground, 
I faint, I lag, 

And feebly drag K 

The ponderous orb around. 

MOMUS. 

All, all of a piece throughout : 
Thy chace had a boast in view ; 

[Pointing to Diana 

Thy wars brought nothing about ; [To Mars. 
Thy lovers were all untrue. 

[To Venus. 

JANUS. 

'Tis well an old age is out. 

CHRONOS. 

And time to begin a new. 

CnORUS OF ALL. 

All, all of a piece throughout; 

Thy chace had a beast in view : 
Thy wars brought nothing about ; M 

Thy lovers were all untrue. 
'Tis well an old age is out, 

And time to begin a new. 

Dance of huntsmen, nymphs, warriors, and lovers. 



SONG 

OF A SCHOLAR AND HIS MISTRESS, 
wild, 1:1:1 m; CROSSED HV their PMINDS, FELL BAD FOB ONE 

another; AND now first meet in bedlam. 



[Music urithin."] 

The Lovers enter at opposite iloors, each held by a A", epi /-. 

VHIl. 1. is. 

Look, look, I see— I see my love appear ! 

'Tis he 'Tis he alone; 

For, like him. there is none: 
'Tis the dear, dear man, 'tis thee, dear. 



170 



SONGS. 



Hark! the winds war ; 

The foamy waves roar ; 

I see a ship afar, 
Tossing and tossing, and making to the shore : 

But what 's that I view, 

So radiant of hue, 10 

St. Hermo, St. Hermo, that sits upon the sails ? 

Ah ! No, no, no. 
St. Hermo, never, never shone so bright ; 
'Tis Phillis, only Phillis, can shoot so fair a light ; 
'Tis Phillis, 'tis Phillis, that saves the ship alone, 
For all the winds are hush'd, and the storm is 

overblown. 1G 

PHILLIS. 

Let me go, let me run, let me fly to his arms. 

AMYNTAS. 

If all the fates combine, 
And all the furies join, 
I '11 force my way to Phillis, and break through 
the charm. 20 



[Here they break from their keepers, run to each other, and 
embraced] 



Shall I marry the man I love 1 

And shall I conclude my pains 1 
Now bless'd be the Powers above, 
I feel the blood bound in my veins ; 
With a lively leap it began to move, 25 

And the vapours leave my brains. 

AMYNTAS. 

Body join'd to body, and heart join'd to heart, 

To make sure of the cure, 
Go call the man in black, to mumble o'er his part. 

PHILLIS. 

But suppose he should stay — ■ M 



AMYNTAS. 

At worst if he delay, 

'Tis a work must be done, 
We'll borrow but a day, 
And the better, the sooner begun. 

CHORUS OP BOTH. 

At worst if he delay, &c. 

[They run out together hand in hand.] 



SONG,* 

IN "THE INDIAN EMPEROR." 

Ah fading joy ! how quickly art thou past ! 

Yet we thy ruin haste. 
As if the cares of human life were few, 

We seek out new : 
And follow fate, which would too fast pursue. 5 

im« I , ca ? no , t forbear adding in this place, some beautiful 
little lyrical pieces of our author, which, by being scattered 
up and down in his voluminous dramatic works, are from 
their situation, not so much known and noticed as they 
should be, but which contain some of the most musical and 
mellifluous lines he has ever written. Dr. J Warton 



See, how on every bough the birds express, 
In their sweet notes, their happiness. 
They all enjoy, and nothing spare ; 
But on their mother Nature lay their care : 
Why then should man, the lord of all below, 
Such troubles choose to know, 
As none of all his subjects undergo ? 

Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall, 
And with a murmuring sound 
Dash, dash, upon the ground, 
To gentle slumbers call. 



SONG, 



IN " THE INDIAN EMPEROR." 



I look'd and saw within the book of fate, 

When many days did lour, 

When lo ! one happy hour 
Leap'd up, and smiled to save the sinking state ; 
A day shall come when in thy power 

Thy cruel foes shall be ; 

Then shall thy land be free : 

And then in peace shall reign ; 
But take, oh take that opportunity, 
Which once refused will never come again. | 



SONG, 

IN " THE MAIDEN QUEEN. ' 



I feed a flame within, which so torments me. 
That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me : 
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, 
That I had rather die, than once remove it. 
Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; •' 
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. 
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, 
But they fall silently, like dew on roses. 
Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, 
My heart 's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel : 10 

And while I suffer this to give him quiet, 
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. 
On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me ; 
Where I conceal my love no frown can fright me: 
To be more happy, I dare not aspire ; 
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher. 



SONG, 



IN THE FIRST PART OF " THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA . 



Wherever I am, and whatever I do, 
My Phillis is still in my mind ; 

When angry, I mean not to Phillis to go, 
My feet, of themselves, the way find : 



SONGS. 



171 



Unknown to myself I am just at her door, 5 

And, when I would rail, I can bring out no more, 
Than, Phil lis, too fair and unkind! 



When Phillis I see, my heart bounds in my 
breast, 
And the love I would stifle is shown ; 
But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest, 10 

When from my eyes Phillis is gone. 
Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad 

mind; 
But, alas ! when I wake, and no Phillis I find, 
How I sigh to myself all alone ! 



Should a king be my rival in her I adore, 
He should offer his treasure in vain : 

Oh, let me alone to be happy and poor, 
And give me my Phillis again ! 

Let Phillis be mine, and but ever be kind, 

I could to a desert with her be confined, 
And envy no monarch his reign. 



Alas ! I discover too much of my love, 
And she too well knows her own power ! 

She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove, 
And makes me grow jealous each hour : M 

But let her each minute torment my poor mind, 

I had rather love Phillis, both false and unkind, 
Than ever be freed from her power. 



SONG, 

IN TWO PARTS, 

IN THE SECOND PART OF "THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.' 



He. 



How unhappy a lover am I, 

While I sigh for my Phillis in vain ; 
All my hopes of delight 
Are another man's right, 

Who is happy, while I am in pain ! 



Site. Since her honour allows no relief, 

But to pity the pains which you bear, 



Zis the best of your fate, 
. a " 



He. 



hopeless estate, 
To give o'er, and betimes to despair. 10 

in. 
I have tried the false med'einc in vain; 
For I wish what I hope not to win : 
From without, my desire 
Has no food to its fire ; 
But it bums and consumes me witliin. n 



Slie. Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know 

That you arc not unhappy alone: 

For the nymph you adore 

Is as wretched, and more ; 

And counts all your sufferings her own. ' x ' 



He. ye gods, let me suffer for both ; 

At the feet of my Phillis 1 11 lie : 
I '11 resign up my breath, 
And take pleasure is death, 

To be pitied by her when I die. 



She. What her honour denied you in life, 

In her death she will give to your love ; 

Such a flame as is true 

After fate will renew, 

For the souls to meet closer above. ao 



SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, 

IN "AMBOTNA." 
♦ 

Who ever saw a noble sight, 

That never view'd a brave sea-fight ! 

Hang up your bloody colours in the air, 

Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare ; 

Your meny mates cheer, with a lusty bold 

spright, 5 

Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. 
St. George, St. George, we cry; 
The shouting Turks reply. 
Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, 
Ply it with culverin and with small shot ; 10 

Hark, does it not thunder ? no, 'tis the guns roar, 
The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore ; 
Now each man must resolve to die, 
For here the coward cannot fly. 
Drums and trumpets toll the knell, 15 

And culverins the passing bell. 
Now, now they grapple, and now board amain ; 
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again : 
Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, 
Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings 

fall; » 

She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, 
She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. 
Who ever beheld so noble a sight, 
As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight ! 



INCANTATION IN G1DIPUS. 



Tir. Choose the darkest part o' the grove, 
Such as ghosts at noon-day love. 
Dig a trench, and dig it nigh 
Where the bones of Laius lie; 
Altars raised of turf or stone, 
Will th' infernal pow'rs have none ; 
Answer mo, if this be done ! 

All Pi: 'Tisdone. 

Tir. \- tin' sacrifice made fit 1 
Draw her backward to the pit : 
Draw the barren heifer bad ; 
Barren let her be, and black. 



272 


SONGS. 






Cut the curled hair that grows 
Full betwixt her horns and brows : 
And turn your faces from the sun ; 
Answer me, if this be done 1 

All Pr. 'Tis done. 

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood-like wine, 
To Mother Earth and Proserpine : 
Mingle milk into the stream ; 
Feast the ghosts, that love the steam : 
Snatch a brand, from funei-al pile : 
Toss it in, to make them boil : 
And turn your faces from the sun ; 
Answer me, if this be done 1 

All Pr. 'Tis done. 


15 

20 

25 




SONG, 

IN "ALBION AND ALBANIUS." 




See the god of seas attends thee, 
Nymphs divine, a beauteous train ; 
All the calmer gales befriend thee 
In thy passage o'er the main : 
Every maid her locks is binding, 
Every Triton's horn is winding, 
Welcome to the watery plain. 


6 


SONG, 






SONG, 

IN "ALBION AND ALBANIUS." 




IN "ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 






♦ 




Cease, Augusta ! cease thy mourning, 
Happy days appear, 






I. 

Albion, loved of gods and men, 
Prince of Peace too mildly reigning, 





God-like Albion is returning, 

Loyal hearts to cheer ! 
Every grace his youth adorning, 
Glorious as the star of morning, 
Or the planet of the year. 



SONG, 



IN "ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 



Albion, by the nymph attended, 
Was to Neptune recommended, 

Peace and plenty spread the sails ; 
Venus, in her shell before him, 
From the sands in safety bore him, 

And supplied Etesian gales. 
Archon, on the shore commanding, 
Lowly met him at his landing, 

Crowds of people swarm'd around ; 
Welcome, rang like peals of thunder, 
Welcome, rent the skies asunder, 

Welcome, heaven and earth resound. 



SONG, 



IN "ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 



Infernal offspring of the Night, 
Debarr'd of heaven your native right, 
And from the glorious fields of.light, 
Condemn'd in shades to drag the chain, 
And fill with groans the gloomy plain ; 5 

Since pleasures here are none below, 
Be ill our good, our joy be woe : 
Our work t' embroil the worlds above, 
Disturb their union, disunite their love, 
And blast the beauteous frame of our victorious 



Cease thy sorrow and complaining, 
Thou shalt be restored again : 
Albion, loved of gods and men. 



Still thou art the care of heaven, 

In thy youth to exile driven : 

Heaven thy ruin then prevented, 

Till the guilty land repented : 

In thy age, when none could aid thee, 

Foes conspired, and friends betray'd thee. 

To the brink of danger driven, 

Still thou art the care of Heaven. 



SONG, 



IN " KING AETHUIt." 

Where a battle is supposed to be given behind the scenes, with 
drums, trumpets, and military shouts and excursions ; after 
which the Britons, expressing their joy for the victor}', sing this 
song of triumph. 



Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound ; 
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound : 
We come, we come, we come, we come, 
Says the double, double, double beat of the thun- 
dering drum. 

Now they charge on amain, 5 

Now they rally again : 
The gods from above the mad labour behold, 
And pity mankind, that will perish for gold. 

The fainting Saxons quit their ground, 

Their trumpets languish in the sound : 10 

They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly ; 

Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry. 

Now the victory 's won, 

To the plunder we run : 
We return to our lasses like fortunate traders, 15 
Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish'd in- 
vaders. 



SONGS. 



173 



SONG, 



IN " KINO ARTHUR. 



Mom rings. Oh sight, the mother of desires, 

What charming objects dost thou yield ! 
'Tis sweet, when tedious night expires, 
To see the rosy morning gild 
The mountain-tops, and paint the field ! 5 
But when Clarinda comes in sight, 
She makes the summer's day more bright; 
And when she goes away, 'tis night. 

Choi: When fair Clarinda comes in sight, &c. 

Worn, sings. 'Tis sweet the blushing morn to 
view ; 10 

And plains adorn'd with pearly dew : 
But such cheap delights to see, 
Heaven and nature 
Give each creature ; 
They have eyes, as well as we : 16 

This is the joy, all joys above, 
To see, to see, 
That only she, 
That only she we love ! 
Clior. This is the joy, all joys above, &c. 20 



SONG, 



IN "KINO ARTHUR. 



Two daughters of this aged stream are we ; 
And both our sea-green locks have coinb'd for thee; 

Come bathe with us an hour or two, 

Come naked in, for we are so : 

What danger from a naked foe ? 5 

Come bathe with us, come bathe and share 

What pleasures in the floods appear ; 

We 11 beat the waters till they bound, 

And circle round, around, around, 

And circle round, around. 10 



SONGS TO BRITANNIA, 

IN " KINO ARTHUR." 



Yi>: blustering brethren of the skies, 
Whoso breath lias ruffled all the watery plain, 

l!i tire, and let Britannia rise, 
In triumph o'er the main. 

Serene and calm, and void of fear, f 

The Queen of Islands must appear : 
Serene and calm, as when the Spring 
The new-created world began, 
And birds on boughs did softly sing 
Their peaceful homage paid to man; 



While Eurus did his blasts forboar, 
In favour of the tender year. 
Retreat, rude winds, retreat 
To hollow l'ocks, your stormy seat ; 
There swell your lungs, and vainly, vainly 
threat. '* 



SONG II. 

Foe folded flocks, on fruitful plains, 
The shepherd's and the fanner's gains, 

Fair Britain all the world outvies ; 
And Pan, as in Arcadia, reigns, 

Where pleasure mix'd with profit lies. 

Though Jason's fleece was famed of old, 
The British wool is growing gold ; 

No mines can more of wealth supply ; 
It keeps the peasant from the cold, 

And takes for kings the Tyrian dye. 



SONG III. 

Fairest isle, all isles excelling, 
Seat of pleasures and of loves : 

Venus here will choose her dwelling, 
And forsake her Cyprian groves. 

Cupid from his favourite nation, 
Care and envy will remove ; 

Jealousy, that poisons passion, 
And despair, that dies for love. 

Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining, 
Sighs, that blow the fire of love ; 

Soft repulses, kind disdaining, 
Shall be all the pains you prove. 

Every swain shall pay his duty, 
Grateful every nymph shall prove ; 

And as these excel in beauty, 

Those shall be renown'd for love. 



SONG OF JEALOUSY, 



IN "LOVE TRIUMPHANT." 



What state of life can be so blest 
As love, that warms a lover's breast 1 
Two souls in one, the same desire 
To grant the bliss, and to require ! 
But if in heaven a hell we find, 

'Tis all from thee, 

Jealousy ! 

'Tis all from thee, 

O Jealousy ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
Thou tyrant of the mind ! 

All other ills, though sharp they prove, 
Serve to refine, and perfect love : 
In absence, or unkind disdain. 
Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain. 



But, ah ! no cure but death we find, 

To set us free 

From Jealousy : 

Jealousy ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
Thou tyrant of the mind ! 

False in thy glass all objects are, 
Some set too near, and some too far ; 



Thou art the fire of endless night, 
The fire that burns, and gives no light. 
All torments of the damn'd we find 

In only thee, 

Jealousy ! 

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
Thou tyrant of the mind ! 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



PROLOGUE 



TO "THE EIVAL LADIES. 



'Tis much desired, you judges of the town 
Would pass a vote to put all prologues down ; 
For who can show me, since they first were writ, 
They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit ? 
Yet the world's mended well ; in former days 5 
Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays. 
For the reforming poets of our age, 
In this first charge, spend their poetic rage : 
Expect no more when once the prologue 's done ; 
The wit is ended ere the play's begun. 10 

You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes; 
High language often ; ay, and sense, sometimes. 
As for a clear contrivance, doubt it not ; 
They blow out candles to give light to th' plot. 
And for surprise, two bloody-minded men 15 

Fight till they die, then rise and dance again. 
Such deep intrigues you 're welcome to this day : 
But blame yourselves, not him who writ the play; 
Though his plot 's dull, as can be well desired, 
Wit stiff as any you have e'er admired : 20 

He's bound to please, not to write well; and 

knows, 
There is a mode in plays as well as clothes ; 
Therefore, kind judges 

A SECOND PROLOGUE ENTERS. 

2. Hold ; would you admit 
For judges all you see within the pit ] 

1. Whom would he then except, or on what 

score ? K 

2. All who (like him) have writ ill plays before ; 
For they, like thieves condemn'd, are hangmen 

made, 
To execute the members of their trade. 
All that are writing now he would disown, 
But then he must except — even all the town ; 30 
All choleric, losing gamesters, who, in spite, 
Will damn to-day, because they lost last night ; 
All servants, whom their mistress' scorn upbraids ; 
All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids ; 
All, who are out of humour, or severe ; 3S 

All, that want wit, or hope to find it here. 



PROLOGUE 

TO "THE INDIAN QUEEN." 

As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly, and discovers 
an Indian boy and girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; and, 
when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune ex- 
pressing an alarm, at which the boy awakes, and speaks : 



Wake, wake, Quevira ! our soft rest must cease, 
And fly together with our country's peace ! 
No more must we sleep under plantain shade, 
Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade ; 
Where bounteous nature never feels decay, 5 

And opening buds drive falling fruits away. 

quevira. 

Why should men quarrel here, where all possess 
As much as they can hope for by success 1 — 
None can have most, where nature is so kind, 
As to exceed man's use, though not his mind. 10 



By ancient prophecies we have been told, 

Our world shall be subdued by one more old ; — 

And, see, that world already 's hither come. 



QUEVIRA. 

If these be they, we welcome then our doom ! 
Then' looks are such, that mercy flows from 
thence, 15 

More gentle than our native innocence. 



Why should we then fear these, our enemies, 
That rather seem to us like deities ? 



QUEVIRA. 

By their protection, let us beg to livej 
They came not here to conquer, but forgive. — w 
If so, your goodness may your power express, 
And we shall judge both best by our success. 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



175 



EPILOGUE 

TO "THE INDIAN QUEEN." SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA. 



You see what shifts we are enforced to try, 

To help out wit with some variety ; 

Shows may be found that never yet were seen, 

'Tis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been : 

You have seen all that this old world can do, 5 

We, therefore, try the fortune of the new, 

And hope it is below your aim to hit 

At untaught nature with your practised wit : 

Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear, 

Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards here. 

'Tis true, you have marks enough, — the plot, the 

show, u 

The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too ; 
If all this fail, considering the cost, 
'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost : 
But if you smile on all, then these designs, I5 

Like the imperfect treasure of our minds, 
Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go, 
When to your bounteous hands their stamps they 

owe. 



EPILOGUE 



TO " THE INDIAN EMPEROR. BY A MERCURY. 



To all and singular in this full meeting, 
Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting. 
To all his sons, by whate'er title known, 
Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town ; 
From his most mighty sons, whose confidence 5 
Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense, 
Even to his little infants of the time, 
Who write new songs, and trust in tune and 

rhyme : 
Be 't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved 
To see good plays condemn'd, and bad received) 
Ordains, your judgment upon every cause, u 

Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws. 
He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance 
His censure, farther than the song or dance. 
Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, 16 
And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme ; 
All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours 

too; 
All that appears high sense, and scarce is low. 
As for the coffee-wits, he says not much ; 
Their proper business is to damn the Dutch : M 

For the great dons of wit 

Phoebus gives them full privilege alone, 

To damn all others, and cry up their own. 

Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will, 

They should have power to savo, but not to kill ; M 

For love and he long since have thought it fit, 

Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit. 



PROLOGUE 



TO "SIR MARTIN MAKE-ALL. 



Fools, which each man meets in his dish each 

day, 
Are yet the great regalios of a play ; 
In which to poets you but just appear, 
To prize that highest, which cost them so dear : 
Fops in the town more easily will pass ; 6 

One story makes a statutable ass : 
But such in plays must be much thicker sown, 
Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one. 
Observing poets all their walks invade, 
As men watch woodcocks gliding through a 

glade : 10 

And when they have enough for comedy, 
They stow their several bodies in a pie : 
The poet's but the cook to fashion it, 
For gallants, you yourselves have found the wit. 
To bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong ; lo 
None welcome those who bring their cheer along. 



PROLOGUE 

TO "THE TEMPEST."* 



As when a tree's cut down, the secret root 
Lives under ground, and thence new branches 

shoot ; 
So from old Shakspeare's honour'd dust, this day 
Springs up and buds a new-reviving play : 
Shakspeare, who (taught by none) did first impart 5 
To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art. 
He, monarch- like, gave those, his subjects, law; 
And is that nature which they paint and draw. 
Fletcher reach'd that which on his heights did 

grow, 
While Jonson crept, and gather'd all below. 10 
This did his love, and this his mirth, digest : 
One imitates him most, the other best. 
If they have since outwrit all other men, 
'Tis with the drops which fell from Shakspeare's 

pen. 
The storm, which vanish'd on the neighbouring 

shore, 15 

Was taught by Shakspeare's Tempest first to roar. 
That innocence and beauty, which did smile 
In Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle. 
But Shakspeare's magic could not copied be ; 
Within that circle none durst walk but he. ^ 

I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you now 
That liberty to vulgar wits allow, 
Which works by magic supernatural tilings : 
But Shakspeare's power is sacred as a king's. _ 
Those legends from old priesthood were received, 
And he then writ, as people then believed. 
But if for Shakspeare we your grace implore, 
We for our theatre shall want it more : 

» Bonarelli, in his Filli di Sciro, has introduced a shep- 
herdess in love with two persons, like the alterations in tuo 
Tempest. Dr. J. Warton. 



176 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to 

employ 
One of our women to present a boy ; 
And that 's a transformation, you will say, 
Exceeding all the magic in the play. 
Let none expect, in the last act, to find 
Her sex transform'd from man to womankind. 
Whate'er she was before the play began, 
All you shall see of her is perfect man. 
Or, if your fancy will be farther led 
To find her woman — it must be a-bed. 



PROLOGUE 



TO " TYRANNIC LOVE. 



Self-love, which, never rightly understood, 
Makes poets still conclude their plays are good, 
And malice, in all critics, reigns so high, 
That for small errors, they whole plays decry ; 
So that to see this fondness, and that spite, 5 

You 'd think that none but madmen j udge or write. 
Therefore our poet, as he thinks not fit 
To impose upon you what he writes for wit ; 
So hopes, that, leaving you your censures free, 
You equal judges of the whole will be : 10 

They judge but half, who only faults will see. 
Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare, 
They spoil their business with an over-care ; 
And he, who servilely creeps after sense, 
Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence. 15 

Hence 'tis, our poet, in his conjuring, 
Allow'd his fancy the full scope and swing. 
But when a tyrant for his theme he had, 
He loosed the reins, and bid his muse run mad : 
And though he stumbles in a full career, 20 

Yet rashness is a better fault than fear. 
He saw his way; but in so swift a pace, 
To choose the ground might be to lose the race. 
They then, who of each trip the advantage take, 
Find but those, faults, which they want wit 'to 
make. M 



EPILOGUE. 

TO "the wild gallant," when revived. 



Oe all dramatic writing, comic wit, 

As 'tis the best, so tis most hard to hit. 

For it lies all in level to the eye, 

Where all may judge, and each defect may spy. 

Humour is that, which every day we meet, 

And therefore known as every public street ; 

In which, if e'er the poet go astray, 

You all can point, 'twas there he lost his way. 

But, what's so common, to make pleasant too, 

Is more than any wit can always do. ] 

For 'tis like Turks, with hen and rice to treat; 

To make regalios out of common meat. 

But, in your diet, you grow savages : 

Nothing but human flesh your taste can please ; 



And, as their feasts with slaughter'd slaves began, 
So you, at each new play, must have a man. 16 
Hither you come,, as to see prizes fought ; 
If no blood's drawn, you cry, the prize is nought. 
But fools grow wary now ; and, when they see 
A poet eyeing round the company, 
Straight each man for himself begins to doubt ; 
They shrink like seamen when a press comes out. 
Few of them will be found for public use, 
Except you charge an oaf upon each house, 
Like the train bands, and every man engage % 
For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage. 
And when, with much ado, you get him there, 
Where he in all his glory should appear, 
Your poets make him such rare things to say, 
That he's more wit than any man i' the play : ® 
But of so ill a mingle with the rest, 
As when a parrot 's taught to break a jest. 
Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show, 
As tawdry squires in country churches do. 
Things well consider'd, 'tis so hard to make ^ 
A comedy, which should the knowing take, 
That our dull poet, in despair to please, 
Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease. 
'Tis a land-tax, which he 's too poor to pay ; 
You therefore must some other impost lay. *' 
Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, 
This motley garniture of fool and farce, 
Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, 
Which does, like vests, our gravity become, 
Our poet yields you should this play refuse : * 
As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose, 
With some content, their fripperies of France, 
In hope it may their staple trade advance. 



PROLOGUE 

SPOKEN THE FIRST DAY OF THE KING'S HOUSE ACTING 
AFTEE THE FIRE. 



So shipwreck'd passengers escape to land, 

So look they, when on the bare beach they stand 

Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o'er, 

Expecting famine on a desert shore. 

From that hard climate we must wait for bread, 5 

Whence e'en the natives, forced by hunger, fled. 

Our stage does human chance present to view, 

But ne'er before was seen so sadly true : 

You are changed too, and your pretence to see 

Is but a nobler name for charity. I0 

Your own provisions furnish out our feasts, 

While you the founders make yourselves the 

guests. 
Of all mankind beside fate had some care, 
But for poor Wit no portion did prepare, 
'Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair. u 

You cherish'd it, and now its fall you mourn, 
Which blind unmanner'd zealots make their scorn, 
Who think that fire a judgment on the stage, 
Which spared not temples in its furious rage. 
But as our new-built city rises higher, 
So from old theatres may new aspire, 
Since fate contrives magnificence by fire. 
Our great metropolis does far surpass 
Whate'er is now, and equals all that was : 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



177 



Our wit as far does foreign wit excel, 
And, like a king, should in a palace dwell. 
But we with golden hopes are vainly fed, 
Talk high, and entertain you in a shed : 
Your presence here, for which we humbly sue, 
Will grace old theatres, and build up new. 



EPILOGUE 

TO THE SECOND PART OF " THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.' 



They/, who have best succeeded on the stage, 
Have still conform'd their genius to their age. 
Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show, 
When men were dull, and conversation low. 
Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse : 
Cobb's tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse. 
And, as their comedy, their love was mean ; 
Except, by chance, in some one labour'd scene, 
Which must atone for an ill-written play. 
They rose, but at their height could seldom stay. 
Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped 
And they have kept it since, by being dead. 
But, were they now to write, when critics weigl 
Each line, and every word, throughout a play, 
None of them, no not Jonson in his height, 
Could pass, without allowing grains for weight. 
Think it not envy, that these truths are told ; 
Qur poet's not malicious, though he's bold, 
"fis not to brand them, that their faults are show 
But, by their errors, to excuse his own. 
If love and honour now are higher raised, 
"fis not the poet, but the age is praised. 
Wit's now arrived to a more high degree; 
Our native language more refined and free. 
Our ladies and our men now speak more wit 
In conversation, than those poets writ. 
Then, one of these is, consequently, true ; 
That what this poet writes comes short of you, 
And imitates you ill (which most he fears), 
Or else his writing is not worse than theirs. 
Yet, though you judge (as sure the critics will), 
That some before him writ with greater skill, 
In this one praise he has their fame surpass'd, 
To please an age more gallant than the last. 



n, 



PROLOGUE 



TO "AMBOYNA." 



As needy gallants in the scriveners' hands, 
Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgaged 

lands, 
The first fat buck of all the season 's sent, 
And keeper takes no fee in compliment : 
The dotage of some Englishmen is such, 5 

To fawn on those who ruin them —the Dutch., 
They shall have all, rather than make a war 
With those who of the same religion are. 
Tlir Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too, 
Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. '" 
Some are resolved not to find out the cheat, 
But, cuckold-like, love him who docs the feat : 



What injuries soe'er upon us fall, 
Yet, still, the same religion answers all : 
Religion wheedled you to civil war, u 

Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would 

spare : 
Be gull'd no longer, for you'll find it true, 
They have no more religion, faith — than you ; 
Interest's the god they worship in their state; 
And you, I take it, have not much of that. 
Well, monarchies may own religion's name, 
But states are atheists in their very frame. 
They share a sin, and such proportions fall, 
That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. 
How they love England, you shall sec this day ; M 
No map shows Holland truer than our play : 
Their pictures and inscriptions well we know ; 
We may be bold one medal sure to show. 
View then their falsehoods, rapine, cruelty ; 
And think what once they were, they still would 

be: 3U 

But hope not either language, plot, or art ; 
'Twas writ in haste, but with an English heart : 
And least hope wit ; in Dutchmen that would be 
As much improper, as would honesty. 



EPILOGUE 



TO "ambcs NA. 



A poet once the Spartans led to fight, 
And made them conquer in the muse's right ; 
So would our poet lead you on this day, 
Showing your tortured fathers in his play. 
To one well-born the affront is worse, and more, ' 
When he's abused, and baffled by a boor : 
With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do, 
They've both ill-nature and ill-manners too. 
Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation, 
For they were bred ere manners were in fashion : 
And their new commonwealth basset them free, n 
Only from honour and civility. 
] Venetians do not more uncouthly ride, 
Than did their lubber state mankind bestride ; 
Their sway became them with as ill a mien, ,5 
As their own paunches swell above their chin : 
Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour, 
And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour. 
As Cato did his Afric fruits display, 
So we before your eyes their Indies lay : 
All loyal English will, like him, conclude. 
Let Caesar live, and Carthage be subdued ! 



PROLOGUE 

at tiik opening of the new boi be,' 
march 26, 1074. 



A PLAIN built house, after so long a stay. 
Will send you half unsatisfied away; 

* This prologue must certainly have been written for ilio 
King's company, which I Buppose :it dis time might have 



178 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



When, fall'n from your expected pomp, you find 
A bare convenience only is design'd. 
You, who each day can theatres behold, 
Like Nero's palace, shining all with gold, 
Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear, 
And, for the homely room, disdain the cheer. 
Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown, 
And a plain suit, since we can make but one, lu 
Is better than to be by tarnish'd gaudry known. 
They, who are by your favours wealthy made, 
With mighty sums may carry on the trade : 
We, broken bankers, half destroy'd by fire, 
With our small stock to humble roofs retire : 15 
Pity our loss, while you their pomp admire. 
For fame and honour we no longer strive, 
We yield in both, and only beg to live : 
Unable to support their vast expense, 
Who build and treat with such magnificence ; 20 
That, like the ambitious monarchs of the age, 
They give the law to our provincial stage. 
Great neighbours enviously promote excess, 
While they impose their splendour on the less. 
But only fools, and they of vast estate, 25 

The extremity of modes will imitate, 
The dangling knee-fringe, and the bib-cravat. 
Yet if some pride with want may be allow'd, 
We in our plainness may be justly proud : 
Our royal master wiil'd it should be so ; 
Whate'er he's pleased to own, can need no show : 
That sacred name gives ornament and grace, 
And, like his stamp, makes basest metals pass. 
'Twere folly now a stately pile to raise, 
To build a playhouse while you throw down 

plays, 35 

While scenes, machines, and empty operas reign, 
And for the pencil you the pen disdain : 
While troops of famish'd Frenchmen hither 

drive, 
And laugh at those upon whose alms they live : 
Old English authors vanish and give place m 

To these new conquerors of the Norman race. 
More tamely than your fathers you submit ; 
You're now grown vassals to them in your wit. 
Mark, when they play, how our fine fops advance 
The mighty merits of their men of France, 45 

Keep time, cry Bon, and humour the cadence. 
Well, please yourselves ; but sure 'tis understood, 
That French machines have ne'er done England 

good. 



opened their house in Drary-lane. The reflection cast upon 
the taste of the town in these three lines, 
'Twere folly now a stately pile to raise, 
To build a playhouse while you throw down plays, 
While scenes, machines, and empty operas reign : 
is certainly levelled at the Duke's company, who had ex- 
hibited the siege of Rhodes, and other expensive operas, 
and who now were getting up Psyche, Circe, &c. Derrick. 
Ver. 30. Our royal master'] It is to be lamented, that 
after the fire of London a magnificent theatre had not been 
built at the expense of the public, or of the King. Few 
princes have so much encouraged theatrical spectacles as 
Leo the Tenth. He ordered a magnificent stage to be 
erected, and actors to be brought from Florence to Rome, 
to act the Mandragola of Machiavel, though a most licen- 
tious drama, and abounding in the most severe ridicule on 
the Popish ceremonies, particularly in Act v. Scene i. and 
Act iii. Scene v.; yet this same Pope, with that incon- 
sistency that is to be found in almost all human characters, 
addressed a solemn brief to Sannazarius, thanking him for 
his famous poem, De Partu Virginis, and also Providence, 
for raising up such a champion, at a time when the Holy 
Church was so violently attacked, and in such danger. Dr. 
J. Warton. 



I would not prophesy our house's fate : 

But while vain shows and scenes you over-rate, 50 

'Tis to be feared 

That as a fire the former house o'erthrevv, 
Machines and tempests will destroy the new. 



PROLOGUE 

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1674. SPOKEN RY 
ma. HART.' 



Poets, your subjects, have their parts assign'd 
To unbend, and to divert their sovereign's mind : 
When tired with following nature, you think fit 
To seek repose in the cool shades of wit, 
And, from the sweet retreat, with joy survey 5 
What rests, and what is conquer'd, of the way. 
Here, free yourselves from envy, care, and strife, 
You view the various turns of human life : 
Safe in our scene, through dangerous courts you 

And, undebauch'd, the vice of cities know. '" 

Your theories are here to practice brought, 
As in mechanic operations wrought ; 
And man, the little world, before you set, 
As once the sphere of crystal show'd the great. 
Blest sure are you above all mortal kind, u 

If to your fortunes you can suit your mind : 
Content to see, and shun, those ills we show, 
And crimes on theatres alone to know. 
With joy we bring what our dead authors writ, 
And beg from you the value of their wit : 20 

That Shakspeare's, Fletcher's, and great Jonson's 

claim 
May be renew'd from those who gave them fame. 
None of our living poets dare appear ; 
For muses so severe are worshipp'd here, 
That, conscious of their faults, they shun the 

eye, a 

And, as profane, from sacred places fly, 
Rather than see the offended God, and die. 
We bring no imperfections, but our own ; 
Such faults as made are by the makers shown : 
And you have been so kind, that we may boast, 30 
The greatest judges still can pardon most. 
Poets must stoop, when they would please our 

pit, 
Debased even to the level of their wit; 
Disdaining that, which yet they know will take, 
Hating themselves what their applause must 

make. ** 

But when to praise from you they would aspire, 
Though they like eagles mount, your Jove is 

higher. 
So far your knowledge all their power transcends, 
As what should be beyond what is extends. 



* Several gentlemen, who had adhered to their principles 
of loyalty during the usurpation of Cromwell, and the exile 
of the Royal Family, being left unprovided for at the Re- 
storation, they applied themselves to different occupations 
for a livelihood : among them was Mr. Hart, the speaker of 
this prologue, who had served his Majesty as a captain in 
the civil war, and was now an actor in a capital cast, and in 
great estimation. Derrick. 



PROLOGUE 

to "omen."* [by dr. davenant, 1675.] 



Were you but half so wise as you 're severe, 
Our youthful poet should not need to fear : 
To his green years your censures you would suit, 
Not blast the blossom, but expect the fruit. 
The sex, that best does pleasure understand, 5 
Will always choose to err on t' other hand. 
They check him not that's awkward in delight, 
But clap the young rogue's cheek, and set him 

right. 
Thus hearten'd well, and flesh'd upon his prey, 
The youth may prove a man another day. 10 

Your Ben and Fletcher, in their first young flight, 
Did no Volpone, nor no Arbaces write ; 
But hopp'd about, and short excursions made 
From bough to bough, as if they were afraid, 
And each was guilty of some Slighted Maid. ,5 
Shakspeare's own Muse her Pericles first bore ; 
The Prince of Tyre was elder than the Moor : 
'Tis miracle to see a first good play ; 
All hawthorns do not bloom on Christmas-day. 
A slender poet must have time to grow, 20 

And spread and burnish as his brothers do. 
Who still looks lean, sure with some pox is cursed ; 
But no man can be Falstaff-fat at first. 
Then damn not, but indulge his rude essays, 
Encourage him, and bloat him up with praise, 25 
That he may get more bulk before he dies : 
He 's not yet fed enough for sacrifice. 
Perhaps, if now your grace you will not grudge, 
He may grow up to write, and you to judge. 



EPILOGUE 

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY TI1E LADY HEN. MAE. 
WENTWOBTII, WHEN " CALISTO " WAS ACTED AT COURT. 



As Jupiter I made my court in vain ; 
I '11 now assume my native shape again. 
I 'm weary to be so unkindly used. 
And would not be a god, to be refused. 
State grows uneasy when it hinders love ; 
A glorious burden, which the wise remove. 
Now, as a nymph, I need not sue, nor try 
The force of any lightning but the eye. 
Beauty and youth more than a god command ; 
No Jove could e'er the force of these withstand. 
'Tis here that sovereign power admits dispute; 
Beauty sometimes is justly absolute. 
Our sullen Catos, whatsoe'er they say, 
Even-while they frown and dictate laws, obey. 
You, mighty sir, our bonds more easy make, 
And gracefully, what all must suffer, take ; 
Abovo those forms the grave affect to wear ; 
For 'tis not to be wise to be severe. 



* Circe was an Opera. Tragedy among the ancients was 
throughout accompanied with music. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1. As Jupiter] It was a sister of the Duchess of 
Marlborough, a maid of honour, and afterwards Duchess of 
Tlrconnel, celebrated by Grstmmont, that acted in the 
Masque of Calisto at court, 1G75. Dr. J. Warton. 



True wisdom may some gallantry admit, 

And soften business with the charms of wit. 2° 

These peaceful triumphs with your cares you 
bought, 

And from the midst of fighting nations brought. 

You only hoar it thunder from afar, 

And sit in peace the arbiter of war : 

Peace, the loathed manna, which hot brains de- 
spise, a5 

You knew its worth, and made it early prize ; 

And in its happy leisure sit and see 

The promises of more felicity ; 

Two glorious nymphs of your own godlike line, 

Whose morning rays like noontide strike and 
shine : so 

Whom you to suppliant monarchs shall dispose, 

To bind your friends, and to disarm your foes. 



PROLOGUE 



TO " AURENGF.ZEBE." 



Oor author, by experience, finds it true, 
'Tis much more hard to please himself than you; 
And out of no feign' d modest} 7 , this day 
Damns his laborious trifle of a play : 
Not that it's worse than what before he writ, 5 
But he has now another taste of wit ; 
And, to confess a truth, though out of time, 
Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme. 
Passion 's too fierce to be in fetters bound, 
And nature flies him like enchanted ground : Ul 
What verse can do, he has perform'd in this, 
Which he presumes the most correct of his ; 
But spite of all his pride, a secret shame 
Invades his breast at Shakspeare's sacred name : 
Awed when he hears his godlike Romans rage, I5 
He, in a just despair, would quit the stage ; 
And to an age less polish'd, more unskill'd, 
Does, with disdain, the foremost honours yield. 
As with the greater dead he dares not strive, 
He would not match his verse with those who 
live : » 

Let him retire, betwixt two ages cast, 
The first of this, and hindmost of the last. 
A losing gamester, let him sneak away ; 
He bears no ready money from the play. 
The fate, which governs poets, thought it fit s 
He should not raise his fortunes by his wit. 
The clergy thrive, and the litigious bar ; 
Dull heroes fatten with the spoils of war; 
All southern vices, Heaven be praised, are here ; 
But wit 's a luxury you think too dear. ' M 

When you to cultivate the plant are loth, 
'Tis a shrewd sign 'twas never of your growth ; 
And wit in northern climates will not blow, 
Except, like orange-trees, 'tis housed from snow. 
There needs no care to put a playhouse down, M 
'Tis the most desert place of all the town : 
We and our neighbours, to speak proudly, are, 
Like monarchs, ruiu'd with expensive war : 
While, like wise English, unconcern'd you sit. 
And see us play the tragedy of wit. 

x -2 



180 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



EPILOGUE 

TO " THE MAN OF MODE ; OP, SIR FOPLING FLUTTER.' 
[BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE, 1676.] 



Most modern wits such monstrous fools have 

shown, 
They seem not of Heaven's making, but their own. 
Those nauseous harlequins in farce may pass ; 
But there goes more to a substantial ass : 
Something of man must be exposed to view, s 
That, gallants, they may more resemble you. 
Sir Fopling is a fool so nicely writ, 
The ladies would mistake him for a wit ; 
And, when he sings, talks loud, and cocks, would 

cry, 
I vow, methinks, he 's pretty company : !0 

So brisk, so gay, so travell'd, so refined, 
As he took pains to graff upon his kind. 
True fops help nature's work, and go to school, 
To file and finish God Almighty's fool. 
Yet none Sir Fopling him, or him can call ; 15 

He 's knight o' the shire, and represents ye all. 
From each he meets he culls whate'er he can ; 
Legion 's his name, a people in a man. 
His bulky folly gathers as it goes, 
And, rolling o'er you, like a snow-ball grows. x 
His various modes from various fathers follow ; 
One taught the toss, and one the new French 

wallow : 
His sword-knot this, his cravat that design'd ; 
And this, the yard-long snake he twirls behind. 
From one the sacred periwig he gain'd, M 

Which wind ne'er blew, nor touch of hat profaned. 
Another's diving bow he did adore, 
Which with a shog casts all the hair before, 
Till he with full decorum brings it back, 
And rises with a water-spaniel shake. 30 

As for his songs, the ladies' dear delight, 
These sure he took from most of you who write. 
Yet every man is safe from what he fear'd ; 
For no one fool is hunted from the herd. 



EPILOGUE 



TO "all for love." 



Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail, 
Have one sure refuge left- -and that's to rail. 
Fop, coxcomb, fool, are thunder'd through the 

pit; 
And this is all their equipage of wit. 
We wonder how the devil this difference grows, 5 
Betwixt our fools in verse, and yours in prose ; 
For, 'faith, the quarrel rightly understood, 
'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood. 
The thread-bare author hates the gaudy coat ; 
And swears at the gilt coach, but swears a-foot : 10 
For 'tis observed of every scribbling man, 
He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can ; 
Prunes up, and. asks his oracle, the glass, 
If pink and purple best become his'face. 
For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays ; ls 
Nor Likes your wit just as you like his plays ; 



He has not yet so much of Mr. Bayes. 

He does his best ; and if he cannot please, 

AVould quietly sue out his writ of ease. 

Yet, if he might his own grand jury call, 

By the fair sex he begs to stand or fall. 

Let Csesar's power the men's ambition move, 

But grace you him who lost the world for love ! 

Yet if some antiquated lady say, 

The last age is not copied in his play; a 

Heaven help the man who for that face must 

drudge, 
Which only has the wrinkles of a judge. 
Let not the young and beauteous join with those; 
For should you raise such numerous hosts of foes, 
Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call ; 3u 
'Tis more than one man's work to please you all. 



PROLOGUE 

TO " LIMBERHAM." 



True wit has seen its best days long ago ; 

It ne'er look'd up, since we were dipp'd in show ; 

AVhen sense in doggrel rhymes and clouds was 

lost, 
And dulness flourish'd at the actor's cost. 
Nor stopp'd it here ; when tragedy was done, 5 
Satire and humour the same fate have run, 
And comedy is sunk to trick and pun. 
Now our machining lumber will not sell, 
And you no longer care for heaven or hell ; 
What stuff can please you next, the Lord can tell. 
Let them, who the rebellion first began u 

To wit, restore the monarch, if they can ; 
Our author dares not be the first bold man. 
He, like the prudent citizen, takes care 
To keep for better marts his staple ware ; 
His toys are good enough for Stourbridge fair. 
Tricks were the fashion ; if it now be spent, 
'Tis time enough at Easter to invent ; 
No man will make up a new suit for Lent. 
If now and then he takes a small pretence, 20 

To forage for a little wit and sense, 
Pray pardon him, he meant you no offence. 
Next summer, Nostradamus tells, they say, 
That all the critics shall be shipp'd away, 
And not enow be left to damn a play. 
To every sail beside, good Heaven, be kind ; 
But drive away that swarm with such a wind, 
That not one locust may be left behind ! 



EPILOGUE 



TO " MITHRIDATES, KING OF PONTUS." [BY MR. N. LEE, 1678.J 



You 've seen a pair of faithful lovers die : 
And much you care ; for most of you will cry, 
'Twas a just judgment on their constancy. 
For, Heaven be thank' d, we live in such an age, 
When no man dies for love, but on the stage : 



Ver. 5. When no man dies for love,'] One of the most re- 
markable differences betwixt ancient and modern tragedy 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



181 



And e'en those martyrs are but rare in plays; 

A cursed sign how much true faith decays. 

Love is no more a violent desire ; 

"Pis a mere metaphor, a painted fire. 

In all our sex, the name examined well, ,0 

Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell. 

In woman, 'tis of subtle interest made : 

Curse on the punk that made it first a trade ! 

She first did wit's prerogative remove, 

And made a fool presume to prate of love. 15 

Let honour and preferment go for gold ; 

But glorious beauty is not to be sold : 

Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high, 

That nothing but adoring it should buy. 

Yet the rich cullies may their boasting spare ; 20 

They purchase but sophisticated ware. 

'Tis prodigality that buys deceit, 

Where both the giver and the taker cheat. 

Men but refine on the old half-crown way ; 

And women fight, like Swissers, for their pay. 25 



PROLOGUE 



TO " OEDIPUS." 



When Athens all the Grecian state did guide, 
And Greece gave laws to all the world beside ; 
Then Sophocles with Socrates did sit, 
Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit : 
And wit from wisdom diff'er'd not in those, 
But, as 'twas sung in verse, or said in prose. 
Then, GEdipus, on crowded theatres, 
Drew all admiring eyes and listening ears : 
The pleased spectator shouted every line, 
The noblest, manliest, and the best design ! 
And every critic of each learned age, 
By this just model has reform 'd the stage. 
Now, should it fail, (as Heaven avert our fear) 
Damn it in silence, lest the world should hear. 
For were it known this poom did not please, 
You might set up for perfect savages : 



arises from the prevailing custom of describing only those 
distresses that are occasioned by the passion of love: a 
passion, which, from the universality of its dominion, may 
justly claim a large share in representations of human 
life : but which, by totally engrossing the theatre, hath 
contributed to degrade that noble school of virtue into an 
academy of effeminacy. When Racine persuaded the cele- 
brated Arnauld to read his Phsedra, " Why," said that se- 
vere critic to his friend, " have you falsified the manners of 
llippolitus, and represented him in love?" "Alas!" replied 
the poet, "without that circumstance, how would the ladies 
and the beaux have received my piece ?" And it may well 
be imagined, that to gratify so considerable and important a 
part of his audience, was the powerful motive that induced 
Comeille to enervate even the matchless and affecting 
story of (Edipus, by the frigid and impertinent episode of 
Theseus's passion for Dirce. Shakspeare has shown us, by 
his Hamlet, Macbeth, and Csesar, and above all by bis 
Lear, that very interesting tragedies may be written, that 
are not founded on gallantry and love; and that Boileau 
was mistaken, when he affirmed, 

" de l'amour la sensible peinture, 

Est pour aller au cceur la route la plus sure." 
The finest pictures of love in all antiquity are the Phae- 
dra, Medea, Siuuotha, second Idyllium of Theocritus, and 
the Dido of Virgil. All of these pictures are of the effects 
of love in women; no description of it in men, so capital 
and so striking, lias been given. The tenth eclogue of 
Virgil is but feeble in comparison of these mentioned 
above. Dr. J. Wakton. 



Your neighbours would not look on you as men, 

But think the nation all tum'd Picts again. 

Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit 

You should suspect yourselves of too much wit : w 

Drive not the jest too far, but spare this piece; 

And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece. 

See twice ! do not pell-mell to damning fail, 

Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all : 

Pray be advised ; and though at Mons you won, 2r ' 

On pointed cannon do not always run. 

With some respect to ancient wit proceed ; 

You take the four first councils for your creed. 

But, when you lay tradition wholly by, 

And on the private spirit alone rely, ^ 

You turn fanatics in your poetry. 

If, notwithstanding all that we can say, 

You needs will have your pen'orths of the play, 

And come resolved to damn, because you pay, 

Record it, in memorial of the f act, "* 

The first play buried since the woollen act. 



EPILOGUE 



TO " (EDIPUS." 



What Sophocles could undertake alone, 
Our poets found a work for more than one ; 
And therefore two lay tugging at the piece, 
With all their force, to draw the ponderous mass 

from Greece ; 
A weight that bent even Seneca's strong muse, 5 
And which Comeille's shoulders did refuse. 
So hard it is the Athenian harp to string ! 
So much two consuls yield to one just king. 
Terror and pity this whole poem sway ; 
The mightiest machines that can mount a play. 10 
How heavy will those vulgar souls be found, 
Whom two such engines cannot move from 

ground ! 
When Greece and Rome have smiled upon this 

birth, 
You can but damn for one poor spot of earth 
And when your children find your judgment 

such, 
They'll scorn their sires, and wish themselves 

born Dutch ; 
Each haughty poet will infer with ease, 
How much his wit must under-write to please. 
As some strong churl would, brandishing, ad- 
vance 
The monumental sword that conquer'd France ; 20 
So you, by judging this, your judgment teach, 
Thus far you like, that is, thus far you reach. 
Since then the vote of full two thousand years 
Has crown'd this plot, and all the dead are theirs, 
Think it a debt you pay, not alms you give, -> 
And, in your own defence, let this Play live. 
Think them not vain, when Sophocles is shown. 
To praise his worth they humbly doubt their 

own. 
Yet as weak states each other's power assure. 
Weak poets by conjunction are secure. 
Their treat is what your palates relish most, 
Charm! song! and show! a murder and a ghost! 
We know not what you can desire or hope, 
To please you more, but burning of a Pope. 



182 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



PROLOGUE 



' TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON, 
REPRESENTING THE GHOST OF SHAKSPEAEE. 



See, my loved Britons, see your Shakspeare rise, 
An awful ghost confess'd to human eyes ! 
Unnamed, methinks, distinguished I had been 
From other shades, by this eternal green, 
About whose wreaths the vulgar poets strive, ° 
And with a touch, their wither'd bays revive. 
Untaught, unpractised, in a barbarous age, 
I found not, but created first the stage. 
And, if I drain'd no Greek or Latin store, 
'Twas, that my own abundance gave me more. 10 
On foreign trade I needed not rely, 
Like fruitful Britain, rich without supply. 
In this my rough-drawn play you shall behold 
Some master-strokes, so manly and so bold, 
That he who meant to alter, found 'em such, ' 5 
He shook, and thought it sacrilege to touch. 
Now, where are the successors to my name 1 
What bring they to fill out a poet's fame ? 
Weak, short-lived issues of a feeble age ; 
Scarce living to be christen'd on the stage ! 20 

For humour farce, for love they rhyme dispense, 
That tolls the knell for their departed sense. 
Dulness might thrive in any trade but this : 
'Twould recommend to some fat benefice. 
Dulness, that in a playhouse meets disgrace, 23 
Might meet with reverence in its proper place. 
The fulsome clench, that nauseates the town, 
Would from a judge or alderman go down, 
Such virtue is there in a robe and gown ! 
And that insipid stuff which here you hate, 30 
Might somewhere else be call'd a grave debate ; 
Dulness is decent in the church and state. 
But I forget that still 'tis understood, 
Bad plays are best decried by showing good. 
Sit silent then, that my pleased soul may see 35 
A judging audience once and worthy me; 
My faithful scene from true records shall tell, 
How Trojan valour did the Greek excel; 
Your great forefathers shall their fame regain, 
And Homer's angry ghost repine in vain. *• 



PROLOGUE 

TO " CiESAR BOEGIA." [BY ME. N. LEE, 1680.] 



The unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen, 
Lives not to please himself, but other men ; 
Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood, 
Yet only eats and drinks what you think good. 

Ver. 1. The unhappy man,'] Lee had so melodious a 
voice, and such pathetic elocution, that reading one of his 
own scenes to Major Mohun at a rehearsal, Mohun, in the 
warmth of his admiration, threw down his part, and ex- 
claimed, " Unless I were able to play it as well as you read 
it, to what purpose should I undertake it?" Yetitisa very 
remai'kable circumstance, that Lee failed as an actor in 
attempting to perform the character of Duncan in Macbeth, 
1672 ; as did Otway in a play of Mrs. Afra Behn, entitled 
the Jealous Bridegroom. After this failure, the first wrote 
his Alcibiades, and the last-mentioned author his Nero. 
Dr. J. Warton 



What praise soe'er the poetry deserve, 5 

Yet every fool can bid the poet starve. 
That fumbling lecher to revenge is bent, 
Because he thinks himself or whore is meant : 
Name but a cuckold, all the city swarms ; 
From Leadenhall to Ludgate is in arms : 10 

Were there no fear of Antichrist, or France, 
In the blest time poor poets live by chance. 
Either you come not here, or, as you grace 
Some old acquaintance, drop into the place, 
Careless and qualmish with a yawning face : 15 
You sleep o'er wit, and by my troth you may ; 
Most of your talents lie another way. 
You love to hear of some prodigious tale, 
The bell that toll'd alone, or Irish whale. 
News is your food, and you enough provide, -° 
Both for yourselves, and all the world beside. 
One theatre there is of vast resort, 
Which whilome of Requests was call'd the Court ; 
But now the great Exchange of News 'tis hight, 
And full of hum and buz from noon 'till night. ^ 
Up stairs and down you run, as for a race, 
And each man wears three nations in his face. 
So big you look, though claret you retrench, 
That, arm'd with bottled ale, you huff the French. 
But all your entertainment still is fed 
By villains in your own dull island bred. 
Would you return to us, we dare engage 
To show you better rogues upon the stage. 
You know no poison but plain ratsbane here ; 
Death 's more refined, and better bred elsewhere. ** 
They have a civil way in Italy, 
By smelling a perfume to make you die ; 
A trick would make you lay your snuff-box by. 
Murder 's a trade, so known and practised there, 
That 'tis infallible as is the chair. m 

But, mark their feast, you shall behold such 

pranks ; 
The Pope says grace, but 'tis the devil gives 

thanks. 



PROLOGUE 

TO " SOPHONISBA," AT OXFORD, 



Thespis, the first professor of our art, 
At country wakes, sung ballads from a cart. 
To prove this true, if Latin be no trespass, 
" Dicitur et plaustris vexisse Poemata Thespis. 
But iEschylus, says* Horace in some page, 
Was the first mountebank that trod the stage : 



* Successitvetus his Comoedia, etc., i. e. Comedy began 
to be cultivated and improved from the time that tragedy 
had obtained its end, sV%e tv,i iaamK pOc-iv, under iEschylus. 
There is no reason to suppose, with some critics, that Ho- 
race meant to date its origin from hence. The supposition 
is, in truth, contradicted by experience and the order of 
things. For, as a celebrated French writer observes, "Le 
talent oVimiter, qui nous est naturel, nous porte plutdt a la 
comedie, qui route sur des choses de nOtre connoissance, qu' d la. 
tragedie, qviprend des sujets plus eloignes de Vusage c&mmun; 
et en effect, en Grece aussi Men quen France, la come'die est 
Vainee de la tragedie." — [Hist, du Theat. Franc, par M. de 
Fontenelle.] The latter part of this assertion is clear from 
the piece referred to ; and the other, which respects Greece, 
seems countenanced by Aristotle himself, [«»■ iroitjT. x. t.j 
'Tis true, comedy, though its rise be everywhere, at least, as 
early as that of tragedy, is perfected much later. Menander, 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



181 



Yet Athens never knew your learned sport 
Of tossing poets in a tennis-court. 
But 'tis the talent of our English nation 
Still to he plotting some new reformation : 
And few years hence, if anarchy goes on, 
Jack Preshyter shall here erect his throne, 
Knock out a tub with preaching once a day, 
And every prayer he longer than a play. 
Then all your heathen wits shall go to pot, 
For disbelieving of a Popish-plot : 
Your poets shall be used like infidels, 
And worst, the author of the Oxford bells : 
Nor should we 'scape the sentence, to depart, 
E'en in our first original, a cart. 
No zealous brother there would want a stone, 
To maul us cardinals, and pelt Pope Joan : 
Religion, learning, wit, would be suppress'd, 
Rags of the whore, and trappings of the beast : 
Scot, Suarez, Tom of Aquin, must go down, 
As chief supporters of the triple crown ; 
And Aristotle 's for destruction ripe ; 
Some say, he call'd the soul an organ-pipe, 
Which, by some little help of derivation, 
Shall then be proved a pipe of inspiration. 



A PROLOGUE. 



Go back to your dear dancing on the rope, M 

Or see what's worse, the devil and the pope. 
The plays that take on our corrupted stage, 
Methinks, resemble the distracted age ; 
i Noise, madness, all unreasonable things, 
That strike at sense, as rebels do at kings. is 

The style of forty-one our poets write, 
And you are grown to judge like forty-eight. 
Such censures our mistaking audience make, 
That 'tis almost grown scandalous to take. 
They talk of fevers that infect the brains ; 2 " 

But nonsense is the new disease that reigns. 
Weak stomachs, with a long disease oppress' d, 
Cannot the cordials of strong wit digest. 
Therefore thin nourishment of farce ye choose, 
Decoctions of a barley-water muse : ai 

A meal of tragedy would make ye sick, 
Unless it were a very tender chick. 
Some scenes in sippets would be worth our time ; 
Those would go down; some love that's poach'd 
in rhyme ; 

If these should fail 

We must he down, and, after all our cost, 
Keep holiday, like watermen in frost ; 
While you turn players on the world's great stage, 
And act yourselves the farce of your own age. 



If yet there be a few that take delight 

In that which reasonable men should write ; 

To them alone we dedicate this night. 

The rest may satisfy their curious itch, 

With city-gazettes, or some factious speech, 

Or whate'er libel, for the public good, 

Stirs up the shrove-tide crow to fire and blood. 

Remove your benches, you apostate pit, 

And take, above, twelve pennyworth of wit ; 



we know, appeared long after yEschyhis. And, though 
the French tragedy, to speak with Aristotle, i<rji ri,v £aar?s 
Qutriv in the hands of Corncille, this cannot he said of their 
comedy, which was forced to wait for a Moliere, hefore it 
arrived at that pitch of perfection. But then this is owing 
to the superior difficulty of the comic drama. Nor is it any 
Objection that the contrary of this happened at Rome. For 
the Romans, when they applied themselves in earnest to 
the stage, had not to invent, hut to imitate, or rather tran s- 
late, the perfect models of Greece. And it chanced, fur rea- 
sons which I shall not stay to deduce, that their poets had 
better success in copying their comedy than tragedy. 

The two happiest subjects, said Fontenelle, for tragedy 
and comedy among the moderns, are the ('id, and l'Ecole 
des Femmes. But, unluckily, the respective authors that 
wrote on each, were not arrived at the full force of their 
geniuses when they treated these subjects. Events that 
have actually happened, are, after all, the properest subjects 
ft*r poetry. The best eclogue of Virgil, the best ode of 
Horace,! are founded on real incidents. If we briefly cast 
"in- eyes over the most interesting anil affecting stories, 
ancient or modern, we shall find that they are such, as, 
however adorned and a little diversified, are yet grounded 
on true history, and on real matters of fact. Such, for in- 
stance, among the ancients, are the stories of Joseph, of 
GEjdipus, the Trojan War and its consequences, ofVirginia, 
and the Horatii ; such, among the moderns, are the stories 
of King Lear, the Cid, Romeo and Juliet, and Oronooko. 
Th.' series of ei ents contained in these stories seem far to 
ass the utmost powers of human imagination. In the 
l> ■■.:! conducted fiction, some mark of improbability and in- 
coherence will still appear. Dr. J. Warton. 



PROLOGUE 

Tt> THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFOBU, lfa'81. 
♦ 

The famed Italian muse, whose rhymes advance 

Orlando and the Paladins of France, 

Records, that, when our wit and sense is flown, 

'Tis lodged within the circle of the moon, 

In earthen jars, which one, who thither soar'd, 5 

Set to his nose, snuff'd up, and was restored. 

Whate'er the story be, the moral 's true ; 

The wit we lost in town, we find in you. 

Our poets their fled parts may draw from hence, 

And fill their windy heads with sober sense. 10 

When London votes with Southwards disagree, 

Here may they find their long-lost loyalty. 

Here busy senates, to the old cause inclined, 

May snuff the votes their fellows left behind : 

Your country neighbours, when their grain grows 

dear, 
May come, and find their last provision here : 
Whereas we cannot much lament our loss, 
Who neither earned back, nor brought one cross. 
We look'd what representatives would bring; 
But they help'd us. j ust as they did the king. a 
Yet we despair not ; for we now lay forth 
The Sibyl's books to those who know their worth; 
And though the first was sacrificed before, 
These volumes doubly will the price restore. 
( lur poet bade us hope this grace to find. 
To whom by long prescription you are kind. 
He, whose undaunted Muse, with loyal rage, 
Has never spared the vices of the age, 
Hero finding nothing that his spleen can raise, 
Is forced to turn his satire into praise. 



The First. 



t (Ide ,\iii. lib. ii. 



184 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



PROLOGUE 

TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, UPON HIS FIRST APPEARANCE AT 
THE DUKE'S THEATRE, AFTER HIS RETURN FROM SCOT- 
LAND, 1682. 

♦ 

In those cold regions which no summers cheer, 
Where brooding darkness covers half the year, 
To hollow caves the shivering natives go ; 
Bears range abroad, and hunt in tracks of snow : 
But when the tedious twilight wears away, 5 

And stars grow paler at the approach of day, 
The longing crowds to frozen mountains run ; 
Happy who first can see the glimmering suu : 
The surly savage offspring disappear, 
And curse the bright successor of the year. 10 

Yet, though rough bears in covert seek defence, 
White foxes stay, with seeming innocence : 
That crafty kind with day-light can dispense. 
Still we are throng'd so full with Reynard's race, 
That loyal subjects scarce can find a place : 15 
Thus modest truth is cast behind the crowd : 
Truth speaks too low ; Hypocrisy too loud. 
Let them be first to flatter in success ; 
Duty can stay, but guilt has need to press. 
Once, when true zeal the sons of God did call, 2U 
To make their solemn show at heaven's White- 
hall, 
The fawning devil appear'd among the rest, 
And made as good a courtier as the best. 
The friends of Job, who rail'd at him before, 
Came cap in hand when he had three times 
more. 25 

Yet late repentance may, perhaps, be true ; 
Kings can forgive, if rebels can but sue : 
A tyrant's power in rigour is express'd ; 
The father yearns in the true prince's breast. 
We grant, an o'ergrown Whig no grace can 
mend ; 30 

But most are babes, that know not they offend. 
The crowd to restless motion still inclined, 
Are clouds, that tack according to the wind. 
Driven by their chiefs they storms of hailstones 

pour; 
Then mourn, and soften to a silent shower. * 

Oh, welcome to this much-offending land, 
The prince that brings forgiveness in his hand ! 
Thus angels on glad messages appear : 
Their first salute commands us not to fear : 
Thus Heaven, that could constrain us to obey, *• 
(With reverence if we might presume to say) 
Seems to relax the rights of sovereign sway : 
Permits to man the choice of good and ill, 
And makes us happy by our own free-will. 



PROLOGUE 

TO " THE EARL OF ESSEX." [BY MR. J. BANKS, 1682.J SPOKEN 
TO THE KING AND THE QUEEN AT THEIR COMING TO 
THE HOUSE. 



When first the ark was landed on the shore, 
And Heaven had vow'd to curse the ground no 

more ; 
AYhen tops of hills the longing patriarch saw, 
And the new scene of earth began to draw ; 



The dove was sent to view the waves' decrease, 8 
And first brought back to man the pledge of 

peace. 
'Tis needless to apply, when those appear, 
Who bring the olive, and who plant it here. 
We have before our eyes the royal dove, 
Still innocent, as harbinger of love : 10 

The ark is open'd to dismiss the train, 
And people with a better race the plain. 
Tell me, ye Powers, why should vain man pursue, 
With endless toil, each object that is new, 
And for the seeming substance leave the tnie ] li 
Why should he quit for hopes his certain good, 
And loathe the manna of his daily food 1 
Must England still the scene of changes be, 
Toss'd and tempestuous, like our ambient sea? 
Must still our weather and our wills agree? 2° 

Without our blood our liberties we have : 
Who that is free would fight to be a slave ? 
Or, what can wars to after-times assure, 
Of which our present age is not secure ? 
All that our monarch would for us ordain, 
Is but to enj oy the blessings of his reign. 
Our land 's an Eden, and the main 's our fence, 
While we preserve our state of innocence : 
That lost, then beasts their brutal force employ, 
And first their lord, and then themselves destroy. 
What civil broils have cost, we know too well ; 31 
Oh, let it be enough that once we fell ! 
And every heart conspire, and every tongue, 
Still to have such a king, and this king long. 



AN EPILOGUE 



FOR THE KING S HOUSE. 



We act by fits and starts, like drowning men, 
But just peep up, and then pop down again. 
Let those who call us wicked change their sense ; 
For never men lived more on Providence. 
Not lottery cavaliers are half so poor, 
Nor broken cits, nor a vacation whore. 
Not courts, nor courtiers living on the rents 
Of the three last ungiving parliaments : 
So wretched, that, if Pharaoh could divine, 
He might have spared his dream of seven lean 
kine, 10 

And changed his vision for the Muses nine. 
The comet, that, they say, portends a dearth, 
Was but a vapour drawn from play-house earth : 
Pent there since our last fire, and, Lilly says, 
Foreshows our change of state, and thin third- 
days. 1S 
'Tis not our want of wit that keeps us poor ; 
For then the printer's press would suffer more. 
Their pamphleteers each day their venom spit; 
They thrive by treason, and w r e starve by wit. 
Confess the truth, which of you has not laid w 
Four farthings out to buy the Hatfield maid ] 
Or, which is duller yet, and more would spite us, 
Democritus his wars with Heraclitus ] 
Such are the authors, who have run us down, 
And exercised you critics of the town. M 
Yet these are pearls to your lampooning rhymes, 
Y' abuse yourselves more dully than the times. 
Scandal, the glory of the English nation, 
Is worn to rags, and scribbled out of fashion. 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



185 



Such harmless thrusts, as if, like fencers wise, w 
They had agreed their play before their prize. 
Faith, they may hang their harps upon the 

willows; 
"Pis just like children when they box with pillows. 
Then put an end to civil wars for shame ; 
Let each knight-errant, who lias wrong'd a dame. 
Throw down his pen, and give her, as he can, 30 
The satisfaction of a gentleman. 



PROLOGUE 

TO "THE LOVAL BROTHER;* OK, THE PERSIAN PRINCE.' 
[BY MR. SOUTHEKNE, 1682.] 



Poets, like lawful monarchs, ruled the stage, 
Till critics, like damn'd Whigs, debauch'd our age. 
Mark how they jump : critics would regulate 
Our theatres, and Whigs reform our state : 
Both pretend love, and both (plague rot them !) 
hate. 5 

The critic humbly seems advice to bring; 
The fawning Whig petitions to the king : 
But one's advice into a satire slides ; 
T' other's petition a remonstrance hides. 
These will no taxes give, and those no pence ; 10 
Critics would starve the poet, Whigs the prince. 
The critic all our troops of friends discards ; 
Just so the Whig would fain pull down the guards. 
Guards are illegal, that drive foes away, 
As watchful shepherds, that fright beasts of prey. 15 
Kings, who disband such needless aids as these, 
Are safe — as long as e'er their subjects please : 
And that would be till next queen Bess's night : 
Which thus grave penny chroniclers indite. 



*"The Loyal Brother; or, the Persian Prince," Mr. South- 
erne's first play, was acted at Drury-lane in 1682 ; a time 
in which the Tory interest, after long struggles, carried all 
before it. The character of the Loyal Brother was a com- 
pliment intended for the Dnke of York. This prologue is 
a continued invective against the Whigs. Derrick. 

Ver. 18. queen Bess's night .'] At the King's-head 

tavern, the corner of Chancery-lane, and opposite the Inner- 
Temple-gate, the principal opponents to the court-measures 
and the chiefs of the Whig party assembled, under the 
name of the King's-head Club, and afterwards the Ureen- 
ribbon Club, from ribbons of that colour which they wore 
In their hats. Here they subscribed a guinea a-piece for a 
bontire, in which the effigies of the Pope was to be burnt 
on the 17th of November, being the anniversary of Queen 
Elizabeth's birth, with more than ordinary pomp; for it 
it was heretofore an annual ceremony, usually made without 
any remarkable parade. The procession now consisted of 
one representing the dead body of Sir Edmondbnry God- 
frey, carried on a horse, with a person preceding it ringing 
a bell, to remind people of his murder, then followed a mob 
of fellows, dressed like cannelites, Jesuits, bishops, cardi- 
nals, &c. and several boys with incense-pots, surrounding 
an image of the Pope, with that of the devil just behind 
him, 

Like thief and parson in a Tyburn cart. 

In this manner they marched from Bishopsgate to the 
corner of Chancery-lane, where they committed the in- 
offensive effigies to the flames; while the balconies and 
windows of the King's-head were filled witii people of con- 
nee, who countenanced the tumult; which, the Hon. 
C North says, struck a terror upon people's spirits. 
The year of acting the play, to which we have here a pro- 
logue, great additions, alterations, and expensive improve- 
ments, wore intended to he made in this procession which 



Sir Edmondbury first, in woful wise, 

Leads up the show, and milks their maudlin eyes. 

There 's not a butcher's wife but dribs her part, 

And pities the poor pageant from her heart ; 

Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire, 

And, with a civil conge, does retire : M 

But guiltless blood to ground must never fall; 

There 's Antichrist behind, to pay for all. 

The punk of Babylon in pomp appears, 

A lewd old gentleman of seventy years : 

Whose age in vain our mercy would implore; *° 

For few take pity on an old cast whore. 

The devil, who brought him to the shame, takes 

part ; 
Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart; 
Like thief and parson in a Tyburn-cart. 
The word is given, and with a loud huzza M 

The mitred poppet from his chair they draw : 
On the slain corpse contending nations fall : 
Alas ! what 's one poor pope among them all ! 
He bums ; now all true hearts your triumphs 

ring : 
And next, for fashion, cry, God save the king. M 
A needful cry in 'midst of such alarms, 
When forty thousand men are up in arms. 
But after he 's once saved, to make amends, 
In each succeeding health they damn his friends : 
So God begins, but still the devil ends. 4h 

What if some one, inspired with zeal, should call, 
Come, let 's go cry, God save him, at Whitehall ] 
His best friends would not like this over-care, 
Or think him e'er the safer for this prayer. 
Five praying saints are by an act allow'd ; £0 

But not the whole church-militant in crowd. 
Yet, should Heaven oil the true petitions drain 
Of Presbyterians who would kings maintain, 
Of forty thousand, five would scarce remain. 



PROLOGUE 

TO THE KING AND QUEEN, UPON THE UNION OF THE 
TWO COMPANIES IN 1082. 



Since faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of 

fashion, 
Their penny scribes take care to inform the 

nation, 
How well men thrive in this or that plantation : 

How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers, 
And Carolina's with Associators : 5 

Both e'en too good for madmen and for traitors. 

Truth is, our land with saints is so run o'er, 
And every age produces such a store, 
That now there 's need of two New-Englands 
more. 

What's this, you'll say, to us and our vocation ! 10 
Only thus much, that we have left our station, 
And made this theatre our new plantation. 



was prevented entirely by the loyalty and vigilance of the 
sheriffs of the city, Sir Dudley North ntid Sir Peter Rich, 
who paraded the streets all day and the best part of the 
night. Derrick. 



186 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



The factious natives never could agree; 
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free, 
Those play-house Whigs set up for property. 1S 

Some say, they no obedience paid of late ; 
But would new fears and jealousies create; 
Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state. 

Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling, 
Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks 
and quelling : w 

For seldom comes there better of rebelling. 

When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter 
For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar; 
There 's a damn'd word that rhymes to this, call'd 
Charter. 

But, since the victory with us remains, 25 

You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains ; 
If you '11 not think us saucy for our pains. 

Old men shall have good old plays to delight 'em : 

And you, fair ladies and gallants, that slight 'em, 

We'll treat with good new plays ; if our new wits 

can write 'em. 30 

We '11 take no blundering verse, no fustian tumour, 
No dribbling love, from this or that perfumer ; 
No dull fat fool shamm'd on the stage for hu- 



For, faith, some of 'em such vile stuff have made, 
As none but fools or fairies ever play'd ; M 

But 'twas, as shopmen say, to force a trade. 

We Ve given you tragedies, all sense defying, 
And singing men, in woful metre dying ; 
This 'tis when heavy lubbers will be flying. 

All these disasters we well hope to weather ; 40 
We bring you none of our old lumber hither : 
Whig poets and Whig sheriffs may hang together. 



PROLOGUE 

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. SPOKEN BY MR. HAKT, 
AT THE ACTING OF " THE SILENT WOMAN." 



What Greece,* when learning flourish'd, only 

knew, 
Athenian judges, you this day renew. 
Here too are annual rites to Pallas done, 
And here poetic prizes lost or won. 
Methinks I see you, crown'd with olives, sit, 5 
And strike a sacred horror from the pit. 
A day of doom is this of your decree, 
Where even the best are but by mercy free : 
A day, which none but Jonson durst have wish'd 

to see. 



* Plato sent a copy of the Plutus of Aristophanes to 
Dionysius the king of Sicily, telling him that from thi s play 
and the other comedies of Aristophanes, he might learn 
the nature of the Athenian republic. Dr. J. Waeton. 



Here they, who long have known the useful 
stage, 10 

Come to be taught themselves to teach the age. 
As your commissioners our poets go, 
To cultivate the virtue which you sow ; 
In your Lyceeurn first themselves refined, 
And delegated thence to human-kind. ls 

But as ambassadors, when long from home, 
For new instructions to their princes come ; 
So poets, who your precepts have forgot, 
Return, and beg they may be better taught : 
Follies and faults elsewhere by them are shown, 2° 
But by your manners they correct their own. 
The illiterate writer, empiric-like, applies 
To minds diseased, unsafe, chance, remedies : 
The learn'd in schools, where knowledge first 

began, 
Studies with care the anatomy of man ; 25 

Sees virtue, vice, and passions in their cause, 
And fame from science, not from fortune, draws. 
So Poetry, which is in Oxford made 
An art, in London only is a trade. 
There haughty dunces, whose unlearned pen ^ 
Could ne'er spell grammar, would be reading men. 
Such build their poems the Lucretian way ; 
So many huddled atoms make a play ; 
And if they hit in order by some chance, 
They call that nature, which is ignorance. M 

To such a fame let mere town-wits aspire, 
And their gay nonsense their own cits admire. 
Our poet, could he find forgiveness here, 
Would wish it rather than a plaudit there. 
He owns no crown from those Praetorian bands, 40 
But knows that right is in the senate's hands, 
Not impudent enough to hope your praise, 
Low at the Muses' feet his wreath he lays, 
And, where he took it up, resigns his bays. 
Kings make their poets whom themselves think 
fit, « 

But 'tis your suffrage makes authentic wit. 



EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN By THE SAME. 



No poor Dutch peasant, wing'd with all his fear, 
Flies with more haste, when the French arms 

draw near, 
Than we with our poetic train come down, 
For refuge hither, from the infected town : 
Heaven for our sins this summer has thought fit B 
To visit us with all the plagues of wit. 
A French* troop first swept all things in its way ; 
But those hot Monsieurs were too quick to stay : 

Ver. 25. Studies with care the anatomy of man ;] " Creer 
un sujet ; inventer im noeud et un denouement ; donner a 
chaque personnage son caraetere, et le soutenir ; faire en 
sorte qu'aucun d' eux ne paraisse et ne sorte sans une raison 
sentie de tous les spectateurs; ne laisser jamais le theatre 
vuide ; faire dire a chacun ce qu'il doit dire ; avec noblesse 
sans endure, avec simplicity sans bassesse ; faire de beaux 
vers qui ne sentent point le poete, et tels que le personnage 
aurait dtt en faire, s'il parlait en vers ; c'est-la une partie 
des devoirs que tout auteur d'une trage'die doit remplir." 
Dr. J. Warton. 

* In a very old French mystery acted at Paris, 1490, in 
order to render the character of Judas more detestable, the 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



187 



Yet, to our cost, in that short time, we find 
They left their itch of novelty behind. 10 

The Italian merry-andrews took their place, 
And quite debauch'd the stage with lewd grimace : 
Instead of wit, and humours, your delight 
Was there to see two hobby-horses fight ; 
Stout Scaramoucha with rush lance rode in, 15 
And ran a tilt at centaur Arlequin. 
For love you heard how amorous asses bray'd, 
And cats in gutters gave their serenade. 
Nature was out of countenance, and each day 
Some new-born monster shown you for a play. 20 
Put when all fail'd, to strike the stage quite 

dumb, 
Those wicked engines call'd machines are come. 
Thunder and lightning now for wit are play'd, 
And shortly scenes in Lapland will be laid : 
Art magic is for poetiy profess'd ; " a 

And cats and dogs, and each obscener beast, 
To which ^Egyptian dotards once did bow, 
Upon our English stage are worsliipp'd now. 
Witchcraft reigns there, and raises to renown 
Macbeth and Simon Magus of the town ; m 

Fletcher's despised, your Jonson's out of fashion, 
And wit the only drug in all the nation. 
In this low ebb our wares to you are shown ; 
By you those staple authors' worth is known ; 
For wit 's a manufacture of your own. ^ 

When you, who only can, their scenes have 

praised, 
We '11 boldly back, and say, their price is raised. 



EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN AT OXFORD, BY MRS. MARSHALL. 



Oft has our poet wish'd, this happy seat 
Might prove his fading Muse's last retreat : 
I wonder'd at his wish, but now I find 
He sought for quiet, and content of mind ; 
Which noiseful towns, and courts can never know, 5 
And only in the shades like laurels grow. 
South, ere it sees the world, here studies rest, 
And age returning thence concludes it best. 
What wonder if we court that happiness 
Yearly to share, which hourly you possess. 10 

Teaching e'en you, while the vex'd world wo show, 
Your peace to value more, and better know ? 
'Tis all we can return for favours past, 
Whose holy memory shall ever last, 
For patronage from him whose care presides 15 
O'er every noble art, and every science guides : 
Batmirst, a name the learn'd with reverence know, 
And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe; 
Whose age enjoys but what his youth deserved, 
To rule those Muses whom before he served. 20 



author fiflirras, that before he became acquainted with 
Christ, In' had assassinated the sou of his king, had after- 
wards murdered his father, and married his mother. Dr. 

• I. W UtTON. 

Ver. 11. The Italian] Apostolo Zeno had made a collec- 
tion of four thousand old Italian tragedies and comedies. 
i Simillimi of Trissino, wrote in his old age, i« an imita- 
tion of the Mencechmi of Plautus. See Trissino's fine letter 
in blank verse prefixed to Sophonisba addressed to Leo X. 
Dr. J. Warton. 



His learning, and untainted manners too, 
We find, Athenians, are derived to you : 
Such ancient hospitality there rests 
In yours, as dwelt in the first Grecian breasts, 
Whose kindness was religion to their guests. 
Such modesty did to our sex appear, 
As, had there been no laws, we need not fear, 
Since each of you was our protector here. 
Converse so chaste, and so strict virtue shown, 
As might Apollo with the Muses own. 
Till our return, we must despair to find 
Judges so just, so knowing, and so kind. 



PROLOGUE 



TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 



Discord and plots, which have undone our age, 
With the same ruin have o'erwhelm'd the stage. 
Our house has suffer'd in the common woe, 
We have been troubled with Scotch rebels too. 
Our brethren are from Thames to Tweed departed, 
And of our sisters, all the kinder-hearted, " 

To Edinburgh gone, or coach'd, or carted. 
With bonny bluecap there they act all night 
For Scotch half-crown, in English three-pence 

hight. 
One nymph, to whom fat Sir John Falstaff 's lean, 
There with her single person fills the scene. " 
Another, with long use and age decay'd, 
Dived here old woman, and rose there a maid. 
Our trusty doorkeepers of former time 
There strut and swagger in heroic rhyme. 15 

Tack but a copper-lace to drugget suit, 
And there 's a hero made without dispute : 
And that, which was a capon's tail before, 
Becomes a plume for Indian emperor. 
But all his subjects, to express the care " 

Of imitation, go, like Indians, bare : 
Laced linen there would be a dangerous thing ; 
It might perhaps a new rebellion bring ; 
The Scot, who wore it, would be chosen king. 
But why should I these renegades describe, 25 
When you yourselves have seen a lewder tribe ? 
Teague has been here, and, to this learned pit, 
With Irish action slandor'd English wit : 
You have beheld such barbarous Macs appear, 
As merited a second massacre : M 

Such as, like Cain, were branded with disgrace, 
And had their country stamp'd upon their face. 
When strollers durst presume to pick your purse, 
We humbly thought our broken troop not worse. 
How ill soe'er our action may deserve, ^ 

Oxford 's a place where wit can never starve. 



PROLOGUE 



TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 



Though actors cannot much of learning boast, 
Of all who want it, we admire it most : 
Wc love the praises of a learned pit, 
As we remotely arc allied to wit. 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



We speak our poet's wit, and trade in ore, 6 

Like those, who touch upon the golden shore : 
Betwixt our judges can distinction make, 
Discern how much, and why, our poems take : 
Mark if the fools, or men of sense, rejoice ; 
Whether the applause be only sound or voice. 10 
When our fop gallants, or our city folly, 
Clap over-loud, it makes us melancholy : 
We doubt that scene which does their wonder 

raise, 
And, for their ignorance, contemn their praise. 
Judge then, if we who act, and they who write, 15 
Should not be proud of giving you delight. 
London likes grossly ; but this nicer pit 
Examines, fathoms all the depths of wit ; 
The ready finger lays on every blot ; 
Knows what should justly please, and what should 

not. 20 

Nature herself lies open to your view ; 
You judge by her, what draught of her is true, 
Where outlines false, and colours seem too faint, 
Where bunglers daub, and where true poets paint. 
But, by the sacred genius of this place, 25 

By every Muse, by each domestic grace, 
Be kind to wit, which but endeavours well, 
And, where you judge, presumes not to excel. 
Our poets hither for adoption come, 
As nations sued to be made free of Rome : *° 

Not in the suffragating tribes to stand, 
But in your utmost, last, provincial band. 
If his ambition may those hopes pursue, 
Who with religion loves your arts and you, 
Oxford to him a dearer name shall be, 35 

Than his own mother-university. 
Thebes did his green, unknowing, youth engage ; 
He chooses Athens in his riper age. 



PROLOGUE 



TO " ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 



Full twenty years and more, our labouring stage 
Has lost, on this incorrigible age : 
Our poets, the John Ketches of the nation, 
Have seem'd to lash ye, even to excoriation ; 
But still no sign remains ; which plainly notes, 6 
You bore like heroes, or you bribed like Oates. 
What can we do, when mimicking a fop, 
Like beating nut-trees, makes a larger crop 1 
'Faith, we '11 e'en spare our pains ! and, to content 

you, 
Will fairly leave you what your Maker meant 

you. io 

Ver. 8. why, our poems take :] The pleasure pro- 
perly to be expected from a good tragedy is " the pleasure 
that arises from pity and terror." Has Pope, in the first 
lines of his famous prologue to Cato, touched on this plea- 
sure? or made this the essential business of tragedy? It 
is observable that in Greece the Drama was perfected in 
half a century ; in Europe it took up 400 years to bring it 
to any perfection. Aristotle, in the Poetics, complains of 
the effeminacy of the Athenian taste, in forcing their poets 
to soften some of their most striking catastrophes, and di- 
minishing the terror and to pajSt^ of their pieces. In the 
Trachiniae of Sophocles, Deianira utters a sentiment that 
was Solon's years before Solon lived. Sophocles also uses 
the word 4"i?"&"'i long before it was framed at Athens. 
But the description of the chariot-race at the Isthmian 
games is the greatest anachronism. Dr. J. Wakton. 



Satire was once your physic, wit your food ; 
One nourish'd not, and t 'other drew no blood : 
We now prescribe, like doctors in despair, 
The diet your weak appetites can bear. 
Since hearty beef and mutton will not do, 15 

Here 's julep-dance, ptisan of song and show : 
Give you strong sense, the liquor is too heady ; 
You 're come to farce, — that 's asses' milk, — already. 
Some hopeful youths there are, of callow wit, 
Who one day may be men, if Heaven think fit ; m 
Sound may serve such, ere they to sense are 

grown, 
Like leading-strings, till they can walk alone. 
But yet, to keep our friends in countenance, know, 
The wise Italians first invented show ; 
Thence into France the noble pageant pass'd : 25 
'Tis England's credit to be cozen'd last. 
Freedom and zeal have choused you o'er and o'er; 
Pray give us leave to bubble you once more ; 
You never were so cheaply fool'd before : 
We bring you change, to humour your disease ; M 
Change for the worse has ever used to please : 
Then, 'tis the mode of France ; without whose 

rules, 
None must presume to set up here for fools. 
In France, the oldest man is always young, 
Sees operas daily, learns the tunes so long, 35 

Till foot, hand, head, keep time with every song : 
Each sings his part, echoing from pit and box, 
With his hoarse voice, half harmony, half pox. 
Le plus grand roi du monde is always ringing, 
They show themselves good subjects by their 

singing : 40 

On that condition, set up every throat ; 
You Whigs may sing, for you have changed your 

note. 
Cits and citesses, raise a joyful strain, 
'Tis a good omen to begin a reign ; 
Voices may help your charter to restoring, 45 

And get by singing, what you lost by roaring. 



EPILOGUE 



TO " ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 



After our JEsop's fable shown to-day, 

I come to give the moral of the play. 

Feign'd Zeal, you saw, set out the speedier pace ; 

But the last heat, Plain Dealing won the race : 

Plain Dealing for a jewel has been known ; 8 

But ne'er till now the jewel of a crown. 

When Heaven made man, to show the work divine, 

Truth was his image, stamp'd upon the coin : 

And when a king is to a god refined, 

On all he says and does he stamps his mind : 10 

This proves a soul without alloy, and pure ; 

Kings, like their gold, should every touch endure. 

To dare in fields is valour ; but how few 

Dare be so throughly valiant, — to be true ! 

The name of great, let other kings affect : ,5 

He 's great indeed, the prince that is direct. 

His subjects know him now, and trust him more 

Than all their kings, and all their laws before. 

What safety could their public acts afford ? 

Those he can break; but cannot break his word * 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



IH'j 



So great a trust to him alone was due ; 

Well have they trusted whom so well they knew. 

The saint, who walk'd on waves, securely trod, 

While he believed the beck'ning of his God; 

But when his faith no longer bore hirn out, 25 

Began to sink, as he began to doubt. 

Let us our native character maintain ; 

'Tis of our growth, to be sincerely plain. 

To excel in truth we loyally may strive, 

Set privilege against prerogative : 30 

He plights his faith, and we believe him just ; 

His honour is to promise, ours to trust. 

Thus Britain's basis on a word is laid, 

As by a word the world itself was made. 



PROLOGUE 



TO "arviragus and philicia" revived* [by i.odowick 

CAR1.ELL, ESQ.] SPOKEN BY MR. HAKT. 



With sickly actors and an old house too, 

We 're match'd with glorious theatres and new, 

And with our alehouse scenes, and clothes bare 

worn, 
Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn. 
If all these ills could not undo us quite, 5 

A brisk French troop is grown your dear de- 
light ;f 
Who with broad bloody bills call you each day, 
To laugh and break your buttons at their play ; 
Or see some serious piece, which we presume 
Is fall'n from some incomparable plurne; 10 

And therefore, Messieurs, if you '11 do us grace, 
Send lackeys early to preserve your place. 
We dare not on your privilege intrench, 
Or ask you why you like them \ they are French. 
Therefore some go with courtesy exceeding, ls 
Neither to hear nor see, but show their breeding : 
Each lady striving to out-laugh the rest ; 
To make it seem they understood the jest. 
Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay, 
To teach us English where to clap the play : 20 
Civil, egad ! our hospitable land 
Bears all the charge, for them to understand : 
Meantime we languish, and neglected lie, 
Like wives, while you keep better company ; 
And wish for your own sakes, without a satire, M 
You 'd less good breeding, or had more good- 
nature. 



* This tragedy was first acted at Blackfriavs in 1639, and 
revived with success in 1690. Derrick. 

t The story of Moliere reading his plays to his old servant 
(I.e Furet) to see what effect they would have on her, is 
well known. But it is not so much known, that when he 
read over a new piece to the comedians, he used to desire 
them to bring their children with them, that he might see 
how they looked, and what notice they took of any passages. 

The famous naturalist Rohault was the person from 
whom Moliere drew the character of the philosopher he has 
introduced in his Bourgeois Gentilhomme. Moliere was 
intimately acquainted with him. Moliere even borrowed 
the hat that Rohault commonly wore, and which was of an 
uncommon size, and intended to produce it upon the stage, 
hut his friend discovered his design, and took it out of his 
bands. Ben Jonson is said to have known personally a 
man who could not bear any noise, from whom ho exactly 
copied bin character of Morose. Dr. J. Warton. 



PROLOGUE 



TO "DON SEBASTIAN." SPOKEN 3Y A WOMAN. 



The judge removed, though he 's no more my 

lord, 
May plead at bar, or at the council-board : 
So may cast poets write ; there 's no pretension 
To argue loss of wit from loss of pension. 
Your looks are cheerful ; and in all this place 5 
I see not one that wears a damning face. 
The British nation is too brave, to show 
Ignoble vengeance on a vanquish'd foe. 
At last be civil to the wretch imploring; 
And lay your paws upon him, without roaring. "' 
Suppose our poet was your foe before, 
Yet now, the business of the field is o'er ; 
'Tis time to let your civil wars alone, 
When troops are into winter-quarters gone. 
Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian ; ls 

And you well know a play 's of no religion. 
Take good advice and please yourselves this day ; 
No matter from what hands you have the play. 
Among good fellows every health will pass, 
That serves to carry round another glass : %■ 

When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine, 
Though at the mighty monarch you repine, 
You grant him still Most Christian in his wine. 
Thus far the poet; but his brains grow addle, 
And all the rest is purety from this noddle. -' 
You have seen young ladies at the senate-door 
Prefer petitions, and your grace implore ; 
However grave the legislators were, 
Their cause went ne'er the worse for being fair. 
Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps, I bring ; 30 
But I could bribe you with as good a tiling. 
I heard him make advances of good-nature ; 
That he, for once, would sheathe his cutting satire. 
Sign but his peace, he vows he '11 ne'er again 
The sacred names of fops and beaus profane. K 
Strike up the bargain quickly ; for I swear, 
As times go now, he offers very fair. 
Be not too hard on him with statutes neither ; 
Be kind ; and do not set your teeth together, 
To stretch the laws, as cobblers do their leather. 40 
Horses by Papists are not to be ridden, 
But sure the Muses' horse was ne'er forbidden ; 
For in no rate book it was ever found 
That Pegasus was valued at five pound ; 
Fine him to daily drudging and inditing : v ' 

And let him pay his taxes out in writing. 



PROLOGUE 

TO "THE PROPHETESS."* [BY BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.] 
REVIVED BY MR. DRYDEN. SPOKEN BY MR. BETTKRTUN. 

♦ 

What Nostradame, with nil his art. can guess 
The fate of our approaching Prophetess ? 

* The Prophetess, or tin- History of Diocletian, n 
vived in lGlio, with alterations and additions, after the 
manner of an opera, by Mr. Betterton. and not by Drydcn, 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



A play, which, like a perspective set right, 
Presents our vast expenses close to sight ; 
But turn the tube, and there we sadly view 
Our distant gams ; and those uncertain too : 
A sweeping tax, which on ourselves we raise, 
And all, like you, in hopes of better days. 
When will our losses warn us to be wise ? 
Our wealth decreases, and our charges rise. w 

Money, the sweet allurer of our hopes, 
Ebbs out in oceans, and comes in by drops. 
We raise new objects to provoke delight ; 
But you grow sated, ere the second sight. 
False men, e'en so you serve your mistresses : 16 
They rise three stories in their towering dress ; 
And, 'after all, you love not long enough 
To pay the rigging, eve you leave them off. 
Never content with what you had before, 
But true to change, and Englishmen all o'er. 20 
Now honour calls you hence ; and all your care 
Is to pvovide the horrid pomp of war. 
In plume and scarf, jack-boots, and Bilbo blade, 
Your silver goes, that should support our trade. 
Go, unkind heroes, leave our stage to mourn ; ® 
'Till rich from vanquish'd rebels you return ; 
And the fat spoils of Teague in triumph draw, 
His firkin-butter, and his usquebaugh. 
Go, conquevovs of your male and female foes ; 
Men without hearts, and women without hose. 3: 
Each bring his love a Bogland captive home ; 
Such proper pages will long trains become; 
With copper collars, and with brawny backs, 
Quite to put down the fashion of our blacks. 
Then shall the pious Muses pay their vows, 3E 

And furnish all their laurels for your brows ; 
Their tuneful voice shall raise for your delights ; 
We want not poets fit to sing your flights. 
But you, bright beauties, for whose only sake 
Those doughty knights such dangers undertake, 
When they with happy gales are gone away, 41 
With your propitious presence grace our play ; 
And with a sigh their empty seats survey : 
Then think, on that bare bench my servant sat ; 
I see him ogle still, and hear him chat ; 4£ 

Selling facetious bargains, and propounding 
That witty recreation, call'd dumb-founding. 
Their loss with patience we will try to beav ; 
And would do move, to see you often heve : 
That ouv dead stage, revived by your fair eyes, 5C 
Under a female regency may rise. 



as Langbaine, who is generally pretty exact, asserts. Our 
author only wrote the prologue, and that was forbid by the 
Earl of Dorset, then Lord Chamberlain, after the first day 
of its being spoken. King William was at this time pro- 
secuting the war in Ireland, which is alluded to in these 
lines : 

'Till rich from vanquish'd rebels you return; 
And the fat spoils of Teague in triumph draw, 
His firkin-butter, and his usquebaugh. 

" This prologue," says Colley Cibber in his Apology, 
"had some familiar metaphorical sneers at the Revolution 
itself; and as the poetry of it was good, the offence of it was 
less pardonable ." 

Go, conquerors of your male and female foes, 
Men without hearts, and women without hose. 

Derrick. 



PROLOGUE 

TO THE -"MISTAKES."* 



Enter Mr. Bright. 
Gentlemen, we must beg your pardon; here's 
no Prologue to be had to-day ; our new play is 
like to come on, without a frontispiece ; as bald 
as one of you young beaux, without your periwig. 
I left our young poet, snivelling and sobbing 
behind the scenes, and cursing somebody that 
has deceived him. 

Enter Mr. Bowen. 
Hold your prating to the audience : here 's honest 
Mr. Williams, just come in, half mellow, from the 
Rose Tavern. He swears he is inspired with claret, 
and will come on, and that extempore too, either 
with a prologue of his own or something like one. 
Oh, here he comes to his trial, at all adventures : 
for my part I wish him a good deliverance. 

[Exeunt Mr. Bright and Mr. Bowen. 

Enter Mr. Williams. 

Save ye, sirs, save ye ! I am in a hopeful way. 

I should speak something, in rhyme, now, for the 

play : 
But the deuce take me, if I know what to say. 
I'll stick to my friend the author, that I can tell ye, 
To the last drop of claret, in my belly. 5 

So far I'm sure 'tis rhyme — that needs no granting : 
And, if my verses' feet stumble — you see my own 

are wanting. 
Our young poet has brought a piece of work, 
In which, though much of art there does not lurk, 
It may hold out three days — and that's as long as 

Cork. 10 

But, for this play — (which till I have done, we 

show not) 
What may be its fortune — by the Lord — I know 

not. 
This I dare swear, no malice here is writ : 
'Tis innocent of all things ; even of wit. 
He 's no high-flier ; he makes no sky-rockets, 15 
His squibs are only levell'd at your pockets, 
And if his crackers light among your pelf, 
You are blown up ; if not, then he 's blown up 

himself. 
By this time, I 'm something recover'd of my 

fluster-'d madness : 
And now a word or two in sober sadness. 
Ours is a common play ; and you pay down 
A common harlot's price ; just half-a-crown. 
You'll say, I play the pimp, on my friend's score ; 
But since 'tis for a friend, your gibes give o'er : 
For many a mother has done that before. 
How's this, you cry? an actor write ? we know it ; 
But Shakspeare was an actor, and a poet. 
Has not great Jonson's learning often fail'd ? 
But Shakspeare's greater genius still pvevail'd. 
Have not some writing actors, in this age, 
Deserved and found success upon the stage ? 



* The Mistakes, or False Reports, was not written, but, 
according to G. Jacob, spoiled by Joseph Harris, a come- 
dian, who dedicated it to Mr. afterwards Sir Godfrey 
Kneller. It was acted in 1690. Derrick. 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



191 



To tell the truth, when our old wits are tired, 
Not one of.us but means to be inspired. 
Let your kind presence grace our homely cheer ; 
Peace and the butt is all our business here : M 
So much for that ; and the devil take small beer. 



PROLOGUE 

TO "KINO ARTHUR," SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTOU. 
« 

Sure there 's a dearth of wit in this dull town, 

When silly plays so savourily go down ; 

As, when clipp'd money passes, 'tis a sign 

A nation is not over-stock'd with coin. 

Happy is he, who, in his own defence, 5 

Can write just level to your humble sense; 

Who higher than your pitch can never go ; 

And, doubtless, he must creep, who writes below. 

So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord, 

A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board ; 10 

He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks, 

Secured by weakness not to reach the box. 

A feeble poet will his business do, 

Who, straining all he can, comes up to you : 

For, if you like yourselves, you like liim too. 15 

An ape his own dear image will embrace ; 

An ugly beau adores a hatchet face : 

So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature, 

Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow creature. 

In fear of which, our house has sent this day, 20 

To ensure our new-built vessel, call'd a play ; 

No sooner named, than one cries out, — These 

stagers 
Come in good time, to make more work for 

wagers. 
The town divides, if it will take or no ; 
The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants, too ; v ' 
A sign they have but little else to do. 
Bets, at the first, were fool-traps ; where the wise, 
Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies : 
But now they 're grown a common trade for all, 
And actions by the new-book rise and fall ; M 

Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of Wager-hall. 
One policy as far as Lyons carries ; 
Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris. 
Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend, 
But that the pope has proved our trusty friend. *> 
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money, 
Could we ensure another Ottoboni. 
Among the rest there are a sharping set, 
That pray for us, and yet against us bet. 
Sure Heaven itself is at a loss to know w 

If these would have their prayers be heard, or 

no : 
For, in great stakes, we piously suppose, 
Men pray but very faintly they may lose. 
Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking. 
The city needs not your new tricks for breaking : 
Anil if you gallants lose, to all appearing, ir < 

Vim '11 want an equipage for volunteering ; 
While thus, no spark of honour left within ye, 
When you should draw the sword, you draw the 

guinea. 



EPILOGUE 

TO "HENRY II." [BY MR MOUNTFORT, 1G03.] SPOKEN 
BY MRS. BRACKGIRDLE. 

♦ 

Thus you the sad catastrophe have seen, 
Occasion'd by a mistress and a queen. 
Queen Eleanor the proud was French, they say ; 
But English manufacture got the day. 
Jane Clifford was her name, as books aver : 5 

Fair Rosamond was but her nmii de guerre. 
Now tell me, gallants, would you lead your life 
With such a mistress, or with such a wife l 
If one must be your choice, which d' ye approve, 
The curtain lecture, or the curtain love ! ,n 

Would ye be godly with perpetual strife, 
Still drudging on with homely Joan your wife ; 
Or take your pleasure in a wicked way, 
Like honest whoring Harry in the play ? 
I guess your minds : the mistress w T ould be taken, 15 
And nauseous matrimony sent a packing. 
The devil 's in you all ; mankind 's a rogue ; 
You love the bride, but you detest the clog. 
After a year, poor spouse is loft i' the lurch, 
And you, like Haynes, return to mother-Church. 20 
Or, if the name of Church comes cross your mind, 
Chapels of ease behind our scenes you find. 
The playhouse is a kind of market-place ; 
One chaffers for a voice, another for a face : 
Nay, some of you, I dare not say how many, ffi 
AVould buy of me a pen'orth for your penny. 
E'en this poor face, which with my fan I hide, 
Would make a shift my portion to provide, 
With some small perquisites I have beside. 
Though for your love, perhaps, I should not care, :|IJ 
I could not hate a man that bids me fair. 
What might ensue, 'tis hard for me to tell ; 
But I was drench'd to-day for loving well, 
And fear the poison that would make me swell. 



PROLOGUE 

TO " ALBUMAZAR." 



To say, this comedy pleased long ago, 

Is not enough to make it pass you now. 

Yet, gentlemen, your ancestors had wit ; 

When few men censured, and when fewer writ. 

And Jonsou, of those few the best, chose this, 5 

As the best model of his master-piece. 

Subtle was got by our Albumazar, 

That Alchymist by this Astrologer ; 

Here he was fashion'd, and we may suppose 

He liked the fashion well, who wore the clothes. 

But Ben made nobly his what he did mould ; " 

What was another's lead, becomes his gold : 

Like an unrighteous conqueror he reigns, 

Yet rules that well, which he unjustly gains. 

But this our age such authors does afford, 

As make whole plays, and yet scarce write one word : 

Vei\15. the mistress would h tat 

And nauseous mnt ri man 7 8* "t " packing."] 
The incident of Lady Easy'a throwing her handkerchief 
over Sir Charles's head, whilst he was Bleeping, seems to 
have heen taken from the Memoirs of BasBompiem 
eemlng n Connl d'OrgeTillierand his mistress, torn. 11. p. 6., 
1728, at Amsterdam. Dr. .1. Wakton. 



192 



PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



Who, in this anarchy of wit, rob all, 

And what 's their plunder, their possession call : 

Who, like bold padders, scorn by night to prey, 

But rob by sunshine, in the face of day : 20 

Nay, scarce the common ceremony use 

Of, Stand, sir, and deliver up your Muse ; 

But knock the Poet down, and, with a grace, 

Mount Pegasus before the author's face. 

Faith, if you have such country Toms abroad, M 

'Tis time for all true men to leave that road. 

Yet it were modest, could it but be said, 

They strip the living, but these rob the dead ; 

Dare with the mummies of the Muses play, 

And make love to them the ^Egyptian way ; 30 

Or, as a rhyming author would have said, 

Join the dead living to the living dead. 

Such men in Poetry may claim some part : 

They have the licence, though they want the art ; 

And might, where theft was praised, for Laureats 

stand, 35 

Poets, not of the head, but of the hand. 
They make the benefits of others studying, 
Much like the meals of politic Jack-Pudding, 
Whose dish to challenge no man has the courage ; 
'Tis all his own, when once he has spit i' the 

porridge. 40 

But, gentlemen, you 're all concern'd in this ; 
You are in fault for what they do amiss : 
For they their thefts still undiscover'd think, 
And durst not steal, unless you please to wink. 
Perhaps, you may award by your decree, K 

They should refund ; but that can never be. 
For should you letters of reprisal seal, 
These men write that which no man else would 

steal. 



AN EPILOGUE. 



You saw our wife was chaste, yet throughly tried, 
And, without doubt, you 're hugely edified ; 
For, like our hero, whom we show'd to-day, 
You think no woman true, but in a play. 
Love once did make a pretty kind of show : 5 
Esteem and kindness in one breast would grow : 
But 'twas Heaven knows how many years ago. 
Now some small chat, and guinea expectation, 
Gets all the pretty creatures in the nation : 
In comedy your little selves you meet ; 10 

'Tis Covent Garden drawn in Bridges-street. 
Smile on our author then, if he has shown 
A jolly nut-brown bastard of your own. 
Ah ! happy you, with ease and with delight, 
Who act those follies, Poets toil to write ! 15 

The sweating Muse does almost leave the chace ; 
She puffs, and hardly keeps your Protean vices 

pace. 
Pinch you but in one vice, away you fly 
To some new frisk of contrariety. 
You roll like snow-balls, gathering as you run, 20 
And get seven devils, when dispossess'd of one. 
Your Venus once was a Platonic queen ; 
Nothing of love beside the face was seen ; 
But every inch of her you now uncase, 
And clap a vizard-mask upon the face. 2 - 5 

For sins like these, the zealous of the land, 
With little hair, and little or no band, 



Declare how circulating pestilences 
Watch, every twenty years, to snap offences. 
Saturn, e'en now, takes doctoral degrees ; 
He '11 do your work this summer without fees. 
Let all the boxes, Phoebus, find thy grace, 
And, ah, preserve the eighteen-penny place ! 
But for the pit confounders, let 'em go, 
And find as little mercy as they show : ■ 
The Actors thus, and thus thy Poets pray : 
For every critic saved, thou damn'st a play. 



EPILOGUE 

TO " THE HUSBAND HIS OWN CUCKOLD." * 

Like some raw sophister that mounts the pulpit. 
So trembles a young Poet at a full pit. 
Unused to crowds, the Parson quakes for fear, 
And wonders how the devil he durst come there ; 
Wanting three talents needful for the place, 5 
Some beard, some learning, and some little grace 
Nor is the puny Poet void of care ; 
For authors, such as our new authors are, 
Have not much learning, nor much wit to spare : 
And as for grace, to tell the truth, there 's scarce one, 
But has as little as the very Parson : " 

Both say, they preach and write for your in- 
struction : 
But 'tis for a third day, and for induction. 
The difference is, that though you like the play, 
The poet's gain is ne'er beyond his day. u 

But with the Parson 'tis another case, 
He, without holiness, may rise to grace ; 
The Poet has one disadvantage more, 
That, if his play be dull, he 's damn'd all o'er, 
Not only a damn'd blockhead, but damn'd poor. 211 
But dulness well becomes the sable garment ; 
I warrant that ne'er spoil'd a Priest's preferment : 
Wit 's not his business, and as wit now goes, 
Sirs, 'tis not so much yours as you suppose, 
For you like nothing now but nauseous beaux. a 
You laugh not, gallants, as by proof appears, 
At what his beauship says, but what he wears ; 
So 'tis your eyes are tickled, not your ears : 
The tailor and the furrier find the stuff, 
The wit lies in the dress, and monstrous muff. M 
The truth on 't is, the payment of the pit 
Is like for like, dipt money for dipt wit. 
You cannot from our absent author hope, 
He should equip the stage with such a fop : 

* This comedy was written by John Dryden, jun., our 
author's second son. It was acted at the theatre in Lin- 
coln's-inn-fields in 1696. Dereick. 

Ver. 15. Thepoet's gain is ne'er heyondhis day^\ Dryden 
did not receive for his plays from the bookselUr above 251. 
The third night brought about 701. The Dedication five or 
ten guineas perhaps. Tonson paid Sir Richard Steele for 
Addison's Drummer, 501., 1715. And Dr. Young received 
501. for his Revenge, 1721. Southeme, for his Spartan 
Dame, in 1722, had 120Z., and now it is 1001. and 1502. 
There were plays on Sundays till the third year of Charles 
the First's reigu. Otway had but one benefit for a play. 
Southeme was the first who had two benefits from a new 
representation. Farquhar had three for Constant Couple 
in 1700. Three of Ben Jonson's plays, Sejanus, Catiline, 
and the New Inne, and two of Beaumont and Fletcher's, 
viz., The Faithful Shepherdess, and the Knight of the 
Burning Pestle, were damned the first night. Even the 
Silent Woman had like to have been condemned. Dr. J» 
Wakton. 



PKOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 



193 



Fools change in England, and new fools arise, 
For though the immortal species never dies, 
Yet every year new maggots make new flies. 
But where he lives abroad, he scarce can find 
One fool, for million that he left behind. 



PROLOGUE 

TO "THE PILGRIM," * REVIVED FOB OUR AUTHOR'S BENEFIT, 
ANNO 1700. 



How wretched is the fate of those who write ! 
Brought muzzled to the stage, for fear they bite. 
Where, like Tom Dove, they stand the common 

foe; 
Lugg'd by the critic, baited by the beau. 
Yet worse, their brother Poets damn the Play, 6 
And roar the loudest, though they never pay. 
The fops are proud of scandal, for they cry, 
At every lewd, low character — That 's I. 
He, who writes letters to himself, would swear, 
The world forgot him, if he was not there. 10 

What should a Poet do ? 'Tis hard for one 
To pleasure all the fools that would be shown : 
And yet not two in ten will pass the town. 
Most coxcombs are not of the laughing kind ; 
More goes to make a fop, than fops can find. ls 

Quack Mauras, though he never took degrees 
In either of our universities ; 
Yet to be shown by some kind wit he looks, 
Because he play'd the fool, and writ three books. 
But, if he would be worth a Poet's pen, 20 

He must be more a fool, and write again : 
For all the former fustian stuff he wrote, 
Was dead-born doggrel, or is quite forgot ; 
His man of Uz, stript of his Hebrew robe, 
Is just the proverb, and as poor as Job. 25 

One would have thought he could no longer jog ; 
But Arthur was a level, Job 's a bog. 
There, though he crept, yet still he kept in sight ; 
But here he founders in, and sinks down right. 
Had he prepared us, and been dull by rule, ^ 
Tobit had first been turn'd to ridicule : 
But our bold Briton, without fear or awe, 
O'erleaps at once the whole Apociypha ; 
In vades the Psalms with rhymes, and leaves no room 
For any Vandal Hopkins yet to come. 35 

But when, if, after all, this godly gear 
Is not so senseless as it would appear ; 
Our mountebank has laid a deeper train, 
His cant, like Meriy Andrew's noble vein, 
Cat-calls the sects to draw 'em in again. 40 

A t leisure hours, in epic song he deals, 

to the rumbling of his coach's wheels, 
i ibes in haste, and seldom kills by rule, 
But rides triumphant between stool and stool. 

Well, let hini go ; 'tis yet too early day, 45 

To got himself a place in farce or play. 
We know not by what name we should arraign him, 
For no one category can contain him ; 



* This piny, with alterations by Sir John Vanbragh, and 
ular masque, together with this prologue and an 
epilogue written by our author, was revived for his benefit 
i" I .i«i, his fortune being at that time in as declining a stato 
us his lirnlt.li : they were both spoken by Mr.Cibber, then a 
very young actor, much to Dryden'a satisfaction. Derrick. 



A pedant, canting preacher, and a quack, 
Are load enough to break one ass's back : °° 

At last grown wanton, he presumed to write, 
Traduced two kings, their kindness to requite ; 
One made the doctor, and one dubb'd the knight. 



EPILOGUE 

TO " THE PILGRIM." * 



Perhaps the parson stretch'd a point too far, 
When with our Theatres he waged a war. 
He tells you, that this very moral age 
Received the first infection from the Stage. 
But sure, a banish'd court, with lewdness fraught, 
The seeds of open vice, returning, brought. 6 

Thus lodged (as vice by great example thrives) 
It first debauch'd the daughters and the wives. 
London, a fruitful soil, yet never bore 
So plentiful a crop of horns before. 10 

The Poets, who must live by courts, or starve, 
Were proud so good a government to serve ; 
And, mixing with buffoons and pimps profane, 
Tainted the Stage, for some small snip of gain. 
For they, like harlots, under bawds profess'd, I5 
Took all the ungodly pains, and got the least. 
Thus did the thriving malady prevail, 
The court, its head, the Poets but the tail. 
The sin was of our native growth, 'tis true ; 
The scandal of the sin was wholly new. 2° 

Misses they were, but modestly conceal'd ; 
Whitehall the naked Venus first reveal'd. 
Who standing as at Cyprus, in her shrine, 
The strumpet was adored with rites divine. 
Ere this, if saints had any secret motion, M 

'Twas chamber-practice all, and close devotion. 
I pass the peccadillos of their time ; 
Nothing but open lewdness was a crime. 
A monarch's blood was venial to the nation, 
Compared with one foul act of fornication. M 

Now, they would silence us, and shut the door, 
That let in all the barefaced vice before. 
As for reforming us, which some pretend, 
That work in England is without an end : 
Well may wo change, but we shall never mend. :B 
Yet, if you can but bear the present Stage, 
We hope much better of the coming age. 
What would you say, if we should first begin 
To stop the trade of love behind the scene : 
Where actresses make bold with married men } *" 
For while abroad so prodigal the dolt is, 
Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is. 
In short, we 11 grow as moral as we can, 
Save here and there a woman or a man : 
But neither you, nor we, with all our pains, 4S 
Can make clean work ; there will bo some re- 
mains, 
While you have still your Oatcs, and we our Hams. 

* Dryden in this epilogue labours to throw the fault of 
the licentiousness of dramatic- writers, whieli had been bo 
;, vereh ecu mv,l iiv the l.vv. Joremj < ollli r, upon the 
example of a court returned from banishment, accompanied 
bj ;iii the rices and follies of foreign climates; nod whom 
to please was the poet's business, us he wroto to eat 
Derrick, 



19 4 TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS, ETC. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM 

THEOCRITUS, LUCRETIUS, AND HORACE. 



PBEEACE TO THE SECOND MISCELLANY. 



Foe this last half year I have been troubled with the disease (as I may call it) of translation. The 
cold prose fits of it, which are always the most tedious with me, were spent in the History op the 
League ; the hot which succeeded them, in this volume of Verse Miscellanies. The truth is, I 
fancied to myself, a kind of ease in the change of the paroxysm ; never suspecting but the humour 
would have wasted itself in two or three pastorals of Theocritus, and as many odes of Horace. But 
finding, or at least thinking I found, something that was more pleasing in them than my ordinary 
productions, I encouraged myself to renew my old aquaintance with Lucretius and Virgil ; and 
immediately fixed upon some parts of them, which had most affected me in the reading. These were 
my natural impulses for the undertaking ; but there was an accidental motive which was full as 
forcible, and God forgive him who was the occasion of it. It was my Lord Roscommon's Essay on 
Translated Verse ; which made me uneasy till I tried whether or no I was capable of following his 
rules, and of reducing the speculation into practice. For many a fair precept in Poetry is like a 
seeming demonstration in the Mathematics, very specious in the diagram, but failing in the mechanic 
operation. I think I have generally observed his instructions ; I am sure my reason is sufficiently 
convinced both of their truth and usefulness ; which, in other words, is to confess no less a vanity, 
than to pretend that I have at least in some places made examples to his rules. Yet, withal, I must 
acknowledge, that I have many times exceeded my commission ; for I have both added and omitted, 
and even sometimes very boldly made such expositions of my authors, as no Dutch commentator will 
forgive me. Perhaps, in such particular passages, I have thought that I discovered some beauty yet 
undiscovered by those pedants, which none but a Poet could have found. Where I have taken away 
some of their expressions, and cut them shorter, it may possibly be on this consideration, that what 
was beautiful in the Greek or Latin, would not appear so shining in the English ; and where I have 
enlarged them, I desire the false critics would not always think, that those thoughts are wholly mine, 
but that either they are secretly in the Poet, or may be fairly deduced from him ; or at least, if both those 
considerations should fail, that my own is of a piece with his, and that if he were living, and an 
Englishman, they are such as he would probably have written. 

For, after all, a translator is to make his author appear as charming as possibly he can, provided he 
maintains his character, and makes him not unlike himself. Translation is a kind of drawing after the 
life, where every one will acknowledge there is a double sort of likeness, a good one and a bad. 'Tis 
one thing to draw the outlines true, the features like, the proportions exact, the colouring itself 
perhaps tolerable ; and another thing to make all these graceful, by the posture, the shadowings, and 
chiefly by the spirit which animates the whole. I cannot, without some indignation, look on an 
ill copy of an excellent original. Much less can I behold with patience Virgil, Homer, and some 
others, whose beauties I have been endeavouring all my life to imitate, so abused, as I may say, to 
their faces, by a botching interpreter. What English readers, unacquainted with Greek or Latin, 
will believe me, or any other man, when we commend those authors, and confess we derive all that is 
pardonable in us from their fountains, if they take those to be the same Poets, whom our Ogilbys 
have translated 1 But I dare assure them, that a good Poet is no more like himself, in a dull 
translation, than his carcase would be to his living body. There are many, who understand Greek 
and Latin, and yet are ignorant of their mother-tongue. The proprieties and delicacies of the 



PREFACE. I; 



English are known to few : 'tis impossible even for a good wit to understand and practise them, without 
the help of a liberal education, long reading, and digesting of those few good authors we have amongst 
us, the knowledge of men and manners, the freedom of habitudes and conversation with the best 
company of both sexes ; and, in short, without wearing off the rust, which he contracted, while he 
was laying in a stock of learning. Thus difficult it is to understand the purity of English, and 
critically to discern not only good writers from, bad, and a proper style from a corrupt, but also to 
distinguish that which is pure in a good author, from that which is vicious and corrupt in him. And 
for want of all these requisites, or the greatest part of them, most of our ingenious young men take 
up some cried-up English Poet for their model, adore him, and imitate him, as they think, without 
knowing wherein he is defective, where he is boyish and trifling, wherein either his thoughts are 
improper to his subjects, or his expressions unworthy of his thoughts, or the turn of both is 
unharmonious. 

Thus it appears necessary that a man should be a nice critic in his mother-tongue, before he 
attempts to translate a foreign language. Neither is it sufficient, that he be able to judge of words 
and style ; but he must be a master of them too : he must perfectly understand his author's tongue, 
and absolutely command his own. So that, to be a thorough translator, he must be a thorough Poet. 
Neither is it enough to give his author's sense in good English, in poetical expressions, and in musical 
numbers : for, though all these are exceeding difficult to perform, there yet remains an harder task ; 
and 'tis a secret of which few translators have sufficiently thought. I have already hinted a word or 
two concerning it; that is, the maintaining the character of an author, which distinguishes him from 
all others, and makes him appear that individual poet, whom you would interpret. For example, not 
only the thoughts, but the style and versification of Virgil and Ovid, are very different : yet I see, even 
in our best poets, who have translated some parts of them, that they have confounded their several 
talents ; and, by endeavouring only at the sweetness and harmony of numbers, have made them both 
so much alike, that if I did not know the originals, I should never be able to judge by the copies, which 
was Virgil, and which was Ovid. It was objected against a late noble painter,* that he drew many 
graceful pictures, but few of them were like. And this happened to him, because he always studied 
himself, more than those who sat to him. In such translators I can easily distinguish the hand which 
performed the work, but I cannot distinguish their poet from another. Suppose two authors are 
equally sweet, yet there is as great distinction to be made in sweetness, as in that of sugar, and that 
of honey. I can make the difference more plain, by giving you (if it be worth knowing) my own 
method of proceeding, in my translations out of four several poets in this vohrrne — -Virgil, Theocritus, 
Lucretius, and Horace. In each of these, before I undertook them, I considered the genius and 
distinguishing character of my author. I looked on Virgil as a succinct, grave, and majestic writer ; one 
who weighed not only every thought, but every word and syllable : who was still aiming to crowd 
his sense into as narrow a compass as possibly he could ; for which reason he is so very figurative, 
that he requires (I may almost say) a grammar apart to construe him. His verse is everywhere 
sounding the very thing in your ears, whose sense it bears : yet the numbers are perpetually varied, to 
increase the delight of the reader ; so that the same sounds are never repeated twice together. On 
the contrary, Ovid and Claudian, though they write in styles differing from each other, yet have each 
of them but one sort of music in their verses. AH the versification and little variety of Claudian is 
included within the compass of four or five lines, and then he begins again in the same tenour; 
perpetually closing his sense at the end of a verse, and that verse commonly which they call golden, 
or two substantives and two adjectives, with a verb betwixt them to keep the peace. Ovid, with all 
his sweetness, has as little variety of numbers and sound as he : he is always, as it were, upon the 
hand-gallop, and his verse runs upon carpet-ground. He avoids, like the others, all Synaloephas, or 
cutting off one vowel when it comes before another, in the following word ; so that minding only 
smoothness, he wants both variety and majesty. But to return to Virgil : though he is smooth where 
smoothness is required, yet he is so far from affecting it, that he seems rather to disdain it ; frequently 
makes use of Synalccphas, and concludes his sense in the middle of his verse. He is every where above 
conceits of epigrammatic wit, and gross hyperboles ; he maintains majesty in the midst of plainness 
1 o shines, but glares not ; and is stately without ambition, (which is the vice of Lucan). I drew my 
definition of poetical wit from my particular consideration of him : for propriety of thoughts and words 

• Sir P. Lely. 

o 2 



PREFACE. 



are only to be found in him ; and where they are proper they will be delightful. Pleasure follows of 
necessity, as the effect does the cause ; and therefore is not to be put into the definition. This exact 
propriety of Virgil I particularly regarded, as a great part of his character ; but must confess, to my 
shame, that I have not been able to translate any part of him so well, as to make him appear wholly 
like himself. For where the original is close, no version can reach it in the same compass. Hannibal 
Caro's, in the Italian, is the nearest, the most poetical, and the most sonorous of any translation of 
the iEneids : yet, though he takes the advantage of blank verse, he commonly allows two lines for 
one of Virgil, and does not always hit his sense. Tasso tells us, in his letters, that Sperone Speroni, 
a great Italian wit, who was his contemporary, observed of Virgil and Tully, that the Latin orator 
endeavoured to imitate the copiousness of Homer, the Greek poet ; and that the Latin poet made it 
his business to reach the conciseness of Demosthenes, the Greek orator. Virgil therefore, being so 
very sparing of his words, and leaving so much to be imagined by the reader, can never be translated 
as he ought, in any modern tongue. To make him copious, is to alter his character; and to 
translate him line for line is impossible ; because the Latin is naturally a more succinct language than 
either the Italian, Spanish, French, or even than the English, which, by reason of its monosyllables, is 
far the most compendious of them. Virgil is much the closest of any Eoman poet, and the Latin 
hexameter has more feet than the English heroic. 

Besides all this, an author has the choice of his own thoughts and words, which a translator has 
not ; he is confined by the sense of the inventor to those expressions which are the nearest to it : so 
that Virgil, studying brevity, and having the command of his own language, could bring those words 
into a narrow compass, which a translator cannot render without circumlocutions. In short, they, 
who have called him the torture of grammarians, might also have called him the plague of translators ; 
for he seems to have studied not to be translated. I own that, endeavouring to turn his Nisus and 
Euryalus as close as I was able, I have performed that Episode too literally ; that, giving more scope 
to Mezentius and Lausus, that version which has more of the majesty of Virgil, has less of his 
conciseness ; and all that I can promise for myself, is only that I have done both better than Ogilby, 
and perhaps as well as Caro. So that, methinks, I come like a malefactor, to make a speech upon the 
gallows, and to warn all other poets, by my sad example, from the sacrilege of translating Virgil. 
Yet, by considering him so carefully as I did before my attempt, I have made some faint resemblance 
of him ; and, had I taken more time, might possibly have succeeded better ; but never so well, as to 
have satisfied myself. 

He who excels all other poets in his own language, were it possible to do him right, must appear 
above them in our tongue; which, as my Lord Roscommon justly observes, approaches nearest to the 
Roman in its majesty : nearest indeed, but with a vast interval betwixt them. There is an inimitable 
grace in Virgil's words, and in them principally consists that beauty, which gives so inexpressible a 
pleasure to him who best understands their force. This diction of Ms, I must once again say, is never 
to be copied ; and, since it cannot, he will appear but lame in the best translation. The turns of his 
verse, his breakings, his propriety, his numbers, and bis gravity, I have as far imitated, as the poverty 
of our language, and the hastiness of my performance, would allow. I may seem sometimes to have 
varied from his sense ; but I think the greatest variations may be fairly deduced from him ; and 
where I leave his commentators, it may be I understand him better : at least I writ without 
consulting them in many places. But two particular lines in Mezentius and Lausus I cannot so easily 
excuse. They are indeed remotely allied to Virgil's sense ; but they are too like the tenderness of 
Ovid, and were printed before I had considered them enough to alter them. The first of them I have 
forgotten, and cannot easily retrieve, because the copy is at the press ; the second is this : — 

" When Lausus died, I was already slain." 

This appears pretty enough at first sight ; but I am convinced, for many reasons, that the expres- 
sion is too bold ; that Virgil would not have said it, though Ovid would. The reader may pardon it, 
if he please, for the freeness of the confession; and instead of that, and the former, admit these two 
lines, which are more according to the author : 



" Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design ; 
As I had used my fortune use thou thine." 



Having with much ado got clear of Virgil, I have in the next place to consider the genius of 



PREFACE. 197 



Lucretius, whom I have translated more happily in those parts of him which I undertook. If he was 
not of the best age of Roman Poetry, he was at least of that which preceded it ; and he himself 
refined it to that degree of perfection, both in the language and the thoughts, that he left an easy 
task to Virgil ; who, as he succeeded him in time, so he copied his excellencies : for the method of 
the Georgics is plainly derived from him. Lucretius had chosen a subject naturally crabbed; he 
therefore adorned it with poetical descriptions, and precepts of morality, in the beginning and ending 
of his books, which you see Virgil has imitated with great success, in those four books, which in my 
opinion are more perfect in their kind than even his divine ^Eneids. The turn of his verse he has 
likewise followed, in those places which Lucretius has most laboured, and some of his very lines he 
has transplanted into his own works, without much variation. If I am not mistaken, the distinguish- 
ing character of Lucretius (I mean of his soul and genius) is a certain kind of noble pride, and positive 
assertion of his opinions. He is every where confident of his own reason, and assuming an absolute 
command, not only over his vulgar reader, but even his patron Memmius. For he is always bidding 
him attend, as if he had the rod over him, and using a magisterial authority, .virile he instructs him. 
From his time to ours, I know none so like him, as our Poet and Philosopher of Malmsbury. This is 
that perpetual dictatorship, which is exercised by Lucretius ; who, though often in the wrong, yet 
seems to deal bond fide with his reader, and tells him nothing but what he thinks : in which plain 
sincerity, I believe, he differs from our Hobbes, who could not but be convinced, or at least doubt of 
some eternal truths, which he has opposed. But for Lucretius, he seems to disdain all manner of 
replies, and is so confident of his cause, that he is beforehand with his antagonists urging for them, 
whatever he imagined they could say, and leaving them, as he supposes, without an objection for the 
future : all this, too, with so much scorn and indignation, as if he were assured of the triumph before 
he entered into the lists. From this sublime and daring genius of his, it must of necessity come to 
pass, that his thoughts must be masculine, full of argumeutation, and that sufficiently warm. From 
the same fiery temper proceeds the loftiness of his expressions, and the perpetual torrent of his verse, 
where the barrenness of his subject does not too much constrain the quickness of his fancy. For there 
is no doubt to be made, but that he could have been every where as poetical, as he is in his descrip- 
tions, and in the moral part of his Philosophy, if he had not aimed more to instruct, in his System of 
Nature, than to delight. But he was bent upon making Memmius a materialist, and teaching him to 
defy an invisible power. In short, he was so much an atheist, that he forgot sometimes to be a poet. 
These are the considerations, which I had of that author, before I attempted to translate some parts 
of him. And, accordingly, I laid by my natural diffidence and scepticism for awhile, to take up that 
dogmatical way of his, which, as I said, is so much his character, as to make him that individual Poet. 
As for his opinions concerning the mortality of the soul, they are so absurd, that I cannot, if I would, 
believe them. I think a future state demonstrable even by natural arguments; at least, to take 
away rewards and punishments, is only a pleasing prospect to a man, who resolves beforehand not to 
live morally. But, on the other side, the thought of being nothing after death is a burthen insup- 
portable to a virtuous man, even though a heathen. We naturally aim at happiness, and cannot bear 
to have it confined to the shortness of our present being, especially when wc consider, that virtue is 
generally unhappy in this world, and vice fortunate : so that 'tis hope of futurity alone, that makes 
this life tolerable, in expectation of a better. Who would not commit all the excesses, to which he is 
prompted by his natural inclinations, if he may do them with security while he is alive, and be 
uncapable of punishment after he is dead? If he be cunning and secret enough to avoid the laws, 
there is no band of morality to restrain him : for fame and reputation are weak ties : many men have 
not the least sense of them : powerful men are only awed by them, as they conduce to their interest, 
and that not always, when a passion is predominant : and no man will be contained within the bounds 
of duty, when he may safely transgress them. These are my thoughts abstractedly, and without 
entering into the notions of our Christian faith, which is the proper business of divines. 

But there are other arguments in this poem (which I have turned into English) not belonging to 
tin' mortality of the soul, which are strong enough to a reasonable man, to make him less in love with 
life, and consequently in less apprehensions of death. Such as are the natural satiety proceeding 
from a perpetual enjoyment of the same things; the inconveniences of old age, which make him in- 
capable of corporeal pleasures; the decay of understanding and memory, which render him con- 
temptible, and useless to others. These, and many other reasons, so pathetically urged, so beautifully 
expressod, so adorned with examplos, and so admirably raised by the Protopopeia of Nature, who is 



PREFACE. 



brought in speaking to her children, with so much authority and vigour, deserve the pains I have 
taken with them, which I hope have not been unsuccessful or unworthy of my author : at least I must 
take the liberty to own, that I was pleased with my own endeavours, which but rarely happens to me; 
and that I am not dissatisfied upon the review of any thing I have done in this author. 

It is true, there is something, and that of some moment, to be objected against my Englishing the 
Nature of Love,* from the fourth book of Lucretius : and I can less easily answer why I translated it, 
than why I thus translated it. The objection arises from the obscenity of the subject; which is 
aggravated by the too lively and alluring delicacy of the verses. In the first place, without the least 
formahty of an excuse, I own it pleased me : and let my enemies make the worst they can of this 
confession : I am not yet so secure from that passion, but that I want my author's antidotes against it. 
He has given the truest and most philosophical account both of the disease and remedy, which I ever 
found in any author : for which reasons I translated him. But it will be asked why I turned him into 
this luscious English ? for I will not give it a worse word. Instead of an answer, I would ask again of 
my siipercilious adversaries, whether I am not bound, when I translate an author, to do him all the 
right I can, and to translate him to the best advantage ? If, to mince his meaning, which I am satis- 
fied was honest and instructive, I had either omitted some part of what he said, or taken from the 
strength of his expression, I certainly had wronged him ; and that freeness of thought and words 
being thus cashiered in my hands, he had no longer been Lucretius. If nothing of this kind be to be 
read, physicians must not study nature, anatomies must not be seen, and somewhat I could say of 
particular passages in books, which, to avoid profaneness, I do not name. But the intention qualifies 
the act ; and both mine and my author's were to instruct as well as please. It is most certain that 
barefaced bawdry is the poorest pretence to wit imaginable. If I should say otherwise, I should have 
two great authorities against me. The one is the Essay on Poetry, which I publicly valued before 
I knew the author of it, and with the commendation of which my Lord Roscommon so happily begins 
his Essay on Translated Verse : the other is no less than our admired Cowley, who says the same 
thing in other words : for in his Ode concerning Wit he writes thus of it 

" Much less can that have any place, 
At which a virgin hides her face 
Such dross the fire must purge away ; 'tis just 
The author blush, there, where the reader must." 

Here indeed Mr. Cowley goes farther than the Essay : for he asserts plainly, that obscenity has no 
place in wit : the other only says, 'tis a poor pretence to wit, or an ill sort of wit, which has nothing 
more to support it than bare-faced ribaldry ; which is both unmannerly in itself, and fulsome to the 
reader. But neither of these will reach my case : for in the first place, I am only the translator, not 
the inventor ; so that the heaviest part of the censure falls upon Lucretius, before it reaches me ; in 
the next place, neither he nor I have used the grossest words, but the cleanest metaphors we could 
find, to palliate the broadness of the meaning; and, to conclude, have carried the poetical part no 
farther, than the philosophical exacted. 

There are a sort of blundering, half-witted people, who make a great deal of noise about a verbal 
slip ; though Horace would instruct them better in true criticism : 

" non ego paucis 

Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, 
Aut humana parum cavit natura." 

True judgment in poetry, like that in painting, takes a view of the whole together, whether it be 
good or not ; and where the beauties are more than the faults, concludes for the poet against the little 
judge. It is a sign that malice is hard driven, when it is forced to lay hold on a word or syllable : to 
arraign a man is one thing, and to cavil at him is another. In the midst of an ill-natured generation 
of scribblers, there is always justice enough left in mankind, to protect good writers : and they too 
are obliged, both by humanity and interest, to espouse each other's cause against false critics, who are 
the common enemies. 

This last consideration puts me in mind of what I owe to the ingenious and learned translator of 

• Omitted in the present edition. 



PREFACE. 199 



Lucretius. I have not here designed to rob him of any part of that commendation which he has so 
justly acquired by the whole author, whose fragments only fall to my portion. What I have now 
performed, is no more than I intended above twenty years ago. The ways of our translation are very 
different ; he follows him more closely than I have done, which became an interpreter of the whole 
Poem : I take more liberty, because it best suited with my design, which was to make him as pleasing 
a3 I could. He had been too voluminous, had he used my method in so long a work ; and I had 
certainly taken his, had I made it my business to translate the whole. The preference, then, is justly 
his ; and I join with Mr. Evelyn in the confession of it, with this additional advantage to him, that his 
reputation is already established in this Poet, mine is to make its fortune in the world. If I have 
been any where obscure, in following our common author, or if Lucretius himself is to be condemned, I 
refer myself to his excellent annotations, which I have often read, and always with some new pleasure. 
My preface begins already to swell upon me, and looks as if I were afraid of my reader, by so 
tedious a bespeaking of him : and yet I have Horace and Theocritus upon my hands; but the Greek 
gentleman shall quickly be dispatched, because I have more business with the Roman. 

That which distinguishes Theocritus from all other Poets, both Greek and Latin, and which raises 
him even above Virgil in his Eclogues, is the inimitable tenderness of his passions, and the natural 
expression of them in words so becoming of a pastoral. A simplicity shines through all he writes : he 
shows his art and learning by disguising both. His shepherds never rise above their country educa- 
tion in their complaints of love. There is the same difference betwixt him and Virgil, as there is 
betwixt Tasso's Amiuta and the Pastor Fido of Guarini. Virgil's shepherds are too well read in the 
Philosophy of Epicurus and of Plato; and Guarini's seem to have been bred in courts : but Theocritus 
and Tasso have taken theirs from cottages and plains. It was said of Tasso, in relation to his simi- 
litudes, mai esce del bosco ; that he never departed from the woods, that is, all his comparisons were 
taken from the country. The same may be. said of our Theocritus. He is softer than Ovid ; he 
touches the passions more delicately, and performs all this out of his own fund, without diving into 
the arts and sciences for a supply. Even his Doric dialect has an incomparable sweetness in its 
clownishness, like a fair shepherdess in her country russet, talking in a Yorkshire tone. This was 
impossible for Virgil to imitate ; because the severity of the Roman language denied him that advan- 
tage. Spenser has endeavoured it in his Shepherd's Kalendar ; but neither will it succeed in English ; 
for which reason I forbore to attempt it. For Theocritus writ to Sicilians, who spoke that dialect ; 
and I direct this part of my translations to our ladies, who neither understand nor will take pleasure 
in such homely expressions. 

I proceed to Horace. Take him in parts, and he is chiefly to be considered in his three different 
talents, as he was a Critic, a Satirist, and a Writer of Odes. His morals are uniform, and run through 
all of them : for let his Dutch commentators say what they will, his philosophy was Epicurean ; and 
he made use of gods and providence, only to serve a turn in Poetry. But since neither his Criticisms, 
which are the most instructive of any that are written in this art, nor his Satires, which are incom- 
parably beyond Juvenal's (if to laugh and rally is to be preferred to railing and declaiming), are uo 
part of my present undertaking, I confine myself wholly to his Odes. These are also of several sorts : 
some of them are panegyrical, others moral, the rest jovial, or (if I may so call them) Bacchanalian. 
As difficult as he makes it, and as indeed it is, to imitate Pindar, yet, in his most elevated flights, and 
in the sudden changes of his subject with almost imperceptible connexions, that Theban Poet is his 
master. But Horace is of the more bounded fancy, and confines himself strictly to one sort of verse, 
or stanza, in every Ode. That which will distinguish his style from all other Poets, is the elegance of 
his words, and the numerousness of his verse. There is nothing so delicately turned in all the Roman 
language. There appears in every part of his diction, or, to speak English, in all his expressions, a 
kind of noble and bold purity. His words are chosen with as much exactness as Virgil's ; but there 
seems to be a greater spirit in them. There is a secret happiness attends his choice, which in 
Petronius is called Curiosa Fclicitas, and which I suppose he had from the feliciter audcre of Horace 
himself. But the most distinguishing part of all his character seems to me to be, his briskness, his 
jollity, and his good humour; and those I have chiefly endeavoured to copy. His other excellencies, 
I confess, are above my imitation. One Odo, which infinitely pleased me in the reading, I havo 
attempted to translate in Pindaric Verse : it is that, which is inscribed to the present Earl of 
Rochester, to whom I have particular obligations, which this small testimony of my gratitude can 
never pay. It is his darling in the Latin, and I havo taken some pains to mako it my master-piece in 



200 



PREFACE. 



English : for which reason I took this kind of verse, which allows more latitude than any other. Every 
one knows it was introduced into our language, in this age, by the happy genius of Mr. Cowley. The 
seeming easiness of it has made it spread : but it has not been considered enough, to be so well 
cultivated. It languishes in almost every hand but his, and some very few, whom, to keep the rest in 
countenance, I do not name. He, indeed, has brought it as near perfection as was possible in so short 
a time. But if I may be allowed to speak my mind modestly, and without injury to his sacred ashes, 
somewhat of the purity of the English, somewhat of more equal thoughts, somewhat of sweetness in 
the numbers, in one word, somewhat of a finer turn, and more Lyrical Verse, is yet wanting. As for 
the soul of it, which consists in the warmth and vigour of fancy, the masterly figures, and the 
copiousness of imagination, he has excelled all others in this kind. Yet, if the kind itself be capable of 
more perfection, though rather in the ornamental parts of it, than the essential, what rules of morality 
or respect have I broken, in naming the defects, that they may hereafter be amended ? Imitation is 
a nice point, and there are few Poets who deserve to be models in all they write. Milton's Paradise 
Lost is admirable; but am I therefore bound to maintain, that there are no fiats amongst his 
elevations, when 'tis evident he creeps along sometimes, for above an hundred lines together ? Cannot 
I admire the height of his invention, and the strength of his expression, without defending his 
antiquated words, and the perpetual harshness of their sound 1 It is as much commendation as a man 
can bear, to own him excellent ; all beyond it is idolatry. 

Since Pindar was the prince of Lyric Poets, let me have leave to say, that, in imitating him, our 
numbers should, for the most part, be Lyrical. For variety, or rather where the majesty of thought 
requires it, they may be stretched to the English Heroic of five feet, and to the French Alexandrine of 
six. But the ear must preside, and direct the judgment to the choice of numbers. Without the nicety 
of this, the harmony of Pindaric Verse can never be complete : the cadency of one line must be a rule 
to that of the next ; and the sound of the former must slide gently into that which follows ; without 
leaping from one extreme into another. It must be done like the shadowings of a picture, which fall 
by degrees into a darker colour. I shall be glad, if I have so explained myself as to be understood ; 
but if I have not, quod negueo dicere, et sentio tantum, must be my excuse. 

There remains much more to be said on this subject; but, to avoid envy, I will be silent. What 
I have said is the general opinion of the best judges, and in a manner has been forced from me, by 
seeing a noble sort of Poetiy so happily restored by one man, and so grossly copied by almost all the 
rest. A musical ear, and a great genius, if another Mr. Cowley could arise, in another age may bring 
it to perfection. In the meantime, 



" Fungar vice cotis, acutum 

Reddere quae femim valet, exsors ipsa secandi." 

I hope it will not be expected from me that I should say anything of my fellow undertakers in this 
Miscellany. Some of them are too nearly related to me, to be commended without suspicion of 
partiality : others, I am sure, need it not ; and the rest I have not perused. 

To conclude, I am sensible that I have written this too hastily and too loosely : I fear I have been 
tedious, and which is worse, it comes out from the first draught, and uncorrected. This I grant is no 
excuse ; for it may be reasonably urged, why he did not write with more leisure, or, if he had it not 
(which was certainly my case) why did he attempt to write on so nice a subject? The objection is 
unanswerable ; but, in part of recompense, let me assure the reader, that, in hasty productions, he is 
sure to meet with an author's present sense, which cooler thoughts would possibly have disguised. 
There is undoubtedly more of spirit, though not of judgment, in these uncorrect Essays, and con- 
sequently, though my hazard be the greater yet the reader's pleasure is not the less. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS. 



201 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS. 



C 



AMARYLLIS 



OE THE THIBD IDYLLIUH OF THEOCEITUS, PAKAPHEASED. 



To Amaryllis love compels my way, 

My browzing goats upon the mountains stray : 

Tityrus, tend them well, and see them fed 
In pastures fresh, and to their watering led ; 
And 'ware the ridgling with his budding head. 6 
Ah, beauteous nymph ! can you forget your love, 
The conscious grottos, and the shady grove ; 
Where Btretch'd at ease your tender limbs were 

laid, 
Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd ] 
Then I was call 'd your darling, your desire, 10 
With kisses such as set my soul on fire : 
But you are changed, yet I am still the same ; 
My heart maintains for both a double flame ; 
Grieved, but unmoved, and patient of your scorn : 
So faithful I, and you so much forsworn ! 15 

1 die, and death will finish all my pain ; 
Yet, ere I die, behold me once again : 

Am I so much deform'd, so changed of late 1 

What partial judges are our love and hate ! 

Ten wildings have I gather'd for my dear ; * 

How ruddy like your lips their streaks appear ! 

Far-off you view'd them with a longing eye 

Upon the topmost branch (the tree was high) : 

Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I swerved, 

And for to-morrow have ten more reserved. ^ 

Look on me kindly, and some pity show, 

Or give me leave at least to look on you. 

Some god transform me by his heavenly power 

EVn to a bee to buzz within your bower, 

The winding ivy-chaplet to invade, 30 

And folded fern, that your fair forehead shade. 

Now to my cost the force of love I find ; 

Tho heavy hand it bears on human kind. 

The milk of tigers was his infant food, 

Taught from his tender years the taste of blood ; 33 

His brother whelps and he ran wild about tho 

wood. 
Ah nymph, train'd up in his tyrannic court, 
To make the sufferings of your slaves your sport ! 
Unheeded ruin I treacherous delight ! 
Oh polish'd hardness, soften'd to the sight ! 40 
Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn, 
Like midnight those, and these like break of 

morn ! 
Smile once again, revive me with your charms ; 
And let me die contented in your arms. 
I would not ask to live another day, 45 

Might I but sweetly kiss my soul away. 



Ycr. 42. 



and these like break of morn !] " And 



thoso eyos tho break of day? — Shakspmre. Joun Warton. 



Ah, why am I from empty joys debarr'd 1 

For kisses are but empty when compared. 

I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear 

The garland, which I wove for you to wear, M 

Of parsley, with a wreath of ivy bound, 

And border' d with a rosy edging round. 

What pangs I feel, unpitied and unheard ! 

Since I must die, why is my fate deferr'd ! 

I strip my body of my shepherd's frock : 55 

Behold that dreadful downfal of a rock, 

Where yon old fisher views the waves from high ! 

'Tis that convenient leap I mean to try. 

You would be pleased to see me plunge to shore, 

But better pleased if I should rise no more. °° 

I might have read my fortune long ago, 

When, seeking my success in love to know, 

I tried the infallible prophetic way, 

A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay : 

I struck, and yet no lucky crack did follow ; M 

Yet I struck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow : 

And, which was worse, if any worse could prove, 

The withering leaf foreshow 'd your withering love. 

Yet farther (ah, how far a lover dares !) 

My last recourse I had to sieve and shears ; 7 ° 

And told the witch Agreo my disease : 

(Agreo, that in harvest used to lease : 

But harvest done, to chare-work did aspire ; 

Meat, drink, and two-pence was her daily hire,) 

To work she went, her channs she mutter 'd o'er, 7o 

And yet the resty sieve wagg'd ne'er the more; 

I wept for woe, the testy beldame swore, 

And, foaming with her god, foretold my fate ; 

That I was doom'd to love, and you to hate. 

A milk-white goat for you I did provide ; 

Two milk-white kids run frisking by her side, 

For which the nut-brown lass, Erithacis, 

Full often offer'd many a savoury kiss. 

Hers they shall be, since you refuse the price : 

What madman would o'erstand his market 

twice ! M 

My right eye itches, some good luck is near, 
Perhaps my Amaryllis may appear ; 
I '11 set up such a note as she shall hear. 
What nymph but my melodious voice would 

move] 
She must be flint, if she refuse my love. 
Hippomenes, who ran with noblo strifo 
To win his lady, or to lose his life, 
(What shift some men will make to got a wife !) 
Threw down a golden apple in her way ; 
For all her haste she could not choose but stay : 
Renown said, Run; the glittering bribe cried, 

Hold; . °* 

Tho man might have been hang'd, but for his gold. 
Yet some suppose 'twas love (some few indeed) 
That stopp'd tho fatal fury of her speed : 
She saw, she sigh'd ; her nimble feet refuse 10 ° 
Their wonted speed, and she took pains to lose. 



202 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS. 



A Prophet some, and some a Poet cry, 
(No matter which, so neither of them lie) 
From steepy Othrys' top to Pylus drove 
His herd ; and for his pains enjoy'd his love : 106 
If such another wager should be laid, 
I '11 find the man, if you can find the maid. 
Why name I men, when Love extended finds 
His power on high, and in celestial minds ? 
Venus the shepherd's homely habit took, no 

And managed something else besides the crook ; 
Nay, when Adonis died, was heard to roar, 
And never from her heart forgave the boar. 
How blest was fair Endymion with his moon, 
Who sleeps on Latmos' top from night to noon ! 
What Jason from Medea's love possess'd, u6 

You shall not hear, but know 'tis like the rest. 
My aching head can scarce support the pain ; 
This cursed love will surely turn my brain : 
Feel how it shoots, and yet you take no pity ; 12 ° 
Nay then 'tis time to end my doleful ditty. 
A clammy sweat does o 'er my temples creep ; 
My heavy eyes are urged with iron sleep : 
I lay me down to gasp my latest breath, 
The wolves will get a breakfast by my death ; 125 
Yet scarce enough their hunger to supply, 
For love has made me carrion ere I die. 



THE BPITHALAMIUM OF HELEN 
AND MENELAUS. 

FEOM THE EIGHTEENTH IDYLMUH OF THEOCRITUS. 



Twelve Spartan virgins, noble, young, and fair, 

With violet wreaths adorn'd their flowing hair; 

And to the pompous palace did resort, 

Where Menelaus kept his royal court. 

There hand in hand a comely choir they led ; 5 

To find a blessing to his nuptial bed, 

With curious needles wrought, and painted flowers 

bespread. 
Jove's beauteous daughter now his bride must be, 
And Jove himself was less a god than he : 
For this their artful hands instruct the lute to 

sound, 10 

Their feet assist their hands, and justly beat the 

ground. 
This was their song : Why, happy bridegroom, 

why, 
Ere yet the stars are kindled in the sky, 
Ere twilight shades, or evening dews are shed, 
Why dost thou steal so soon away to bed? 16 

Has Somnus brush'd thy eye-lids with his rod, 
Or do thy legs refuse to bear their load, 
With flowing bowls of a more generous god ? 
If gentle slumber on thy temples creep, 
(But, naughty man, thou dost not mean to sleep) 20 
Betake thee to thy bed, thou drowsy drone, 
Sleep by thyself, and leave thy bride alone : 
Go, leave her with her maiden mates to play 
At sports more harmless till the break of day : 
Give us this evening ; thou hast morn and night, 25 
And all the year before thee, for delight. 
Oh, happy youth ! to thee, among the crowd 
Of rival princes, Cupid sneezed aloud; 
And every lucky omen sent before, 
To meet thee landing on the Spartan shore. 30 



Of all our heroes thou canst boast alone, 

That Jove, whene'er he thunders, calls thee son : 

Betwixt two sheets thou shalt enjoy her bare, 

With whom no Grecian virgin can compare ; 

So soft, so sweet, so balmy and so fair. *• 

A boy, like thee, would make a kingly line : 

But oh, a gild like her must be divine. 

Her equals, we, in years, but not in face, 

Twelve score viragos of the Spartan race, 

While naked to Eurotas' banks we bend, 40 

And there in manly exercise contend, 

When she appears, are all eclipsed and lost, 

And hide the beauties that we made our boast. 

So, when the night and winter disappear, 

The purple morning, rising with the year, * 

Salutes the spring, as her celestial eyes 

Adorn the world, and brighten all the skies : 

So beauteous Helen shines among the rest, 

Tall, slender, straight, with all the Graces blest. 

As pines the mountains, or as fields the corn, m 

Or as Thessalian steeds the race adorn ; 

So rosy-colour'd Helen is the pride 

Of Lacedaemon, and of Greece beside. 

Like her no nymph can willing osiers bend 

In basket-works, which painted streaks commend: 

With Pallas in the loom she may contend. S6 

But none, ah ! none can animate the lyre, 

And the mute strings with vocal souls inspire : 

Whether the learn'd Minerva be her theme, 

Or chaste Diana bathing in the stream ; 60 

None can record their heavenly praise so well 

As Helen, in whose eyes ten thousand Cupids 

dwell. 
Oh, fair, oh, graceful ! yet with maids inroll'd, 
But whom to-morrow's sun a matron shall behold ! 
Yet ere to-morrow's sun shall show his head, m 
The dewy paths of meadows we will tread, 
For crowns and chaplets to adorn thy head. 
Where all shall weep, and wish for thy return, 
As bleating lambs their absent mother mourn. 
Our noblest maids shall to thy name bequeath 70 
The boughs of Lotos, form'd into a wreath. 
This monument, thy maiden beauties' due, 
High on a plane-tree shall be hung to view : 
On the smooth rind the passenger shall see 
Thy name engraved, and worship Helen's tree : 7S 
Balm, from a silver box distill'd around, 
Shall all bedew the roots, and scent the sacred 

ground. 
The balm, 'tis true, can aged plants prolong, 
But Helen's name will keep it ever young. 
Hail bride, hail bridegroom, son-in-law to Jove ! 8J 
With fruitful joys Latona bless your love ! 
Let Venus furnish you with full desires, 
Add vigour to your wills, and fuel to your fires ! 
Almighty Jove augment your wealthy store, 
Give much to you, and to his grandsons more ! &5 
From generous loins a generous race will spring, 
Each girl, like her, a queen ; each boy, like you, 

a king. 
Now sleep, if sleep you can ; but while you rest, 
Sleep close, with folded arms, and breast to breast : 
Rise in the morn ; but oh ! before you rise, 90 
Forget not to perform your morning sacrifice. 
We will be with you ere the crowing cock 
Salutes the light, and struts before his feather'd 

flock. 
Hymen, Hymen, to thy triumphs run, 
And view the mighty spoils thou hast in battle 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS. 



203 



THE DESPAIRING LOVER. 



FKOM THE TWENTY-THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCK1TUS. 



With inauspicious love, a wretched swain 

Pursued the fairest nymph of all the plain ; 

Fairest indeed, but prouder far than fair, 

She plunged him hopeless in a deep despair : 

Her heavenly form too haughtily she prized, 5 

His person hated, and his gifts despised; 

Nor knew the force of Cupid's cruel darts, 

Nor fear'd his awful power on human hearts ; 

But either from her hopeless lover fled, 

Or with disdainful glances shot him dead. 10 

No kiss, no look, to cheer the drooping boy ; 

No word she spoke, she scom'd ev'n to deny. 

But, as a hunted panther casts about 

Her glaring eyes, and pricks her listening ears to 

scout, 
So she, to shun his toils, her cares employ'd, 15 
And fiercely in her savage freedom joy 'd. 
Her mouth she writhed, her forehead taught to 

frown, 
Her eyes to sparkle fires to love unknown : 
Her sallow cheeks her envious mind did show, 
And every feature spoke aloud the curstness of a 

shrew. -° 

Yet could not he his obvious fate escape ; 
His love still dress'd her in a pleasing shape ; 
Aud every sullen frown, and bitter scom, 
But fann'd the fuel that too fast did bum. 
Long time, unequal to his mighty pain, 26 

He strove to curb it, but he strove in vain : 
At last his woes broke out, and begg'd relief 
With tears, the dumb petitioners of grief: 
With tears so tender, as adom'd his love, 
And any heart, but only her's, would move. 30 
Trembling before her bolted doors he stood, 
And there pour'd ovit the unprofitable flood : 
Staring his eyes, and haggard was his look ; 
Then, kissing first the threshold, thus he spoke. 

Ah nymph, more cruel than of human race ! M 
Thy tigress heart belies thy angel face : 
Too well thou show'st thy pedigree from stone : 
Thy grandame's was the first by Pyrrha thrown : 
Unworthy thou to be so long desired ; 
But so my love, and so my fate required. 40 

I beg not now (for 'tis in vain) to live ; 
But take this gift, the last that I can give. 
This friendly cord shall soon decide the strife 
Betwixt my lingering love and loathsome life : 
This moment puts an end to all my pain ; 45 

I shall no more despair, nor thou disdain. 
Farewell, ungrateful aud unkind ! I go 
Condemn'd by thee to those sad shades below. 
I go the extremest remedy to prove, 
To drink oblivion, and to drench my love : 60 

There happily to lose my long desires : 
But ah ! what draught so deep to quench my fires? 
Farewell, yo never-opening gatc;<, ye stones, 
And threshold guilty of my midnight moans ! 



What I have suffer' d here ye know too well ; 6S 
What I shall do the gods and I can tell. 
The rose is fragrant, but it fades in time ; 
The violet sweet, but quickly past the prime; 
White lilies hang their heads, and soon decay, 
And whiter snow in minutes melts away : m 

Such is your blooming youth, and withering so : 
The time will come, it will, when you shall know 
The rage of love ; your haughty heart shall burn 
In flames like mine, and meet a like return. 
Obdurate as you are, oh ! hear at least M 

My dying prayers, and grant my last request. 
When first you ope your doors, and, passing by, 
The sad ill-omen'd object meets your eye, 
Think it not lost, a moment if you stay ; 
The breathless wretch, so made by you, survey : '° 
Some cruel pleasure will from thence arise, 
To view the mighty ravage of your eyes. 
I wish (but oh ! my wish is vain, I fear) 
The kind oblation of a falling tear : 
Then loose the knot, and take me from the 
place, 75 

And spread your mantle o'er my grisly face ; 
Upon my livid lips bestow a kiss : 
Oh, envy not the dead, they feel not bliss ! 
Nor fear your kisses can restore my breath ; 
E'en you are not more pitiless than death. m 

Then for my corpse a homely grave provide, 
Which love and me from public scorn may hide. 
Thrice call upon my name, thrice beat your 

breast, 
And hail me thrice to everlasting rest : 
Last let my tomb this sad inscription bear : & 
A wretch whom love has kill'd lies buried here ; 
passengers, Aminta's eyes beware. 

Thus having said, and furious with his love, 
He heaved with more than human force to move 
A weighty stone (the labour of a team) 
And raised from thence he reach'd the neigh- 
bouring beam : 
Ai-ound its bulk a sliding knot he throws, 
And fitted to his neck the fatal noose : 
Then spurning backward, took a swing, till death 
Crept up, and stopp'd the passage of his breath. x 
The bounce burst ope the door; the scornful fair 
Relentless look'd, and saw him beat his quivering 

feet in air ; 
Nor wept his fate, nor cast a pitying eye, 
Nor took him down, but brush'd regardless by : 
And, as she pass'd, her chance of fate was such, lno 
Her garments touch'd the dead, polluted by the 

touch : 
Next to the dance, thence to the bath did move ; 
The bath was sacred to the god of Love ; 
Whose injured image, with a wrathful eye, 
Stood threatening from a pedestal on high : 10s 
Nodding awhile, and watchful of his blow, 
He fell ; and falling crush'd the ungrateful nymph 

below ; 
Her gushing blood the pavement all besmear'd ; 
And this her last expiring voice was heard; 
Lovers, farewell, revenge has reach'd rnyscom; no 
Thus waru'd, be wise, and love for love return. 



204 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS. 



THE BEGINNING OF 

THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCRETIUS. 



Delight of human kind, and gods above, 
Parent of Rome, propitious Queen of Love, 
Whose vital power, air, earth, and sea supplies, 
And breeds whate'er is born beneath the rolling 

skies ; 
For every kind, by thy prolific might, 5 

Springs, and beholds the regions of the light. 
Thee, goddess, thee the clouds and tempests fear, 
And at thy pleasing presence disappear : 
For thee the land in fragrant flowers is dress'd ; 
For thee the ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy 

breast ; 10 

And heaven itself with more serene and purer 

light is bless'd. 
For when the rising spring adorns the mead, 
And a new scene of nature stands displayed, 
When teeming buds, and cheerful greens appear, 
And western gales unlock the lazy year : 15 

The joyous birds thy welcome first express, 
Whose native songs thy genial fire confess ; 
Then savage beasts bound o'er their slighted food, 
Struck with thy darts, and tempt the raging flood. 
All nature is thy gift; earth, air, and sea : 20 

Of all that breathes, the various progeny, 
Stung with delight, is goaded on by thee. 
O'er barren mountains, o'er the flowery plain, 
The leafy forest, and the liquid main, 
Extends thy uncontroll'd and boundless reign. ^ 
Through all the living regions dost thou move, 
And scatter'st, where thou go'st, the kindly seeds 

of love. 
Since then the race of every living thing 
Obeys thy power ; since nothing new can spring 
Without thy warmth, without thyinfluence bear, 30 
Or beautiful, or lovesome can appear ; 
Be thou my aid, my tuneful song inspire, 
And kindle with thy own productive fire ; 
While all thy province, Nature, I survey, 
And sing to Memmius an immortal lay 
Of heaven and earth, and every where 

wondrous power display : 
To Memmius, under thy sweet influence born, 
Whom thou with all thy gifts and graces dost 

adorn. 
The rather then assist my Muse and me, 
Infusing verses worthy him and thee. m 

Meantime on land and sea let barbarous discord 

cease, 
And lull the listening world in universal peace. 
To thee mankind their soft repose must owe ; 
For thou alone that blessing canst bestow; 
Because the brutal business of the war 4S 

Is managed by thy dreadful servant's care ; 
Who oft retires from fighting fields, to prove 
The pleasing pains of thy eternal love ; 



thy 



And, panting on thy breast, supinely lies, 
While with .thy heavenly form he feeds his fa- 

mish'd eyes ; 60 

Sucks in with open lips thy balmy breath, 
By turns restored to life, and plunged in pleasing 

death. 
There while thy curling limbs about him move, 
Involved and fetter'd in the links of love, 
When, wishing all, he nothing can deny, 65 

Thy charms in that auspicious moment try ; 
With winning eloquence our peace implore, 
And quiet to the weary world restore. 



THE BEGINNING OF THE 



SECOND BOOK OF LUCRETIUS. 



'Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore 

The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar : 

Not that another's pain is our delight ; 

But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight. 

'Tis pleasant also to behold from far 

The moving legions mingled in the war. 

But much more sweet thy labouring steps to 

guide 
To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied, 
And all the magazines of learning fortified : 
From thence to look below on human kind, 10 
Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind : 
To see vain fools ambitiously contend 
For wit and power ; their last endeavours bend 
To outshine each other, waste their time and 

health 
In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth. I5 
Oh, wretched man ! in what a mist of life, 
Inclosed with dangers and with noisy strife, 
He spends his little span ; and overfeeds 
His cramm'd desires, with more than nature 

needs ! 
For nature wisely stints our appetite, 
And craves no more than undisturb'd delight : 
Which minds, unmix'd with cares and fears, 

obtain ; 
A soul serene, a body void of pain. 
So little this corporeal frame requires ; 
So bounded are our natural desires, 
That wanting all, and setting pain aside, 
With bare privation sense is satisfied. 
If golden sconces hang not on the walls, 
To light the costly suppers and the balls ," 
If the proud palace shines not with the state 30 
Of burnish'd bowls, and of reflected plate ; 
If well-tuned harps, nor the more pleasing sound 
Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound ; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS. 



205 



Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade, 
By the cool stream our careless limbs are laid ; K 
"With cheaper pleasures innocently bless'd, 
When the warm spring with gaudy flowers is 

dress'd. 
Nor will the raging fever's fire abate, 
With golden canopies and beds of state : 
But the poor patient will as soon be sound 40 

On the hard mattress, or the mother ground. 
Then since our bodies are not eased the more 
By birth, or power, or fortune's wealthy store, 
'Tis plain, these useless toys of every kind 
As littlo can relieve the labouring mind : 45 

Unless we could suppose the dreadful sight 
Of marshall'd legions moving to the fight, 
Could, with their sound and terrible array, 
Expel our fears, and drive the thoughts of death 

away. 
But, since the supposition vain appears, 50 

Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears, 
Are not with sounds to be affrighted thence, 
But in the midst of pomp pursue the prince, 
Not awed by arms, but in the presence bold, 
Without respect to purple, or to gold ; 55 

Why should not we these pageantries despise ; 
Whose worth but in our want of reason lies ? 
For life is all in wandering errors led ; 
And just as children are surprised with dread, 
And tremble in the dark, so riper years 60 

E'en in broad daylight are possess'd with fears ; 
And shake at shadows fanciful and vain, 
As those which in the breasts of children reign. 
These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell, 
No rays of outward sunshine can dispel ; M 

But nature and right reason must display 
Their beams abroad, and bring the darksome soul 

to day. 



THE LATTER PART OF TIIE 



THIRD BOOK OF LUCRETIUS ; 

AGAINST THE FEAB OK DEATH. 



WriAT has this bugbear death to frighten man, 
If souls can die, as well as bodies can ? 
For, as before our birth we felt no pain, 
AVhcn Punic arms infested land and main, 
When heaven and earth were in confusion hurl'd, 
For the debated empire of the world, 
Which awed with dreadful expectation lay, 
Sure to bo slaves, uncertain who should sway : 
So, when our mortal flame shall be disjoin'd, 
The lifeless lump uncoupled from the mind, 10 
From sense of grief and pain we shall bo free ; 
Wo shall not feel, because we shall not be. 
Though earth in seas, and seas in heaven were 

lost, 
We should not move, we only should bo toss'd. 
Nay, e'en supposo, when we have suffer'd fate, 15 
The soul could foci in her divided state, 
What's that to us? for we are only we 
While souls and bodies in one frame agree. 
Nay, though our atoms should revolve by chanco, 
And matter leap into the former dance ; w 



Though time our life and motion could restore, 

And make our bodies what they were before, 

What gain to us would all this bustle bring ? 

The new-made man would be another thing. 

When once an interrupting pause is made, M 

That individual being is decay'd. 

We, who are dead and gone, shall bear no part 

In all the pleasures, nor shall feel the smart, 

Which to that other mortal shall accrue, 

Whom of our matter time shall mould anew. ^ 

For backward if you look on that long space 

Of ages past, and view the changing face 

Of matter, toss'd and variously combined 

In sundry shapes, 'tis easy for the mind 

From thence to infer, that seeds of things have 

been K 

In the same order as they now are seen : 
Which yet our dark remembrance cannot trace, 
Because a pause of rife, a gaping space, 
Has come betwixt, where memory lies dead, 
And all the wandering motions from the sense 

are fled. 4U 

For whosoe'er shall in misfortunes live, 
Must he, when those misfortunes shall arrive ; 
And since the man who is not, feels not woe, 
(For death exempts him, and wards off the blow, 
Which we, the living, only feel and bear) * 

What is there left for us in death to fear? 
When once that pause of life has come between, 
'Tis just the same as we had never been. 
And therefore if a man bemoan his lot, 
That after death his mouldering limbs shall rot, 50 
Or flames, or jaws of beasts devour his mass, 
Know, he 's an unsincere, unthinking ass. 
A secret sting remains within his mind ; 
The fool is to his own cast offals kind. 
He boasts no sense can after death remain ; 6S 
Yet makes himself a part of life again ; 
As if some other lie could feel the pain. 
If, while we live, this thought molest his head, 
What wolf or vulture shall devour mo dead ? 
He wastes his days in idle grief, nor can w 

Distinguish 'twixt the body and the man ; 
But thinks himself can still himself survive ; 
And, what when dead he feels not, feels alive. 
Then ho repines that he was born to die, 
Nor knows in death there is no other He, M 

No living He remains his grief to vent, 
And o'er his senseless carcase to lament. 
If after death 'tis painful to be torn 
By birds, and beasts, then why not so to burn, 
Or drench 'd in floods of honey to be soak'd, '•" 
Imbalm'd to be at once preserved and choked ; 
Or on an airy mountain's top to lie, 
Exposed to cold and heaven's inclemency ; 
Or crowded in a tomb to be oppress'd 
With monumental marble on thy breast ? ^ 

But to be snatch'd from all the household joys, 
From thy chaste wife, and thy deal - prattling boys, 
Whose little arms about thy legs are cast, 
And climbing for a kiss prevent their mother's 

haste, 
Inspiring secret pleasure through thy breast ; *• 
Ah! those shall be no more : thy friends oppress'd 
Thy care and courage now no more shall free; 
Ah I wretch, thou cricst, ah ! miserable me ! 
One woful day sweeps children, friends, and wifo> 
And all the brittlo blessings of my life ! * 

Add one thing more, and all thou say'st is true; 
Thy want and wish of them is vanish'd too : 



206 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS. 



Which, well considered, were a quick relief 

To all thy vain imaginary grief. 

For thou shalt sleep, and never wake again, " 

And, quitting life, shall quit thy living pain. 

But we, thy friends, shall all those sorrows find, 

Which in forgetful death thou leaVst behind ; 

No time shall dry our tears, nor drive thee from 

our mind. 
The worst that can hefal thee, measured right, 95 
Is a sound slumber, and a long good night. 
Yet thus the fools, that would be thought the 

wits, 
Disturb their mirth with melancholy fits : 
When healths go round, and kindly brimmers flow, 
Till the fresh garlands on their foreheads glow, 10 ° 
They whine, and cry, Let us make haste to live, 
Short are the joys that human life can give. 
Eternal preachers, that corrupt the draught, 
And pall the god, that never thinks, with thought ; 
Idiots with all that thought, to whom the worst 
Of death, is want of drink, and endless thirst, i06 
Or any fond desire as vain as these. 
For, even in sleep, the body, wrapt in ease, 
Supinely lies, as in the peaceful grave ; 
And, wanting nothing, nothing can it crave. 110 
Were that sound sleep eternal, it were death ; 
Yet the first atoms then, the seeds of breath, 
Are moving near to sense ; we do but shake 
And rouse that sense, and straight we are awake. 
Then death to us, and death's anxiety, 115 

Is less than nothing, if a less could be. 
For then our atoms, which in order lay, 
Are scatter'd from their heap, and puff'd away, 
And never can return into their place, 
When once the pause of life has left an empty 

space. 120 

And last, suppose great Nature's voice should call 
To thee, or me, or any of us all, 
"What dost thou mean, ungrateful wretch, thou 

vain, 
Thou mortal thing, thus idly to complain, 
And sigh and sob, that thou shalt be no more ? 135 
For if thy bfe were pleasant heretofore, 
If all the bounteous blessings, I could give, 
Thou hast enjoyed, if thou hast known to live, 
And pleasure not leak'd through thee like a sieve ; 
Why dost thou not give thanks, as at a plenteous 

feast, I3 ° 

Cramm'd to the throat with life, and rise and take 

thy rest 1 
But if my blessings thou hast thrown away, 
If indigested joys pass'd through, and would not 

stay, 
Why dost thou wish for more to squander still 1 
If life be grown a load, a real ill, 13S 

And I would all thy cares and labours end, 
Lay down thy burden, fool, and know thy friend. 
To please thee, I have emptied all my store, 
I can invent, and can supply no more ; 
But run the round again, the round I ran before. 140 
Suppose thou art not broken yet with years, 
Yet still the self-same scene of things appears, 
And would be ever, could'st thou ever live ; 
For life is still but life, there's nothing new to give." 
What can we plead against so just a bill 'I 145 

We stand convicted, and our cause goes ill. 
But if a wretch, a man oppress'd by fate, 
Should beg of Nature to prolong his date, 
She speaks aloud to him with more disdain, 
" Be still, thou martyr fool, thou covetous of pain." 



But if an old decrepit sot lament ; ,51 

"What thou (she cries) who hast out-lived content ! 
Dost thou complain, who hast enjoy'd my store] 
But this is still the effect of wishing more. 
Unsatisfied with all that Nature brings ; ^ 

Loathing the present, liking absent things ; 
From hence it comes, thy vain desires, at strife 
Within themselves, have tantalised thy life, 
And ghastly death appear'd before thy sight, 
Ere thou hast gorged thy soul and senses with 

delight. 18 » 

Now leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age, 
To a fresh comer, and resign the stage." 
Is Nature to be blamed if thus she chide ? 
No sure; for 'tis her business to provide 
Against this ever-changing frame's decay, 15S 

New things to come, and old to pass away. 
One being, worn, another being makes ; 
Changed, but not lost; for Nature gives and takes: 
New matter must be found for things to come, 
And these must waste like those, and follow 

Nature's doom. 1?0 

All things, like thee, have time to rise and rot ; 
And from each other's ruin are begot ; 
For life is not confined to him or thee : 
'Tis given to all for use, to none for property. 
Consider former ages past and gone, 
Whose circles ended long ere thine begun, 
Then tell me, fool, what part in them thou hast ? 
Thus may'st thou judge the future by the past. 
What horror seest thou in that quiet state, 
What bugbear dreams to fright thee after fate? 180 
No ghost, no goblins, that still passage keep ; 
But all is there serene, in that eternal sleep. 
For all the dismal tales, that Poets tell, 
Are verified on earth, and not in hell. 
No Tantalus looks up with fearful eye, 18S 

Or dreads the impending rock to crush him from 

on high : 
But fear of chance on earth disturbs our easy hours, 
Or vain imagined wrath of vain imagined powers. 
No Tityus torn by vultures lies in hell; 
Nor could the lobes of his rank liver swell 10 ° 
To that prodigious mass, for their eternal meal : 
Not though his monstrous bulk had cover'd o'er 
Nine spreading acres, or nine thousand more ; 
Not though the globe of earth had been the 

giant's floor. 
Nor in eternal torments could he lie ; W5 

Nor could his corpse sufficient food supply. 
But he 's the Tityus, who by love oppress'd, 
Or tyrant passion preying on his breast, 
And ever anxious thoughts, is robb'd of rest. 
The Sisyphus is he, whom noise and strife ^ 
Seduce from all the soft retreats of life, 
To vex the government, disturb the laws : 
Drunk with the fumes of popular applause, 
He courts the giddy crowd to make him great, 
And sweats and toils in vain, to mount the sove- 
reign seat. 205 
For still to aim at power, and still to fail, 
Ever to strive, and never to prevail, 
What is it, but, in reason's true account, 
To heave the stone against the rising mount 1 ? 
Which urged, and labour' d, and forced up with 

pain, 210 

Recoils, and rolls impetuous down, and smokes 

along the plain. 
Then still to treat thy ever-craving mind 
With every blessing, and of every kind, 



TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS. 



20? 



Yet never fill thy ravening appetite ; 

Though years and seasons vary thy delight, 215 

Yet nothing to be seen of all the store, 

But still the wolf within thee barks for more ; 

This is the fable's moral, which they tell 

Of fifty foolish virgins damn'd in hell 

To leaky vessels, which the liquor spill ; 5S0 

To vessels of their sex, which none could ever fill. 

As for the dog, the furies, and their snakes, 

The gloomy caverns, and the burning lakes, 

And all the vain infernal trumpery, 

They neither are, nor were, nor e'er can be. 225 

But here on earth the guilty have in view 

The mighty pains to mighty mischiefs due ; 

Racks, prisons, poisons, the Tarpeian rock, 

Stripes, hangmen, pitch, and suffocating smoke ; 

And last, and most, if these were cast behind, 23 ° 

The avenging horror of a conscious mind, 

Whose deadly fear anticipates the blow, 

And sees no end of punishment and woe ; 

But looks for more, at the last gasp of breath : 

This makes a hell on earth, and life a death. ^ 

Meantime when thoughtsof death disturb thy head; 

i lonsider, Aucus, great and good, is dead; 

Ancus, thy better far, was bom to die ; 

And thou, dost thou bewail mortality'? 

So many monarchs, with their mighty state, 240 

Who ruled the world, were over-ruled by fate. 

That haughty king, who lorded o'er the main, 

And whose stupendous bridge did the wild waves 

restrain, 
(L» vain they foam'd, in vain they threaten'd 

wreck, 
Wh ile his proud legions mareh'd upon their back :) 
Him death, a greater monarch, overcame ; 246 

Nor spared his guards the more, for their im- 
mortal name. 
The Roman chief, the Carthaginian dread, 
Scipio, the thunderbolt of war, is dead, 
; 1 1 1 1 . like a common slave, by fate in triumph led. 
The founders of invented arts are lost ; - al 

And wits, who made eternity their boast. 
Where now is Homer, who possess'd the throne ? 
The immortal work remains, the immortal au- 
thor's gone. 
Democritus, perceiving age invade 255 

J I is body weaken'd, and his mind decayed, 
Obey'd the summons with a cheerful face ; 
Made haste to welcome death, and met him half 

the race. 
That stroke even Epicurus could not bar, 
Though he in wit surpass'd mankind, as far 200 
As does the mid-day sun the mid-night star. 
And thou, dost thou disdain to yield thy breath, 
Whose very life is little more than death? 
More than one half by lazy sleep possess'd ; 
And when awake, thy soul but nods at best, 2C5 
Day-dreams and sickly thoughts revolving in thy 

breast. 
Eternal troubles haunt thy anxious mind, 
Whose cause and cure thou never hop'st to find; 
But still uncertain, with thyself at strifo, 
Thou wanderei t iu the labyrinth of life. ' 70 

Oh, if the foolish race of man, who find 
A weight of cares still pressing on their mind, 
Could iii id as well the cause of this unrest, 
And all this Imi'deu lodged within the breast; 
Sure they would change their course, nor live as 
now, 2?6 

Uncertain what to wish, or what to vow. 



Uneasy both in country and in town, 

They search a place to lay their burden down. 

One, restless in his palace, walks abroad, 

And vainly thinks to leave behind the load : 2S0 

But straight returns ; for he 's as restless there; 

And finds there 's no relief in open air. 

Another to his villa would retire, 

And spurs as hard as if it were on fire ; 

No sooner enter'd at his country door, 2S5 

But he begins to stretch, and yawn, and snore ; 

Or seeks the city which he left before. 

Thus every man o'erworks his weary will, 

To shun himself, and to shake off his ill ; 

The shaking fit returns, and hangs upon him 

still. W 

No prospect of repose, nor hope of ease ; 
The wretch is ignorant of his disease ; 
Which known would all his fruitless trouble 

spare ; 
For he would know the world not worth his care ; 
Then would he search more deeply for the 

cause, w5 

And study Nature well, and Nature's laws ; 
For in this moment lies not the debate, 
But on our future, fix'd, eternal state ; 
That never-changing state, which all must keep, 
Whom death has doom'd to everlasting sleep. ^ 
Why are we then so fond of mortal lii'e, 
Beset with dangers, and maintain'd with strife ? 
A life, which all our care can never save ; 
One fate attends us, and one common grave. 
Besides, we tread but a perpetual round ; 3n5 

We ne'er strike out, but beat the former ground, 
And the same mawkish joys in the same track are 

found. 
For still we think an absent blessing best, 
Which cloys, and is no blessing when possess'd; 
A new arising wish expels it from the breast. 310 
The feverish thirst of life increases still ; 
We call for more and more, and never have our 

fill; 
Yet know not what to-morrow we shall try, 
What dregs of life in the last draught may lie : 
Nor, by the longest life we can attain, 315 

One moment from the length of death we gain ; 
For all behind belongs to his eternal reign 
When once the fates have cut the mortal thread, 
The man as much to all intents is dead, 
Who dies to-day, and will as long be so, 
As ho who died a thousand years ago. 



FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF 
LUCRETIUS. 

tusi roiui6 ruEE, &o. 
* 

Thus, like a sailor by a tempest hurl'd 
Ashore, the babe is sbipwrcck'd on the world : 
Naked he lies, and ready to expiro ; 
Helpless of all that human wants require; 
Exposed upon unhospitable earth, 
From the first moment of his hapless birth, 
Straight with foreboding cries he tills the room; 
Too true presages of his future doom. 



208 



TRANSLATIONS PROM HORACE. 



But flocks and herds, and every savage beast, 
By more indulgent Nature are increased. 1( 

They want no rattles for their froward mood, 
Nor nurse to reconcile them to their food, 
With broken words ; nor winter blasts they fear, 
Nor change their habits with the changing year : 



Nor, for their safety, citadels prepare, M 

Nor forge the wicked instruments of war : 
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous treasure grants, 
And Nature's lavish hand supplies their common 
wants. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 



THE THIED ODE 



FIRST BOOK OF HORACE ; 

INSCRIBED TO THE EARL OF BOSCOMMON, ON HIS INTENDED 
VOYAGE TO IRELAND. 



So may the auspicious Queen of Love, 
And the Twin Stars, the seed of Jove, 
And he who rules the raging wind, 
To thee, O sacred ship, be kind ; 
And gentle breezes fill thy sails, 
Supplying soft Etesian gales : 
As thou to whom the Muse commends 
The best of poets and of friends, 
Dost thy committed pledge restore, 
And land him safely on the shore ; 
And save the better part of me, 
From perishing with him at sea. 
Sure he, who first the passage tried, 
In harden'd oak his heart did hide, 
And ribs of iron arm'd his side ; 
Or his at least, in hollow wood 
Who tempted first the briny flood : 
Nor fear'd the winds' contending roar, 
Nor billows beating on the shore ; 
Nor Hyades portending rain ; 
Nor all the tyrants of the main. 
What form of death could him affright, 
Who unconcern'd, with steadfast sight, 
Could view the surges mounting steep, 
And monsters rolling in the deep ! 
Could through the ranks of ruin go, 
With storms above, and rocks below ! 
In vain did Nature's wise command 
Divide the waters from the land, 
If daring ships and men profane 
Invade the inviolable main ; 
The eternal fences overleap, 
And pass at will the boundless deep. 
No toil, no hardship can restrain 
Ambitious man, inured to pain ; 
The more confined, the more he tries, 
And at forbidden quarry flies. 
Thus bold Prometheus did aspire, 
And stole from heaven the seeds of fire : 
A train of ills, a ghastly crew, 
The robber's blazing track pursue ; 
Fierce Famine with her meagre face, 
And Fevers of the fiery race, 
In swarms the offending wretch surround, 



All brooding on the blasted ground : tt 

And limping Death, lash'd on by fate, 

Comes up to shorten half our date. 

This made not Daedalus beware, 

With borrow'd wings to sail in air : 

To hell Alcides forced his way, 50 

Plunged through the lake, and snatch'd the 

prey. 
Nay, scarce the gods, or heavenly climes, 
Are safe from our audacious crimes ; 
We reach at Jove's imperial crown, 
And pull the unwilling thunder down. M 



THE NINTH ODE 



FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. 



Behold yon mountain's hoary height, 
Made higher with new mounts of snow ; 

Again behold the winter's weight 
Oppress the labouring woods below : 

And streams, with icy fetters bound, 

Benumb'd and cramp'd to solid ground. 

ii. 
With well-heap'd logs dissolve the cold, 

And feed the genial b earth with fires ; 
Produce the wine, that makes us bold, 

And sprightly wit and love inspires : 
For what hereafter shall betide, 
God, if 'tis worth his care, provide. 

in. 
Let him alone, with what he made, 

To toss and turn the world below ; 
At his command the storms invade ; 

The winds by his commission blow ; 
Till with a nod he bids 'em cease, 
And then the calm returns, and all is peace. 

TV. 

To-morrow and her works defy, 
Lay hold upon the present hour, 

And snatch the pleasures passing by, 
To put them out of fortune's power : 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 



209 



Nor love, nor love's delights disdain; 
Whate'er thou gett'st to-day, is gain. 



Secure those golden early joys, 

That youth unsour'd with sorrow bears, 
Ere withering time the taste destroys, 

With sickness and unwieldy years. 
For active sports, for pleasing rest, 
This is the time to be possess'd; 
Tho best is but in season best. 



Tho appointed hour of promised bliss, 
The pleasing whisper in the dark, 

The half unwilling willing kiss, 

The laugh that guides thee to the mark, x 

When the kind nymph would coyness feign, 

And hides but to be found again ; 

These, these are joys, the gods for youth ordain. 



THE TWENTY-NINTH ODE 

OF THE 

FIRST BOOK OF HORACE ; 

PARArnBASED IN PINDARIC VERSE, AND INSCRIBED TO THE 
BIGHT HON. LAURENCE EARL OF ROCHESTER. 



Descended of an ancient line, 

That long the Tuscan sceptre swa/d, 
Make haste to meet the generous wine, 

Whose piercing is for thee delay'd : 
Tho rosy wreath is ready made ; 6 

And artful hands prepare 
The fragrant Syrian oil, that shall perfume thy 
hah - . 

n. 
When tho wine sparkles from afar, 

And the well-natured friend cries, Come 
away ; 
Make haste, and leave thy business and thy 
care : 10 

No mortal interest can bo worth thy stay. 

in. 
Leave for a while thy costly country seat ; 

And, to be great indeed, forget 
Tho nauseous pleasures of the great : 

Make haste and come : I6 

Come, and forsake thy cloying store; 
Thy turret that surveys, from high, 
The smoke, and wealth, and noise of Rome ; 

And all tho busy pageantry 
That wise men scorn, and fools adore: ai 

Come, give thy soul a loose, and taste the pleasures 
of the poor. 

iv. 
Somotimes 'tis grateful to the rich to try 
A short vicissitude, and fit of poverty : 
A savoury dish, a homely treat, 
Where all is plain, where all is neat, a 

A\ ithout the stately spacious room, 
The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom, 
Clear up the cloudy foreheads of tho great. 



The sun is in the Lion mounted high ; 

The Syrian star * 

Barks from afar, 
And with his sultry breath infects the sky ; 
The ground below is parch'd, tho heavens above 
us fiy. 
The shepherd drives his fainting flock 
Beneath the covert of a rock, M 

And seeks refreshing rivulets nigh ; 
The Sylvans to their shades retire, 
Thoso very shades and streams new shades and 

streams require, 
And want a cooling breeze of wind to fan the 
raging fire. 



Thou, what befits the new Lord Mayor, 

And what the city factions dare, 

And what the Gallic arms will do, 

And what the quiver-bearing foe, 

Art anxiously inquisitive to know : 
But God has, wisely, hid from human sight *• 

The dark decrees of future fate, 

And sown their seeds in depth of night ; 
He laughs at all the giddy turns of stato ; 
When mortals search too soon, and fear too late. 



Enjoy the present smiling horn - ; 60 

And put it out of fortune's power . 
The tide of business, like the running stream, 

Is sometimes high, and sometimes low, 
A quiet ebb, or a tempestuous flow, 

And always in extreme. b5 

Now with a noiseless gentle course 
It keeps within the middle bed ; 
Aoion it lifts aloft the head, 
And bears down all before it with impetuous force , 
And trunks of trees come rolling down, w 
Sheep and their folds together drown : 
Both house and homestead into seas are borne ; 
And rocks are from their old foundations torn, 
And woods, made thin with winds, their scatter'd 
honour's mourn. 



Happy tho man, and happy he alone, K 

He, who can call to-day his own : 
He who, secure within, can say, 
To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. 

Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine, 
Tho joys I havo possess'd, in spite of fate, are 
mine. "° 

Not Heaven itself upon the past has power; 
But what has been, has been, and I have had my 
hour. 



Fortune, that, with malicious joy, 

Does man her slave oppress, 
Proud of her office to destroy, 

Is seldom pleased to bless : 
Still various, and (inconstant still, 
But w itli an inclination to ho ill, 

Promotes, degrades, delights in strife, 

And makes a lottery of life, 
I can enjoy her while she's kind; 



210 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 



But when she dances in the wind, 

And shakes the wings, and will not stay, 
I puff the prostitute away : 
The little or the much she gave, is quietly resign'd^ 

Content with poverty, my soul I arm ; 
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. 

x. 
What is 't to me, 
Who never sail in her unfaithful sea, 

If storms arise, and clouds grow black ; 90 
If the mast split, and threaten wreck ? 
Then let the greedy merchant fear 

For his ill-gotten gain ; 
And pray to gods that will not hear, 
While the debating winds and billows bear 93 
His wealth into the main. 
For me, secure from Fortune's blows, 
Secure of what I cannot lose, 
In my small pinnace I can sail, 
Contemning all the blustering roar ; 100 

And running with a merry gale, 
With friendly stars my safety seek 
Within some little winding creek ; 
And see the storm, ashore. 



THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE. 



How happy in his low degree, 

How rich in humble poverty, is he, 

Who leads a quiet country life ; 

Discharged of business, void of strife, 

And from the griping scrivener free ! 5 

Thus, ere the seeds of vice were sown, 

Lived men in better ages born, 
Who plough'd, with oxen of their own, 

Their small paternal field of corn. ' 
Nor trumpets summon nim to war, lc 

Nor drums disturb his morning sleep, 
Nor knows he merchants' gainful care, 

Nor fears the dangers of the deep. 
The clamours of contentious law, 

And court and state, he wisely shuns, 15 
Nor bribed with hopes, nor dared with awe, 

To servile salutations runs ; 
But either to the clasping vine 

Does the supporting poplar wed, 
Or with his pruning-hook disjoin a 

Unhealing branches from their head, 

And grafts more happy in their stead : 
Or, climbing to a hilly steep, 

He views his herds in vales afar, 
Or shears his overburden'd sheep, M 

Or mead for cooling drink prepares, 

Of virgin honey in the jars. 
Or, in the now declining year, 

When bounteous Autumn rears his head, 
He joys to pull the ripen'd pear, x 

And clustering grapes with purple spread. 
The fairest of his fruit he serves, 

Priapus, thy rewards : 
Sylvanus too his part deserves, 

Whose care the fences guards. K 



Sometimes beneath an ancient oak, 

Or on the matted grass he lies : 
No god of Sleep he need invoke ; 

The stream, that o'er the pebbles flies, 

With gentle slumber crowns his eyes. *• 
The wind, that whistles through the sprays, 

Maintains the consort of the song ; 
And hidden birds, with native lays, 

The golden sleep prolong. 
But when the blast of winter blows, 4S 

And hoary frost inverts the year, 
Into the naked woods he goes, 

And seeks the tusky boar to rear, 

With well-month'd hounds and pointed 
spear ! 
Or spreads his subtle nets from sight, m 

With twinkling glasses, to betray 
The larks that in the meshes light ; 

Or makes the fearful hare his prey. 
Amidst his harmless easy joys 

No anxious care invades his health, ^ 

Nor love his peace of mind destroys, 

Nor wicked avarice of wealth. 
But if a chaste and pleasing wife, 
To ease the business of his fife, 
Divides with him his household, care, 
Such as the Sabine matrons were, 
Such as the swift Apulian's bride, 

Sun-burnt and swarthy though she be, 
Will fire for winter nights provide, 

And without noise will oversee 

His children and his family ; 
And order all things till he come, 
Sweaty and overlabour' d, home ; 
If she in pens his flocks will fold, 

And then produce her dairy store, 
With wine to drive away the cold, 

And unbought dainties of the poor ; 
Not oysters of the Lucrine lake 

My sober appetite would wish, 

Nor turbot, or the foreign fish " 6 

That rolling tempests overtake, 

And hither waft the costly dish. 
Not heathpout, or the rarer bird, 

Which Phasis or Ionia yields, 
More pleasing morsels would afford 

Than the fat olives of my fields ; 
Than shards or mallows for the pot, 

That keep the loosen'd body sound, 
Or than the lamb, that falls by lot 

To the just guardian of my ground. 
Amidst these feasts of happy swains, 

The jolly shepherd smiles to see 
His flock returning from the plains ; 

The farmer is as pleased as he, 
To view his oxen sweating smoke, 
Bear on their necks the loosen'd yoke : 
To look upon his menial crew, 

That sit around his cheerful hearth, 
And bodies spent in toil renew 

With wholesome food and country mirth 95 
This Morecraft said within himself, 

Resolved to leave the wicked town, 

And live retired upon his own : 
He call'd his money in; 

But the prevailing love of pelf, 

Soon split him on the former shelf, 
He put it out again. 



DEDICATION. 211 



FABLES. 



TO HIS GEACE THE DUKE OE OEMOND. 



Anno 1699. 

My Lord, 
Some estates are held in England by paying a fine at the change of every lord. I have enjoyed the 
patronage of your family, from the time of your excellent grandfather to this present day. I have 
dedicated the translation of the Lives of Plutarch to the first Duke ; and have celebrated the memory 
of your heroic father. Though I am very short of the age of Nestor, yet I have lived to a third 
generation of your house ; and by your Grace's favour am admitted still to hold from you by the 
same tenure. 

I am not vain enough to boast that I have deserved the value of so illustrious a line ; but my 
fortune is the greater, that for three descents they have been pleased to distinguish my poems from 
those of other men ; and have accordingly made me their peculiar care. May it be permitted me to 
say, that as your grandfather and father were cherished and adorned with honours by two successive 
monarchs, so I have been esteemed and patronised by the grandfather, the father, and the son 
descended from one of the most ancient, most conspicuous, and most deserving families in Europe. 

It is true, that by delaying the payment of my last fine, when it was due by your Grace's accession 
to the titles and patrimonies of your house, I may seem, in rigour of law, to have made a forfeiture 
of my claim ; yet my heart has always been devoted to your service ; and since you have been 
graciously pleased, by your permission of this address, to accept the tender of my duty, it is not yet 
too late to lay these poems at your feet. 

The world is sensible that you worthily succeed not only to the honours of your ancestors, but 
also to their virtues. The long chain of magnanimity, courage, easiness of access, and desire of doing 
good, even to the prejudice of your fortune, is so far from being broken in your Grace, that the precious 
metal yet runs pure to the newest link of it ; which I will not call the last, because I hope and pray it 
may descend to late posterity ; and your flourishing youth, and that of your excellent Duchess, are 
happy omens of my wish. 

It is observed by Livy and by others, that some of the noblest Roman families retained a resemblance 
of their ancestry, not only in their shapes and features, but also in their manners, their qualities, and 
the distinguishing characters of their minds. Some lines were noted for a stern, rigid virtuo, savage, 
haughty, parsimonious, and unpopular : others were more sweet and affable, made of a more pliant 
baste, humble, courteous, and obliging ; studious of doing charitable offices, and diffusive of the goods 
which they enjoyed. The last of these is the proper and indelible character of your Grace's family. 
God Almighty has endued you with a softness, a beneficence, an attractive behaviour winning on tho 
hearts of others ; and so sensible of their misery, that the wounds of fortune seem not inflicted on 
them, but on yourself. You are so ready to redress, that you almost prevent their wishes, and 
exceed their expectations ; as if what was yours was not your own, and not given you to 
possess, but to bestow on wanting merit. But this is a topic which I must cast in shades, lest I offend 
your modesty, which is so far from being ostentatious of the good you do, that it blushes even to 
have it known ; and therefore I must leave you to the satisfaction and testimony of your own 
conscience, which, though it be a silent panegyric, is yet the best. 

"Xou are so easy of access, that Poplicola was not moro, whose doors were opened on the outside 
to save the people even the common civility of asking entrance; where all were equally admitted ; 

r 2 



212 DEDICATION. 



where nothing that was reasonable was denied ; where misfortune was a powerful recommendation, 
and where I can scarce forbear saying that want itself was a powerful mediator, and was next to 
merit. 

The history of Peru assures us, that their Incas, above all their titles, esteemed that the highest, 
which called them Lovers of the Poor ; a name more glorious than the Felix, Pius, and Augustus of 
the Roman Emperors ; which were epithets of flattery, deserved by few of them, and not running in 
a blood like the perpetual gentleness and inherent goodness of the Obmond Family. 

Gold, as it is the purest, so it is the softest and most ductile of all metals. Iron, which is the 
hardest, gathers rust, corrodes itself, and is therefore subject to corruption : it was never intended for 
coins and medals, or to bear the faces and inscriptions of the great. Indeed it is fit for armour, to 
bear off insults, and preserve the wearer in the day of battle ; but the danger once repelled, it is laid 
aside by the brave, as a garment too rough for civil conversation : a necessary guard in war, but too 
harsh and cumbersome in peace, and which keeps off the embraces of a more humane life. 

For this reason, my lord, though you have courage in an heroical degree, yet I ascribe it to you 
but as your second attribute : mercy, beneficence, and compassion, claim precedence, as they are firBt 
in the Divine Nature. An intrepid courage, which is inherent in your Grace, is at best but a holiday 
kind of virtue, to be seldom exercised, and never but in cases of necessity : affability, mildness, 
tenderness, and a word, which I would fain bring back to its original signification of virtue, I mean 
good-nature, are of daily use : they are the bread of mankind, and staff of life : neither sighs, nor 
tears, nor groans, nor curses of the vanquished, follow acts of compassion and of charity ; but a 
sincere pleasure and serenity of mind, in him who performs an action of mercy, which cannot suffer 
the misfortunes of another without redress, lest they should bring a kind of contagion along with 
them, and pollute the happiness which he enjoys. 

Yet since the perverse tempers of mankind, since oppression on one side, and ambition on the 
other, are sometimes the unavoidable occasions of war; that courage, that magnanimity, and 
resolution, which is born with you, cannot be too much commended. And here it grieves me that I 
am scanted in the pleasure of dwelling on many of your actions ; but alSeofitu TpcDcts is an expression 
which Tully often uses, when he would do what he dares not, and fears the censure of the Romans. 

I have sometimes been forced to amplify on others ; but here, where the subject is so fruitful, 
that the harvest overcomes the reaper, I am shortened by my chain, and can only see what ia 
forbidden me to reach : since it is not permitted me to commend you, according to the extent of my 
wishes, and much less is it in my power to make my commendations equal to your merits. 

Yet in this frugality of your praises, there are some things which I cannot omit, without detracting 
from your character. You have so formed your own education, as enables you to pay the debt you owe 
your country, or, more properly speaking, both your countries ; because you were born, I may almost 
say, in purple, at the Castle of Dublin, when your grandfather was Lord-lieutenant, and have since 
been bred in the Court of England. 

If this address had been in verse, I might have called you, as Claudian calls Mercury, Nutnen 
commune, gemino faciens commercia mundo. The better to satisfy this double obligation, you have early 
cultivated the genius you have to arms, that when the service of Britain or Ireland shall require your 
courage and your conduct, you may exert them both to the benefit of either country. You began in 
the cabinet what you afterwards practised in the camp ; and thus both Lucullus and Csesar (to omit 
a crowd of shining Romans) formed themselves to war by the study of history, and by the examples 
of the greatest captains, both of Greece and Italy, before their time. I name those two commanders 
in particular, because they were better read in chronicle than any of the Roman leaders ; and that 
Lucullus in particular, having only the theory of war from books, was thought fit, without practice, 
to be sent into the field against the most formidable enemy of Rome. Tully indeed was called the 
learned Consul in derision; but then he was not born a soldier : his head was turned another way : 
when he read the Tactics, he was thinking on the bar, which was his field of battle. The knowledge 
of warfare is thrown away on a general, who dares not make use of what he knows. I commend 
it only in a man of courage and resolution : in him it will direct his martial spirit, and teach 
him the way to the best victories, which are those that are least bloody, and which, though achieved 
by the hand, are managed by the head. Science distinguishes a man of honour from one of those 
athletic brutes whom undeservedly we call heroes. Cursed be the poet, who first honoured with 
that name a mere Ajax, a man-killing idiot. The Ulysses of Ovid upbraids his ignorance, that he 



DEDICATION. 213 



understood not the shield for which he pleaded : there was engraven on it plans of cities, and maps 
of countries, which Ajax could not comprehend, but looked on them as stupidly as his fellow-beast, 
the lion. But on the other side, your Grace has given yourself the education of his rival : you have 
studied every spot of ground in Flanders, which for these ten years past has been the scene of battles 
and of sieges. No wonder if you performed your part with such applause on a theatre which you 
understood so well. 

If I designed this for a poetical encomium, it were easy to enlarge on so copious a subject; but 
confining myself to the severity of truth, and to what is becoming me to say, I must not only pass 
over many instances of your military skill, but also those of your assiduous diligence in the war ; and 
of your personal bravery, attended with an ardent thirst of honour ; a long train of generosity ; 
profuseness of doing good ; a soul unsatisfied with all it has done ; and an unextinguished desire of 
doing more. But all this is matter for your own historians ; I am, as Virgil says, 

" Spatiis exclusus iniqnis." 

Yet not to be wholly silent of all your charities, I must stay a little on one action, which preferred the 
relief of others to the consideration of yourself. When, in the battle of Landen, your heat of courage 
(a fault only pardonable to your youth) had transported you so far before your friends, that they 
were unable to follow, much less to succour you ; when you were not only dangerously, but, in all 
appearance, mortally wounded ; when in that desperate condition you were made prisoner, and carried 
to Namur, at that time in possession of the French ; then it was, my lord, that you took a considerable 
part of what was remitted to you of your own revenues, and, as a memorable instance of your heroic 
charity, put it into the hands of Count Guiscard, who was Governor of the place, to be distributed 
among your fellow-prisoners. The French commander, charmed with the greatness of your soul, 
accordingly consigned it to the use for which it was intended by the donor; by which means the 
lives of so many miserable men were saved, and a comfortable provision made for their subsistence, 
who had otherwise perished, had not you been the companion of their misfortune ; or rather sent by 
Providence, like another Joseph, to keep out famine from invading those, whom in humility you 
called your brethren. How happy was it for those poor creatures, that your Grace was made their 
fellow-sufferer I And how glorious for you, that you chose to want, rather than not relieve the 
wants of others ! The heathen poet, in commending the charity of Dido to the Trojans, spoke like a 
Christian : — 

" Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco." 

All men, even those of a different interest, and contrary principles, must praise this action, as the 
most eminent for piety, not only in this degenerate age, but almost in any of the former ; when men 
were made de meliore luto ; when examples of charity were frequent, and when there were in being 

"Teucri pnlclierrima proles, 
Magnanimi heroes nati melioribus annis." 

No envy can detract from this : it will shine in history ; and, like swans, grow whiter the longer it 
endures; and the name of Ormond will be more celebrated in his captivity, than in his greatest 
triumphs. 

But all actions of your Grace are of a piece ; as waters keep the tenor of their fountains : your com- 
passion is general, and has the same effect as well on enemies as friends. It is so much in your 
nature to do good, that your life is but one continued act of placing benefits on many, as the sun is 
always carrying his light to some part or other of the world. And were it not that your reason 
guides you where to give, I might almost say that you could not help bestowing more than is con- 
sisting with the fortune of a private man, or with the will of any but an Alexander. 

What wonder is it then, that being bom for a blessing to mankind, your supposed death in that 
engagement was so generally lamented through the nation? The concernment for it was as universal 
as the loss; and though tho gratitude might be counterfeit in some, yet the tears of all were real : 
where every man deplored his private part in that calamity, and even those who had not tasted of 
your favours, yet built so much on the fame of your beneficence, that they bemoaned tho loss of their 
expectations. 



214 PREFACE. 



This brought the untimely death of your great father into fresh remembrance ; as if the same 
decree had passed on two short successive generations of the virtuous ; and I repeated to myself the 
same verses, which I had formerly applied to him : — 

" Ostendunt terris nunc tantum fata, nee ultra 
Esse sinunt." 

But to the joy not only of all good men, but of mankind in general, the unhappy omen took not 
place. You are still living to enjoy the blessings and applause of all the good you have performed, 
the prayers of multitudes whom you have obliged, for your long prosperity ; and that your power of 
doing generous and charitable actions may be as extended as your will; which is by none more 
zealously desired than by 

Your Grace's most humble, most obliged, and most obedient servant, 

JOHN DRYDEN. 



PBEFACE. 



It is with a poet, as with a man who designs to build, and is very exact, as he supposes, in casting up 
the cost beforehand ; but, generally speaking, he is mistaken in his account, and reckons short in the 
expense he first intended. He alters his mind as the work proceeds, and will have this or that con- 
venience more, of which he had not thought when he began. So has it happened to me : I have built 
a house, where I intended but a lodge ; yet with better success than a certain nobleman, who, 
beginning with a dog-kennel, never lived to finish the palace he had contrived. 

From translating the first of Homer's Iliads (which I intended as an essay to the whole work), I 
proceeded to the translation of the twelfth book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, because it contains, among 
other things, the causes, the beginning, and ending, of the Trojan war. Here I ought in reason to 
have stopped; but the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses lying next in my way, I could not baulk them. 
"When I had compassed them, I was so taken with the former part of the fifteenth book (which is the 
master-piece of the whole Metamorphoses), that I enjoined myself the pleasing task of rendering it 
into English. And now I found, by the number of my verses, that they began to swell into a little 
volume ; which gave me an occasion of looking backward on some beauties of my author, in his 
former books : there occurred to me the Hunting of the Boar, Cinyras and Myrrha, the good-natured 
story of Baucis and Philemon, with the rest, which I hope I have translated closely enough, and given 
them the same turn of verse which they had in the original ; and this, I may say without vanity, is 
not the talent of every poet. He who has arrived the nearest to it, is the ingenious and learned 
Sandys ; the best versifier of the former age ; if I may properly call it by that name which was the 
former part of this concluding century. For Spenser and Fairfax both flourished in the reign of Queen 
Elizabeth; great masters in our language, and who saw much farther into the beauties of our numbers 
than those who immediately followed them. Milton was the poetical son of Spenser, and Mr. Waller 
of Fairfax, for we have our lineal descents and clans, as well as other families. Spenser more than 
once insinuates, that the soul of Chaucer was transfused into his body, and that he was begotten by 
him two hundred years after his decease. Milton has acknowledged to me, that Spenser was his 
original, and many besides myself have heard our famous Waller own, that he derived the harmony of 
his numbers from the Godfrey of Bulloigne, which was turned into English by Mr. Fairfax. 

But to return. Having done with Ovid for this time, it came into my mind, that our old English 
poet, Chaucer, in many things resembled him, and that with no disadvantage on the side of the 
modern author, as I shall endeavour to prove when I compare them ; and as I am, and always have 
been, studious to promote the honour of my native country, so I soon resolved to put their merits to 



PREFACE. 215 



the trial, by turning some of the Canterbury Tales into our language, as it is now refined ; for by this 
means, both the poets being set in the same light, and dressed in the same English habit, story to be 
compared with story, a certain judgment may be made betwixt them by the reader, without obtruding 
my opinion on him. Or if I seem partial to my countryman, and predecessor in the laurel, the friends 
of antiquity are not few ; and besides many of the learned, Ovid has almost all the beaux, and the 
whole fair sex, his declared patrons. Perhaps I have assumed somewhat more to myself than they 
allow me, because I have adventured to sum up the evidence ; but the readers are the jury, and their 
privilege remains entire, to decide according to the merits of the cause, or, if they please, to bring it 
to another hearing before some other court. In the meantime, to follow the thread of my discourse 
(as thoughts, according to Mr. Hobbes, have always some connexion), so from Chaucer I was led to 
think on Boccace, who was not only his contemporary, but also pursued the same studies ; wrote 
novels in prose, and many works in verse : particularly is said to have invented the octave rhyme, or 
stanza of eight lines, which ever since has been maintained by the practice of all Italian writers, who 
are, or at least assume the title of, Heroic Poets : he and Chaucer, among other things, had this in 
common, that they refined then- mother tongues ; but with this difference, that Daute * had begun to 
file their language, at least in verse, before the time of Boccace, who likewise received no little help 
from his master Petrarch. But the reformation of their prose was wholly owing to Boccace himself, 
who is yet the standard of purity in the Italian tongue ; though many of his phrases are become 
obsolete, as in process of time it must needs happen. Chaucer (as you have formerly been told by 
our learned Mr. Bymer), first adorned and amplified our barren tongue from the Provencal, which 
was then the most polished of all the modem languages; but this subject has been copiously treated 
by that great critic, who deserves no little commendation from us his countrymen. For these 
reasons of time, and resemblance of genius in Chaucer and Boccace, I resolved to join them in my 
present work ; to which I have added some original papers of my own ; which, whether they are 
equal or inferior to my other poems, an author is the most improper judge, and therefore I leave 
them wholly to the mercy of the reader. I will hope the best, that they will not be condemned ; but 
if they should, I have the excuse of an old gentleman, who mounting on horseback before some ladies, 
when I was present, got up somewhat heavily, but desired of the fair spectators, that they would 
count fourscore and eight before they judged him. By the mercy of God, I am already come within 
twenty years of his number, a cripple in my limbs; but what decays are in my mind, the reader must 
determine. I think myself as vigorous as ever in the faculties of my soul, excepting only my memory, 
which is not impaired to any great degree ; and if I lose not more of it, I have no great reason to 
complain. What judgment I had, increases rather than diminishes ; and thoughts, such as they are, 
come crowding in so fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to reject; to run them into 
verse, or to give them the other harmony of prose. I have so long studied and practised both, that 
they are grown into a habit, and become familiar to me. In short, though I may lawfully plead some 
part of the old gentleman's excuse, yet I will reserve it till I think I have greater need, and ask no 
grains of allowance for the faults of this my present work, but those which are given of course to 
human frailty. I will not trouble my reader with the shortness of time in which I writ it, or the 
several intervals of sickness : they who think too well of their own performances, are apt to boast in 
their prefaces how little time their works have cost them, and what other business of more importance 
interfered ; but the reader will be as apt to ask the question, why they allowed not a longer time to 
make their works more perfect 1 and why they had so despicable an opinion of their judges, as to 
thrust their indigested stuff upon them, as if they deserved no better ] 

"With this account of my present undertaking, I conclude the first part of this discourse : in the 
second part, as at a second sitting, though I alter not the draught, I must touch the same features 
over again, and change the dead colouring of the whole. In general I will only say, that I have 
written nothing which savours of immorality or profaneness; at least, I am not conscious to myself 
of any such intention. If there happen to be found an irreverent expression, or a thought too wanton, 
they are crept into my verses through my inadvertency ; if the searchers find any in the cargo, let 
them be staved or forfeited, like contrabanded goods ; at least, let their authors be answerable for 

• Dante, in one of his prose works, has treated of different sorts of style, which he has divided into three species, the 
Sublimi; the Middle, and Low ; the first, he says, is proper for tragedy, the second for comedy, the third for elegy ; and he 
meant by giving his Inferno the title of Comedia, to insinuate, that in this work he wrote in the middle style. This 
seems to have been the reason why he gave it this title, which it has been thought difficult to account for. Dr. J. Wabton. 



216 PREFACE. 



them, as being but imported merchandise, and not of my own manufacture. On the other side, I have 
endeavoured to choose such fables, both ancient and modern, as contain in each of them some 
instructive moral, which I could prove by induction, but the way is tedious ; and they leap foremost 
into sight, without the reader's trouble of looking after them. I wish I could affirm, with a safe 
conscience, that I had taken the same care in all my former writings ; for it must be owned, that 
supposing verses are never so beautiful or pleasing, yet if they contain anything which shocks 
religion, or good manners, they are at best what Horace says of good numbers without good sense, 

" Versus inopes rerum, nugseque canorse." 

Thus far, I hope, I am right in court, without renouncing my other right of self-defence, where I 
have been wrongfully accused, and my sense wire-drawn into blasphemy or bawdry, as it has often 
been by a religious lawyer, in a late pleading against the stage; in which he mixes truth with 
falsehood, and has not forgotten the old rule of calumniating strongly, that something may remain. 

I resume the thread of my discourse with the first of my translation, which was the first Iliad of 
Homer. If it shall please God to give me longer life, and moderate health, my intentions are to 
translate the whole Lias; provided still that I meet with those encouragements from the public, 
which may enable me to proceed in my undertaking with some cheerfulness. And this I dare assure 
the world before-hand, that I have found, by trial, Homer a more pleasing task than Virgil (though I 
say not the translation will be less laborious). For the Grecian is more according to my genius, than 
the Latin poet. In the works of the two authors we may read their manners, and natural inclinations, 
which are wholly different. Virgil was of a quiet, sedate temper ; Homer was violent, impetuous, 
and full of fire. The chief talent of Virgil was propriety of thoughts, and ornament of words ; 
Homer was rapid in his thoughts, and took all the liberties both of numbers, and of expressions, 
which his language, and the age in which he lived, allowed him : Homer's invention was more copious, 
Virgil's more confined ; so that if Homer had not led the way, it was not in Virgil to have begun 
heroic poetry ; for nothing can be more evident, than that the Roman poem is but the second part of 
the Ilias ; a continuation of the same story, and the persons already formed ; the manners of JEneaa 
are those of Hector superadded to those which Homer gave him. The Adventures of Ulysses in the 
Odysseis are imitated in the first Six Books of Virgil's iEneis ; and though the accidents are not the 
same, (which would have argued him of a servile copying, and total barrenness of invention,) yet the 
seas were the same, in which both the heroes wandered ; and Dido cannot be denied to be the poetical 
daughter of Calypso. The six latter books of Virgil's poem are the four-and-twenty Iliads contracted : 
a quarrel occasioned by a lady, a single combat, battles fought, and a town besieged. I say not this 
in derogation to Virgil, neither do I contradict anything which I have formerly said in his just 
praise : for his Episodes are almost wholly of his own invention ; and the form, which he has given to 
the telling, makes the tale his own, even though the original story had been the same. But this 
proves, however, that Homer taught Virgil to design ; and if invention be the first virtue of an Epic 
poet, then the Latin poem can only be allowed the second place. Mr. Hobbes, in the preface to his 
own bald translation of the Ilias (studying poetry as he did mathematics, when it was too late), Mr. 
Hobbes, I say, begins the praise of Homer where he should have ended it. He tells us, that the first 
beauty of an Epic poem consists in diction, that is, in the choice of words, and harmony of numbers : 
now the words are the colouring of the work, which in the order of nature is last to be considered. 
The design, the disposition, the manners, and the thoughts, are all before it : where any of those are 
wanting or imperfect, so much wants or is imperfect in the imitation of human life ; which is in the 
very definition of a poem. _ "Words indeed, like glaring colours, are the first beauties that arise, and 
strike the sight : but if the draught be false or lame, the figures ill-disposed, the manners obscure or 
inconsistent, or the thoughts unnatural, then the finest colours are but daubing, and the piece is a 
beautiful monster at the best. Neither Virgil nor Homer were deficient in any of the former 
beauties ; but in this last, which is expression, the Roman poet is at least equal to the Grecian, as I 
have said elsewhere ; supplying the poverty of his language by his musical ear, and by his diligence. 
But to return : our two great poets, being so different in their tempers, one choleric and sanguine, the 
other phlegmatic and melancholic ; that which makes them excel in their several ways, is, that each 
of them has followed his own natural inclination, as well in forming the design, as in the execution of 
it. The very heroes show their authors ; Achilles is hot, impatient, revengeful, Impiger, irammdus, 



PREFACE. 217 



inexorahilis, acer, &c. ./Eneas patient, considerate, careful of Lis people, and merciful to his enemies; 
ever submissive to the will of heaven, quo fata trahunt, rctrahuntqiie sequamur. I could please myself 
with enlarging on this subject, but am forced to defer it to a fitter time. From all I have said I will 
only draw this inference, that the action of Homer being more full of vigour than that of Virgil, 
according to the temper of the writer, is of consequence more pleasing to the reader. One warms you 
by degrees ; the other sets you on fire all at once, and never intermits his heat. "Pis the same 
difference which Longinus makes betwixt the effects of eloquence in Demosthenes and Tully. One 
persuades ; the other commands. You never cool while you read Homer, even not in the second 
book, (a graceful flattery to his countrymen ;) but he hastens from the ships, and concludes not that 
book till he has made you an amends by the violent playing of a new machine. From thence he 
hurries on his action with variety of events, and ends it in less compass than two months. This 
vehemence of his, I confess, is more suitable to my temper ; and therefore I have translated his first 
book with greater pleasure than any part of Virgil ; but it was not a pleasure without pains : the con- 
tinual agitations of the spirits must needs be a weakening of any constitution, ".specially in age ; and 
many pauses are required for refreshment betwixt the heats ; the Iliad of itself being a third part 
longer than all Virgil's works together. 

This is what I thought needful in this place to say of Homer. I proceed to Ovid and Chaucer, con- 
sidering the former only in relation to the latter. "With Ovid ended the golden age of the Roman 
tongue ; from Chaucer the purity of the English tongue began. The manners of the poets were not 
unlike : both of them were well-bred, well-natured, amorous, and libertine, at least in their writings, 
it may be also in their lives. Their studies were the same, philosophy and philology. Both of them 
were known in astronomy, of which Ovid's books of the Roman feasts, and Chaucer's treatise of the 
Astrolabe, are sufficient witnesses. But Chaucer was likewise an astrologer - , as were Virgil, Horace, 
Persius, and Manilius. Both, writ with wonderful facility and clearness : neither were great inventors ; 
for Ovid only copied the Grecian fables ; and most of Chaucer's stories were taken from his Italian 
contemporaries, or their predecessors. Boccace's Decameron was first published ; and from thence 
our Englishman has borrowed many of his Canterbury tales ; yet that of Palamon and Arcite was 
written in all probability by some Italian wit in a former age, as I shall prove hereafter : the tale of 
Grizild was the invention of Petrarch ; by him sent to Boccace ; from whom it came to Chaucer : 
Troilus and Cressida was also written by a Lombard author ; but much amplified by o\u- English 
translator, as well as beautified ; the genius of our countrymen in general being rather to improve an 
invention, than to invent themselves ; as is evident not only in our poetry, but in many of our 
manufactures. I find I have anticipated already, and taken up from Boccace before I come to him ; 
but there is so much less behind ; and I am of the temper of most kings, who love to be in debt, are 
all for present money, no matter how they pay it afterwards : besides, the nature of a preface is 
rambling ; never wholly out of the way, nor in it. This I have learned from the practice of honest 
Montaigne, and return at my pleasure to Ovid and Chaucer, of whom I have little more to say. Both 
of them built on the inventions of other men ; yet since Chaucer had something of his own, as the 
Wife of Bath's Tale, the Cock and the Fox, which I have translated, and some others, I may justly 
give our countryman the precedence in that part ; since I can remember nothing of Ovid which was 
wholly his. Both of them understood the manners, under which name I comprehend the passions, 
and, in a larger sense, the descriptions of persons, and their very habits ; for an example, I see Baucis 
and Philemon as perfectly before me, as if some ancient painter had drawn them ; aud all the pilgrims 
in the Canterbury tales, their humours, their features, and the very dress, as distinctly as if I had 
supped with them at the Tabard in Southwark ; yet even there too the figures in Chaucer are much 
more lively, and set in a better light : which though I have not time to prove, yet I appeal to tho 
reader, and am sure he will clear me from partiality. The thoughts and words remain to be con- 
sidered in the comparison of the two poets ; and I have saved myself one half of that labour, by 
owning that Ovid lived when the Roman tongue was in its meridian, Chaucer in the dawning of our 
language ; therefore that part of the comparison stands not on an equal foot, any moro than tho 
diction of Ennius and Ovid, or of Chaucer and our present English. Tho words are given up as a 
post not to be defended in our poet, because he wanted the modern art of fortifying. Tho 
thoughts remain to be considered, and they are to be measured only by their propriety ; 
that is, as they flow more or less naturally from tho persons described, on such and such 
occasions. The vulgar judges, which aro nine parts in ten of all nations, who call conceits and 



218 PREFACE. 



jingles wit, who see Ovid full of them, and Chaucer altogether without them, will think me 
little less than mad, for preferring the Englishman to the Roman : yet, with their leave, I must pre- 
sume to say, that the things they admire are only glittering trifles, and so far from being witty, that 
in a serious poem they are nauseous, because they are unnatural. Would any man, who is ready to 
die for love, describe his passion like Narcissus ? Would he think of mopem me copia fecit, and a 
dozen more of such expressions, poured on the neck of one another, and signifying all the same thing'! 
If this were wit, was this a time to be witty, when the poor wretch was in the agony of death ? This 
is just John Littlewit in Bartholomew Fair, who had a conceit (as he tells you) left him in his misery ; 
a miserable conceit. On these occasions the poet should endeavour to raise pity ; but, instead of 
this, Ovid is tickling you to laugh. Virgil never made use of such machines, when he was moving 
you to commiserate the death of Dido : he would not destroy what he was building. Chaucer makes 
Arcite violent in his love, and unjust in the pursuit of it : yet when he came to die, he made him 
think more reasonably : he repents not of his love, for that had altered his character ; but acknow- 
ledges the injustice of his proceedings, and resigns Emilia to Palamon. What would Ovid have done 
on this occasion 1 He would certainly have made Arcite witty on his death-bed. He had complained 
he was farther off from possession by being so near, and a thousand such boyisms, which Chaucer 
rejected as below the dignity of the subject. They who think otherwise would, by the same reason, 
prefer Lucan and Ovid to Homer and Virgil, and Martial to all four of them. As for the turn of 
words, in which Ovid particularly excels all poets ; they are sometimes a fault, and sometimes a 
beauty, as they are used properly or improperly ; but in strong passions always to be shunned, because 
passions are serious, and will admit no playing. The French have a high value for them ; and I 
confess, they are often what they call delicate, when they are introduced with judgment; but Chaucer 
writ with more simplicity, and followed nature more closely, than to use them. I have thus far, to 
the best of my knowledge, been an upright judge betwixt the parties in competition, not meddling 
with the design nor the disposition of it ; because the design was not their own, and in the disposing 
of it they were equal. It remains that I say somewhat of Chaucer in particular. 

In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, so I hold him in the same degree of 
veneration as the Grecians held Homer, or the Romans Virgil : he is a perpetual fountain of good sense; 
learned in all sciences ; and therefore speaks properly on all subjects ; as he knew what to say, so he 
knows also when to leave off, a continence which is practised by few writers, and scarcely by any of 
the ancients, excepting Virgil and Horace. One of our late great poets is sunk in his reputation, 
because he could never forgive any conceit which came in his way, but swept like a drag-net, great 
and small. There was plenty enough, but'the dishes were ill-sorted ; whole pyramids of sweetmeats 
for boys and women, but little of solid meat for men : all this proceeded not from any want of 
knowledge, but of judgment ; neither did he want that in discerning the beauties and faults of other 
poets ; but only indulged himself in the luxury of writing ; and perhaps knew it was a fault, but 
hoped the reader would not find it. For this reason, though he must always be thought a great poet, 
he is no longer esteemed a good writer : and for ten impressions, which his works have had in so 
many successive years, yet at present a hundred books are scarcely purchased once a twelvemonth : 
for, as my last Lord Rochester said, though somewhat profanely, Not being of God he could not 
stand. 

Chaucer followed nature every where ; but was never so bold to go beyond her : and there is a 
great difference of being Poeta and nimis Poeta, if we believe Catullus, as much as betwixt a modest 
behaviour and affectation. The verse of Chaucer, I confess, is not harmonious to us ; but it is like 
the eloquence of one whom Tacitus commends, it was awribus istius temporis accommodate/, : they who 
lived with him, and sometime after himj thought it musical ; and it continues so even in our judgment, if 
compared with the numbers of Lydgate and Gower, his contemporaries : there is the rude sweetness 
of a Scotch tune in it, which is natural and pleasing, though not perfect. It is true, I cannot go so 
far as he who published the last edition of him ; for he would make us believe the fault is in our ears, 
and that there were really ten syllables in a verse where we find but nine : but this opinion is not 
worth confuting ; it is so gross and obvious an error, that common sense (which is a rule in everything 
but matters of faith and revelation) must convince the reader, that equality of numbers in every verse 
which we call Heroic, was either not known, or not always practised in Chaucer's age. It were an 
easy matter to produce some thousands of his verses, which are lame for want of half a foot, and some- 
times a whole one, and which no pronunciation can make otherwise. We can only say, that he lived in 



PREFACE. 219 



the infancy of our poetry, and that nothing is hrought to perfection at the first. We must be children 
before we grow men. There was an Ennius, and in process of time a Lucilius, and a Lucretius, before 
Virgil and Horace ; even after Chaucer there was a Spenser, a Harrington, a Fairfax, before Waller and 
Denham were in being : and our numbers were in their nonage till these Last appeared. I need say 
little of his parentage, life, and fortunes : they are to bo found at large in all the editions of his works. 
He was employed abroad and favoured by Edward the Third, Richard the Second, and Henry the 
Fourth, and was poet, as I suppose, to all three of them. In Richard's time, I doubt, ho was a little 
dipt in the rebellion of the commons ; and being brother-in-law to John of Gaunt, it was no wonder if 
he followed the fortunes of that family ; and was well with Henry the Fourth when he had deposed 
his predecessor. Neither is it to be admired, that Henry, who was a wise as well as a valiant prince, 
who claimed by succession, and was sensible that his title was not sound, but was rightfully in 
Mortimer, who had married the heir of York ; it was not to be admired, I say, if that great 
politician should be pleased to have the greatest wit of those times in his interests, and to be the 
trumpet of his praises. Augustus had given him the example, by the advi;e of Maecenas, who 
recommended Virgil and Horace to him; whose praises helped to make him popular while he was 
alive, and after his death have made him precious to posterity. As for the religion of our poet, he seems 
to have some little bias towards the opinions of Wickliff, after John of Gaunt his patron ; somewhat 
of which appears in the tale of Piers Plowman : yet I cannot blame him for inveighing so sharply 
against the vices of the clergy in his age : their pride, their ambition, their pomp, their avarice, their 
worldly interest, deserved the lashes which he gave them, both in that, and in most of his Canterbury 
tales: neither has his contemporary Boccace spared them. Yet both those poets lived in much 
esteem with good and holy men in orders : for the scandal which is given by particular priests, reflects 
not on the sacred function. Chaucer's Monk, his Canon, and his Friar, took not from the 
character of his Good Parson. A satirical poet is the check of the laymen on bad priests. We are 
only to take care, that we involve not the innocent with the guilty in the same condemnation. The 
good cannot be too much honoured, nor the bad too coarsely used : for the corruption of the best 
becomes the worst. When a clergyman is whipped, his gown is first taken off, by which the dignity 
of his order is secured : if he be wrongfully accused he has his action of slander ; and it is at the poet's 
peril, if he transgress the law. But they will tell us, that all kind of satire, though never so well 
deserved by particular priests, yet brings the whole order into contempt. Is then the peerage of 
England any thing dishonoured, when a peer suffers for his treason ? If he be libelled, or any way 
defamed, he has his Scandalum Magnatwm to punish the offender. They, who use this kind of argument, 
seem to be conscious to themselves of somewhat which has deserved the poet's lash ; and are less 
concerned for their public capacity, than for then- private ; at least there is pride at the bottom of 
their reasoning. If the faults of men in orders are only to be judged among themselves, they are all 
in some sort parties : for, since they say the honour of their order is concerned in every member of it, 
how can we be sure, that they will be impartial judges'? How far I may be allowed to speak my 
opinion in this case, I know not : but I am sure a dispute of this nature caused mischief in abundance 
betwixt a king of England and an archbishop of Canterbury ; one standing up for the laws of his land, 
and the other for the honour (as he called it) of God's Church ; which ended in the murther of tho 
prelate, and in the whipping of his majesty from post to pillar for his penance. The learned and 
ingenious Dr. Drake has saved me the labour of inquiring into the esteem and reverence which tho 
priests have had of old ; and I would rather extend than diminish any part of it : yet I must needs say, 
that when a priest provokes me without any occasion given him, I have no reason, unless it be the 
charity of a Christian, to forgive him. Prior Icesit is justification sufficient in the Civil Law. If I 
answer him in his own language, self-defence, I am sure, must be allowed me ; and if I cany it farther, 
even to a sharp recrimination, somewhat may be indulged to human frailty. Yet my resentment has not 
wrought so far, but that I have followed Chaucer in his character of a holy man, and have enlarged on 
that subject with some pleasure, reserving to myself tho right, if I shall think fit hereafter, to describe 
another sort of priests, such as are more easily to be found than tho good parson ; such as have givon the 
last blow to Christianity in this ago, by a practice so contrary to their doctrine. But this will keep 
cold till another time. In the meanwhile, I take up Chaucer where I left him. He must have bean 
a man of a most wonderful comprehensive nature, because, as it has been truly observed of him, 
he has taken into the compass of his Canterbury talcs the various manners and humours (its we now 
call them) of tho whole English nation, in his age. Not a single character has escaped hint. All his 



220 PREFACE. 



pilgrims are severally distinguished from each other ; and not only in their inclinations, but in their 
very physiognomies and persons. Baptista' Porta could not have described their natures better, than by 
the marks which the poet gives them. The matter and manner of their tales, and of their telling, are 
so suited to their different educations, humours, and callings, that each of them would be improper in 
any other mouth. Even the grave and serious characters are distinguished by their several sorts of 
gravity : their discourses are such as belong to their age, their calling, and their breeding ; such as are 
becoming of them, and of them only. Some of his persons are vicious, and some virtuous ; some are 
unlearned, or . (as Chaucer calls them) lewd, and some are learned. Even the ribaldry of the low 
characters is different : the Eeeve, the Miller, and the Cook, are several men, and distinguished from 
each other, as much as the mincing lady prioress, and the broad-speaking gap-toothed wife of Bath. 
But enough of this : there is such a variety of game springing up before me, that I am distracted in 
my choice, and know not which to follow. Tis sufficient to say, according to the proverb, that here is 
God's plenty. We have our forefathers and great grand-dames all before us, as they were in Chaucer's 
days ; their general characters are still remaining in mankind, and even in England, though they are 
called by other names than those of Monks and Friars, and Canons, and lady Abbesses, and Nuns : 
for mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though every thing is altered. May I 
have leave to do myself the justice, (since my enemies will do me none, and are so far from granting 
me to be a good poet, that they will not allow me so much as to be a Christian, or a moral man) may 
I have leave, I say, to inform my reader, that I have confined my choice to such tales of Chaucer as 
savour nothing of immodesty. If I had desired more to please than to instruct, the Reeve, the Miller, 
the Shipman, the Merchant, the Sumner, and, above all, the Wife of Bath, in the prologue to her tale, 
would have procured me as many friends and readers as there are beaux and ladies of pleasure in the 
town. But I will no more offend against good manners : I am sensible, as I ought to be, of the 
scandal I have given by my loose writings ; and make what reparation I am able, by this public 
acknowledgment. If any thing of this nature, or of profaneness, be crept into these poems, I am so 
far from defending it, that I disown it. Tolum hoc indictum volo. Chaucer makes another manner 
of apology for his broad speaking, and Boccace makes the like ; but I will follow neither of them. 
Our countryman, in the end of his characters, before the Canterbury tales, thus excuses the ribaldry, 
which is very gross in many of his novels : — 

" But first, I pray you of your courtesy, 
That ye ne arrette it nought my villany, 
Though that I plainly speak in this mattere 
To tellen you- her words, and elce her chere . 
Ne though I speak her words properly, 
For this ye knowen as well as I, 
Who shall tellen a tale after a man, 
He mote rehearse as nye, as ever he can : 
Everich word of it heen in his charge, 
All speke he, never so rudely, ne large. 
Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue, 
Or feine things, or find words new : 
He may not spare, although he were his brother. 
He mote as well say o word as another. 
Christ spake himself full broad in holy writ, 
And well I wote no villany is it, 
Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede, 
The words mote been cousin to the dede." 

Yet if a man should have inquired of Boccace or of Chaucer, what need they had of introducing 
such characters, where obscene words were proper in their mouths, but very indecent to be heard ; I 
know not what answer they could have made : for that reason, such tale shall be left untold by me. 
You have here a specimen of Chaucer's language, which is so obsolete, that his sense is scarce to be 
understood ; and you have likewise more than one example of his unequal numbers, which were 
mentioned before. — Yet many of his verses consist of ten syllables, and the words not much behind 
our present English ; as for example, these two lines, in the description of the carpenter's young wife : 

" Wincing she was, as is a jolly colt, 
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt." 

I have almost done with Chaucer, when I have answered some objections relating to my present 



PREFACE. 221 



work. I find some people are offended that I have turned these talcs into modern English ; because 
they think them unworthy of my pains, and look on Chaucer as a diy, old-fashioned wit, not worth 
reviving. I have often heard the late Earl of Leicester say, that Mr. Cowley himself was of that 
opimon ; who having read him over at my lord's request, declared he had no taste of him. I dare not 
advance my opinion against the judgment of so great an author; but I think it fair, however, to leave 
the decision to the public : Mr. Cowley was too modest to set up for a dictator ; and being shocked 
perhaps with his old style, never examined into the depth of his good sense. Chaucer, I confess, is a 
rough diamond, and must first be polished, ere he shines. I deny not, likewise, that, living in our 
early days of poetry, he writes not always of a piece ; but sometimes mingles trivial things with those 
of greater moment. Sometimes also, though not often, he runs riot, like Ovid, and knows not when 
he has said enough. But there are more great wits besides Chaucer, whose fault is their excess of 
conceits, and those ill sorted. An author is not to write all he can, but only all he ought. Having 
observed this redundancy in Chaucer (as it is an easy matter for a man of ordinary parts to find a 
fault in one of greater), I have not tied myself to a literal translation ; but have often omitted what I 
judged unnecessary, or not of dignity enough to appear in the company of better thoughts. I have 
presumed farther, in some places, and added somewhat of my own where I thought my author was 
deficient, and had not given his thoughts their true lustre, for want of words in the beginning of our 
language. And to this I was the more emboldened, because (if I may be permitted to say it of myself) 
I found I had a soul congenial to his, and that I had been conversant in the same studies. Another 
poet, in another age, may take the same liberty with my writings ; if at least they live long enough to 
deserve correction. It was also necessary sometimes to restore the sense of Chaucer, which was lost 
or mangled in the errors of the press : let this example suffice at present ; in the story of Palamon 
and Arcite, where the temple of Diana is described, you find these verses, in all the editions of our 
author : — 

" There saw I Dane turned into a tree, 
I mean not the goddess Diane, 
But Venus daughter, which that hight Dane •" 

which, after a little consideration, I knew was to be reformed into this sense, that Daphne, the daughter 
of Peneus, was turned into a tree. I durst not make thus bold with Ovid, lest some future Milboum 
should arise, and say, I varied from my author, because I understood him not. 

But there are other judges who think I ought not to have translated Chaucer into English, out of a 
quite contrary notion : they suppose there is a certain veneration due to his old language ; and that it 
is a little less than profanation and sacrilege to alter it. They are farther of opinion, that somewhat 
of his good sense will suffer in this transfusion, and much of the beauty of his thoughts will infallibly 
be lost, which appear with more grace in their old habit. Of this opinion was that excellent person, 
whom I mentioned, the late Earl of Leicester, who valued Chaucer as much as Mr. Cowley despised 
him. My lord dissuaded me from this attempt, (for I was thinking of it some years before his death,) 
and his authority prevailed so far with me, as to defer my undertaking while he lived, in deference to 
him : yet my reason was not convinced with what he urged against it. If the first end of a writer be 
to be understood, then as his language grows obsolete, his thoughts must grow obscure : multa rena- 
scentur qua; nunc cecidere ; cadentque, quce nunc sunt in lionore vocabida, si volet itsus, quern penes arlitrium 
est et jus et norma loquendi. When an ancient word for its sound and significancy deserves to be 
revived, I have that reasonable veneration for antiquity, to restore it. All beyond this is superstition. 
Words are not like landmarks, so sacred as never to be removed ; customs are changed, and even 
statutes are silently repealed, when the reason ceases for which they were enacted. As for the other 
part of the argument, that his thoughts will lose of their original beauty, by the innovation of words ; 
in the first place, not only their beauty, but then - being is lost, whore they are no longer understood, 
which is the present case. I grant that something must be lost in all transfusion, that is, in all trans- 
lations ; but the sense will remain, winch would otherwise be lost, or at least be maimed, when it is 
scarce intelligible ; and that but to a few. How few are there who can read Chaucer, so as to under- 
stand him perfectly 1 And if imperfectly, then with less profit and no pleasure Tis not for the use 
of some old Saxon friends, that I have taken these pains with him : lot them neglect my version, 
because they have no need of it. I made it for their sakes who understand sense and poetry as well 
as they, when that poetry and sense is put into words which they understand. I will go farther, and 
dare to add, that what beauties I lose in somo places, I give to others which had them not originally; 



222 PEEFACE. 



but in this I may be partial to myself; let the reader judge, and I submit to his decision. Yet I 
think I have just occasion to complain of them, who, because they understand Chaucer, would deprive 
the greater part of their countrymen of the same advantage, and hoard him up, as misers do their 
grandam gold, only to look on it themselves, and hinder others from making use of it. In sum, I 
seriously protest, that no man ever had, or can have, a greater veneration for Chaucer, than myself. 
I have translated some part of his works, only that I might perpetuate his memory, or at least refresh 
it, amongst my countrymen. If I have altered him anywhere for the better, I must at the same time 
acknowledge, that I could have done nothing without him : Facile est inventis addere, is no great 
commendation ; and I am not so vain to think I have deserved a greater. I will conclude what I have 
to say of him singly, with this one remark : a lady of my acquaintance, who keeps a kind of corre- 
spondence with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been informed by them, that Mademoiselle 
de Scudery, who is as old as Sibyl, and inspired like her by the same god of poetry, is at this time 
translating Chaucer into modern French. From which I gather, that he has been formerly translated 
into the old Provencal (for how she should come to understand old English I know not). But the 
matter of fact being true, it makes me think that there is something in it like fatality ; that, after 
certain periods of time, the fame and memory of great wits should be renewed, as Chaucer is both in 
France and England. If this be wholly chance, 'tis extraordinary, and I dare not call it more, for 
fear of being taxed with superstition. 

Boccace comes last to be considered, who, living in the same age with Chaucer, had the same genius, 
and followed the same studies : both writ novels, and each of them cultivated his mother tongue. But 
the greatest resemblance of our two modem authors being in their familiar style, and pleasing way of 
relating comical adventures, I may pass it over, because I have translated nothing from Boccace of that 
nature. In the serious part of poetry, the advantage is wholly on Chaucer's side ; for though the 
Englishman has borrowed many tales from the Italian, yet it appears that those of Boccace were not 
generally of his own making, but taken from authors of former ages, and by him only modelled : 
so that what there was of invention in either of them, may be judged equal. — But Chaucer has 
refined on Boccace, and has mended the stories which he has borrowed, in his way of telling ; though 
prose allows more liberty of thought, and the expression is more easy, when unconfined by numbers. 
Our countiyman carries weight, and yet wins the race at disadvantage. I desire not the reader should 
take my word : and therefore I will set two of their discourses on the same subject, in the same light, 
for every man to judge betwixt them. I translated Chaucer first, and, amongst the rest, pitched on 
the Wife of Bath's Tale ; not daring, as I have said, to adventure on her prologue, because it is too 
licentious : there Chaucer introduces an old woman of mean parentage, whom a youthful knight of 
noble blood was forced to marry, and consequently loathed her : the crone being in bed with him on 
the wedding-night, and finding his aversion, endeavours to win his affection by reason, and speaks a 
good word for herself, (as who could blame her 1) in hope to mollify the sullen bridegroom. She takes 
her topics from the benefits of poverty, the advantages of old age and ugliness, the vanity of youth, 
and the silly pride of ancestry and titles without inherent virtue, which is the true nobility. When I 
had closed Chaucer, I returned to Ovid, and translated some more of his fables ; and by this time had 
so far forgotten the Wife of Bath's Tale, that, when I took up Boccace, unawares I fell on the same 
argument of preferring virtue to nobility of blood, and titles, in the story of Sigismunda ; which I had 
certainly avoided for the resemblance of the two discourses, if my memory had not failed me. Let 
the reader weigh them both ; and if he thinks me partial to Chaucer, it is in him to right Boccace. 

I prefer in our countryman, far above all his other stories, the noble poem of Palamon and Arcite 
which is of the Epic kind, and perhaps not much inferior to the Hias or the iEneis : the story is 
more pleasing than either of them, the manners as perfect, the diction as poetical, the learning as deep 
and various ; and the disposition full as artful ; only it includes a greater length of time, as taking up 
seven years at least ; but Aristotle has left undecided the duration of the action ; which yet is easily 
reduced into the compass of a yoar, by a narration of what preceded the return of Palamon to Athens. 
I had thought for the honour of our nation, and more particularly for his, whose laurel, though 
unworthy, I have worn after him, that this story was of English growth, and Chaucer's own-i but I 
was undeceived by Boccace ; for casually looking on the end of his seventh Giornata, I found Dioneo 
(under which name he shadows himself), and Fiametta (who represents his mistress the natural 
daughter of Bobert, king of Naples) of whom these words are spoken, Dioneo e la Fiametta granpezza 
contarono insieme d'Arcita, e di Palamone : by which it appears that this story was written before the 



PREFACE. 223 



time of Boccace ; but the name of its author being wholly lost,* Chaucer is now become an original ; 
and I question not but the poem has received many beauties by passing through his noble hands. 
Besides this tale, there is another of his own invention, after the manner of the Provencals, called 
The Flower and the Leaf ; with which I was so particularly pleased, both for the invention and the 
moral, that I cannot hinder myself from recommending it to the reader. 

As a corollary to this preface, in which I have done justice to others, I owe somewhat to myself: 
not that I think it worth my time to enter the lists with one Milbourn, and one Blackmore, but baroly 
to take notice that such men there are who have written scurrilously against me, without any provo- 
cation. Milbourn, who is in Orders, pretends amongst the rest this quarrel to mo, that I have fallen 
foul on priesthood : if I have, I am only to ask pardon of good priests, and am afraid his part of the 
reparation will come to little. Let him be satisfied that he shall not be able to forco himself upon me 
for an adversary. I contemn him too much to enter into competition with him. His own translations 
of Virgil have answered his criticisms on mine. If (as they say, he has declared in print) he prefers the 
version of Ogilby to mine, the world has made him the same compliment : for it is agreed on all hands, 
that he writes even below Ogilby : that, you will say, is not easily to be done ; but what cannot Mil- 
bourn bring about 1 I am satisfied, however, that while he and I live together, I shall not be thought 
the worst poet of the age. It looks as if I had desired him underhand to write so ill against mo : but 
upon my honest word I have not bribed him to do me this service, and am wholly guiltless of his 
pamphlet. 'Tis true, I should be glad, if I could persuade him to continue his good offices, and write 
such another critique on any thing of mine : for I find by experience he has a great stroke with the 
reader, when he condemns any of my poems, to make the world have a better opinion of them. He 
has taken some pains with my poetry; but no body will be persuaded to take the same with his. If I 
had taken to the church (as he affirms, but which was never in my thoughts) I should have had more 
sense, if not more grace, than to have turned myself out of my benefice by writing libels on my 
parishioners. — But his account of my manners and my principles are of a piece with his cavils and his 
poetry : and so I have done with him for ever. 

As for the City Bard, or Knight Physician, I hear his quarrel to me is, that I was the author of 
Absalom and Achitophel, which he thinks is a little hard on his fanatic patrons in London. 

But I will deal the more civilly with his two poems, because nothing ill is to be spoken of the dead : 
and therefore peace be to the Manes of his Arthurs. I will only say, that it was not for this noble 
knight that I drew the plan of an Epic poem on king Arthur, in my preface to the translation of 
Juvenal. — The guardian angels of kingdoms were machines too ponderous for him to manage ; and 
therefore he rejected them, as Dares did the whirlbats of Eryx, when they were thrown before him 
by Entellus. Yet from that preface he plainly took his hint : for he began immediately upon the 
story ; though ho had the baseness not to acknowledge his benefactor ; but instead of it, to traduce me 
in a libel. 

I shall say the loss of Mr. Collier, because in many things he has taxed me justly ; and I have 
pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expressions of mine, which can be truly argued of obscenity, 
profancnoss, or immorality ; and retract thorn. If he be my enemy, let him triumph ; if he be my 
friend, as I have given him no personal occasion to be otherwise, he will be glad of my repentance. 
It becomes me not to draw my pen in the defence of a bad cause, when I have so often drawn it for a 
good one. Yet it were not difficult to prove that in many places he has perverted my meaning by his 
glosses ; and interpreted my words into blasphemy and bawdiy, of which they were not guilty ; 
besides that he is too much given to horse-play in his raillery ; and comes to battle like a dictator 
from the plough. I will not say, The zeal of God's house has eaten him up ; but I am sure it has 
devoured some part of his good manners and civility. It might also be doubted whether it wore 
altogether zeal, which prompted him to this rough manner of proceeding; perhaps it became not one 
of his function to rake into the rubbish of ancient and modern plays ; a divine might have employed 
his pains to bettor purpose, than in the nastiness of Plautus and Aristophanes; whose examp 
they excuse not mc,.so it might bo possibly supposed, that he read them not without some pleasure. 
They who havo written commentaries on those poets, or on Horace, Juvenal, and Martial, hare 
explained some vices, which without their interpretation had been unknown to modern times. 
Neither has he judged impartially betwixt the former age and us. 

* Not so: for, as Mr. Malone has observed, Boccace alluded to the Thesdda which was writton by himself. See 
Malono's Life, &c. of Drydcn, vol. iii. p. 641. 



224 



TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF ORMOND. 



There is more bawdry in one Play of Fletcher's, called The Custom of the Country, than in all 
ours together. Yet this has been often acted on the stage in my remembrance. Are the times so 
much more reformed now, than they were five and twenty years ago 1 If they are, I congratulate the 
amendment of our morals. But I am not to prejudice the cause of my fellow-poets, though I abandon 
my own defence : they have some of them answered for themselves, and neither they nor I can think 
Mr. Collier so formidable an enemy, that we should shun him. He has lost ground at the latter end 
of the day, by pursuing his point too far, like the Prince of Conde at the battle of Senneffe : from 
immoral plays, to no plays ; ab dbusu ad mum, non valet consequentia. But being a party, I am not 
to erect myself into a judge. As for the rest of those who have written against me, they are such 
scoundrels, that they deserve not the least notice to be taken of them. Blackmore and Milbourn are 
only distinguished from the crowd, by being remembered to their infamy. 






' Demetri, teque Tigelli 

Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare cathedras.' 



TALES FKOM CHAUCER, 



'TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF ORMOND, 



WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM OF 



PALAMON AND AECITE. 



Madam, 
The bard who first adorn'd our native tongue, 
Tuned to his British lyre this ancient song,: 
Which Homer might without a blush rehearse, 
And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse : 
He match'd their beauties, where they most excel ; 
Of love sung better, and of arms as well. " 6 

Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond, to behold 
What power the charms of beauty had of old ; 
Nor wonder if such deeds of arms were done/ 
Inspired by two fan- eyes, that sparkled like your 
own. w 

If Chaucer by the best idea wrought, 
And poets can divine each other's thought, 
The fairest nymph before his eyes he set ; 
And then the fairest was Plantagenet ; 
Who three contending princes made her prize, I5 
And ruled the rival nations with her eyes : 
Who left immortal trophies of her fame, 
And to the noblest order gave the name. 

Like her, of equal kindred to the throne, 
You keep her conquests, and extend your own: 20 
As when the stars, in their ethereal race, 
At length have roll'd around the liquid space, 
At certain periods they resume their place, 

* Dr. Johnson justly censures this Dedication as a "piece 
where his original fondness of remote conceits seems to 
have revived." John Waeton. 
Ver. 4. And leaves a doubtful palm in VirgiVs verse:] 
"Dubiam facientia earmina palmam." — Juv. 

John Waeton. 



From the same point of heaven their course 

advance, 
And move in measures of their former dance ; 25 
Thus, after length of ages, she returns, 
Restored in you, and the same place adorns ; 
Or you perform her office in the sphere, 
Born of her blood, and make a new Platonic 

year. 
true Plantagenet, race divine, M 

(For beauty still is fatal to the line) 
Had Chaucer lived that angel-face to view, 
Sure he had drawn his Emily from you ; 
Or had you lived to judge the doubtful right, 
Your noble Palamon had been the knight ; ^ 

And conquering Theseus from his side had sent 
Your generous lord, to guide the Theban 

government. 
1*1016 shall accomplish that ; and I shall see 
A Palamon in him, in you an Emily. 
Already have the fates your path prepared, *> 
And sure presage your future sway declared : 
When westward, like the sun, you took your 

way, 
And from benighted Britain bore the day, 
Blue Triton gave the signal from the shore, 
The ready Nereids heard, and swam before . * 
To smooth the seas ; a soft Etesian gale 
But just inspired, and gently swell'd the sail ; 

Ver. 31. fatal to the line,'] Destined or given by 

the Fates. — A peculiar sense. John Wakton. 






TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF ORMOND. 



225 



Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand 

Heaved up his lighten'd keel, and sunk the sand, 

And steer'd the sacred vessel safe to land. 60 

The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way, 

Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea. 

Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored, 

In you, the pledge of her expected lord ; 

Due to her isle ; a venerable name ; 5S 

His father and his grandsire known to fame ; 

Awed by that house, accustom'd to command, 

The sturdy kems in due subjection stand; 

Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand. 

At your approach, they crowded to the port ; m 

And scarcely landed, you create a court : 

As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run ; 

For Venus is the promise of the sun. 

The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy 'd, 

Pales unhonour'd, Ceres unemploy'd, M 

Were all forgot ; and one triumphant day 

Wiped all the tears of three campaigns away. 

Blood, rapines, massacres, were cheaply bought, 

So mighty recompense your beauty brought. 

As when the dove returning bore the mark 70 

Of earth restored to the long-labouring ark, 

The relics of mankind, secure of rest, 

Oped every window to receive the guest, 

And the fair bearer of the message bless'd ; 

So, when you came, with loud repeated cries, ? 5 

The nation took an omen from your eyes, 

And God advanced his rainbow in the skies, 

To sign inviolable peace restored ; 

The saints, with solemn shouts, proclaim'd the 

new accord. 
When at your second coming you appear, m 

(For I foretel that millenary year) 
The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more, 
But eax'th unbidden shall produce her store ; 
The land shall laugh, the circling ocean smile, 
And Heaven's indulgence bless the holy isle. M 
Heaven from all ages has reserved for you 
That happy clime, which venom never knew ; 
Or if it bad been there, your eyes alone 
Have power to chase all poison but their own. 

Now in this interval, which fate has cast 90 

Betwixt your future glories, and your past, 
This pause of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn ; 
While England celebrates your safe return, 
By which you seem the seasons to command, 
And bring our summers back to their forsaken land. 

The vanquish'd isle our leisure must attend, 9r ' 
Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send ; 
Nor can we spare you long, tho' often we may lend. 
The dove was twice cmploy'd abroad, before 
The world was dried, and she return'd no more. 

Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger, "" 

New from her sickness, to that northern air; 
Rest here a while your lustre to restore, 
That they may see you, as you shone before ; 
For yet, the eclipse not wholly past, you wade 105 
Through some remains, and dimness of a shade. 

A subject in his princo may claim a right, 
Nor Buffer him with strength impair'd to fight ; 

Vcr. 48. Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand'] 
" Et pater ipse manu magna Portunus euntem 
Ittpulit." — jEneid. v. 1. 2-11. John Waktok. 
Ver. 70. As when the dove] lie had before used this 
simile, in Threnodia Augustalis, I believe. John Wabton. 
Ver. 82. The sharpen'd share, &c] lie could not avoid 
«n imitation of Virgil's PolHo. John Waktoh. 



Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, 

And curb his warlike wish to cross the main. "° 

Now past the danger, let the learn 'd begin 
The inquiry, where disease could enter in ; 
How those malignant atoms forced their way, 
What in the faultless frame they found to make 

their prey ? 
Where every element was weigh'd so well, lu 

That Heaven alone, who mix'd the mass, could tell 
Which of the four ingredients could rebel ; 
And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage, 
A soul might well be pleased to pass an age. 

And yet the fine materials made it weak ; '-" 
Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break : 
Ev'n to your breast the sickness durst aspire ; 
And, forced from that fair temple to retire, 
Profanely set the holy place on fire. 
In vain your lord, liko young Vespasian, moum'd, 
When the fierce flames the sanctuary buru'd : ,iS 
And I prepared to pay in verses rude 
A most detested act of gratitude : 
Ev'n this had been your elegy, which now 
Is offer'd for your health, tho table of my vow. I30 

Your angel sure our Morlcy's mind inspired, 
To find the remedy your ill required ; 
As once the Macedon, by Jovo's decree, 
Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolemy ; 
Or Heaven, which had such over-cost bestow'd, I35 
As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood, 
So liked the frame, he would not work anew, 
To save the charges of another you. 
Or by bis middle science did he steer, 
And saw some great contingent good appear H0 
Well worth a miracle to keep you here : 
And for that end, preserved the precious mould, 
Which all the future Ormonds was to hold ; 
And meditated in his better mind 
An heir from you, which may redeem the failing 
kind. ""' 

Blest be the power which has at once restored 
The hopes of lost succession to your lord ; 
Joy to the first and last of each degree, 
Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see, 
To you the Graces, and the Muse to me. 
O daughter of the rose, whose cheeks unite 
The differing titles of the red and white ; 
Who heaven's alternate beauty well display, 
The blush of morning, and the milky way ; 
Whose face is paradise, but fenced from sin ; IM 
For God in cither eye has placed a chcrubin. 

All is your lord's alone ; ev'n absent, he 
Employs the care of chaste Penelope. 
For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours, 
For him your curious needle paints the flowers ; 
Such works of old imperial dames were taught ; 
Such, for Ascanius, fair Elisa wrought. 
The soft recesses of your hours improve 
The three fair pledges of-your happy love : 
All other parts of pious duty done, 
You owe your Ormond nothing but a son; 
To fill in future times his father's place, 
And wear the garter of bis mother's race. 

Ver. 118. And where, imp "J f , 

A soul might "<>■'■] 

Tope has a similar expression, and the some rhyme. 
" Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out or 
Dull sullen prisoners In the body's c 
Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, 1.17. 
John W Aim in. 
Q 



226 



PALAMON AND ARCITB. 



PALAMON AND AECITE; 

OR, THE KNIGHT'S TALE. 



BOOK I. 

In days of old, there lived, of mighty fame, 
A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name : 
A chief, who more in feats of arms excell'd, 
The rising nor the setting sun beheld. 
Of Athens he was lord ; much land he won, 6 

And added foreign countries to his crown. 
In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove, 
Whom first by force he conquer' d, then by love ; 
He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame, 
With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came. 10 

With honour to his home let Theseus ride, 
With love to friend, and fortune for his guide, 
And his victorious army at his side. 
I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array, 
Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the 
way : I5 

But, were it not too long, I would recite 
The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight 
Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight ; 
The town besieged, and how much blood it cost 
The female army, and the Athenian host ; %> 

The spousals of Hippolita the queen ; 
What tilts and tourneys at the feast were seen ; 
The storm at their return, the ladies' fear : 
But these, and other things, I must forbear. 
The field is spacious I design to sow, ' 25 

With oxen far unfit to draw the plough : 
The remnant of my tale is of a length 
To tire your patience, and to waste my strength ; 
And trivial accidents shall be forborne, 
That others may have time to take their turn ; 30 
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host : 
That he whose tale is best, and pleases most, 
Should win his supper at our common cost. 

And therefore where I left, I will pursue 
This ancient story, whether false or true, M 

In hope it may be mended with a new. 
The prince I mention'd, full of high renown, 
In this array drew near the Athenian town ; 
When in his pomp and utmost of his pride, 
Marching, he chanced to cast his eye aside, * 

And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay 
By two and two across the common way : 
At his approach they raised a rueful cry, 
And beat their breasts, and held their hands on 
high, 

* Chaucer was more than 60 years old, and Dryden 70, 
when they wrote Palamon. Sade say s in 1359, Boceace sent 
a copy of Dante, written by his own hand, to Petrarch, who, 
it seems, was jealous of Dante, and in his answer speaks 
coldly of him. — Sade, p. 507. Dr. J. "Warton. 
Ter. 26. With oxen] From Ovid : — 

" Non profectnris littora bobus arat." 

John "Waeton. 



Creeping and crying, till they seized at last * 
His courser's bridle, and his feet embraced. 

Tell me, said Theseus, what and whence you 
are, 
And why this funeral pageant you prepare ? 
Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, 
To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds 1 M 

Or envy you my praise, and would destroy 
With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy? 
Or are you injured, and demand relief ? 
Name your request, and I will ease your grief. 

The most in years of all the mourning train 55 
Began ; (but swooned first away for pain) 
Then scarce recover'd spoke : Nor envy we 
Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory; 
'Tis thine, king, the afflicted to redress, 
And fame has fill'd the world with thy success : 60 
We wretched women sue for that alone, 
Which of thy goodness is refused to none ; 
Let fall some drops of pity on our grief, 
If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief : 
For none of us, who now thy grace implore, M 
But held the rank of sovereign queen before ; 
Till thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears, 
That mortal bliss should last for length of years, 
She cast us headlong from our high estate, 
And here in hope of thy return we wait : 
And long have waited in the temple nigh, 
Built to the gracious goddess Clemency. 
But reverence thou the power whose name it 

bears, 
Relieve the oppress'd, and wipe the widow's tears. 
I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, 
The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen : 
At Thebes he fell ; cursed be the fatal day ! 
And all the rest thou seest in this array, 
To make their moan, their lords in battle lost 
Before that town besieged by our confederate 
host : * 

But Creon, old and impious, who commands 
The Theban city, and usurps the lands, 
Denies the rites of funeral fires to those 
Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes. 
Unburn'd, unburied, on a heap they he ; ^ 

Such is their fate, and such is tyranny ; 
No friend has leave to bear away the dead, 
But with then' lifeless limbs his hounds are fed. 
At this she shriek'd aloud ; the mournful train 
Echo'd her grief, and, grovelling on the plain, w 

Ver. 49. Is this the welcome, &c] 

" Hi nostri reditus expectatique triumphi." 

John Waetou. 
Ver. 88. But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed.'] 

olutouc 2e IxAgiXf riv%i xCvitraiv. — Homer. 

John Waeton. 



PALAMON AND ARGTTE. 



227 



With groans, and hands upheld, to move his 

mind, 
Besought his pity to their helpless kind ! 

The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow, 
And, as his tender heart would break in two, 
He sigh'd ; and could not but their fate deplore, 
So wretched now, so fortunate before. % 

Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew, 
And raising one by one the suppliant crew, 
To comfort each, full solemnly he swore, 
That by the faith which knights to knighthood 
bore, 100 

And whate'er else to chivalry belongs, 
Ho would not cease, till he revenged their wrongs : 
That Greece should see performed what he de- 
clared ; 
And cruel Creon find his just reward. 
He said no more, but, shunning all delay, 105 

Rode on ; nor enter'd Athens on his way : 
But left his sister and his queen behind, 
And waved his royal banner in the wind : 
Where in an argent field the god of war 
Was drawn triumphant on his iron car ; no 

Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire, 
And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire ; 
Ev'n the ground glitter'd where the standard flew, 
And the green grass was dyed to sanguine hue. 
High on his pointed lance his pennon bore 115 
His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaur : 
The soldiers shout around with generous rage, 
And in that victory their own presage. 
He praised their ardour ; inly pleased to see 
His host the flower of Grecian chivalry. 120 

All day he march'd, and all the ensuing night, 
And saw the city with returning light. 
The process of the war I need not tell, 
How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell : 
Or after, how by storm the walls were won, 12s 
Or how the victor sack'd and bum'd the town : 
How to the ladies he restored again 
The bodies of their lords in battle slain : 
And with what ancient rites they were interr'd ; 
All these to fitter times shall bo deferr'd : 130 



Ver. 106. the god of war 

Was drawn triumphant in his iron car ;] 
This passage was in Gray's mind, when he wrote tho 
Progress of Poesy ; and I am surprised that the epithet ap- 
plied to car escaped him : 

" On Thracia's hills the lord of war, 
Has curbed the fury of his car." Todd. 

Ver. 113. Ev'n the ground glitter'd where the standard fie <»,] 

" totaqne cireum 

iEro renidescit tellus." — Lucret. lib. ii. 
And again : 

" Stare videtur et in campis consistere fulgur." 
So Euripides, Phoonissse, verse 110. 

;saTCC£«Aj;oi» olnrxv 

Xliittt ucT^&tmi. John Warton. 

Ver. 115. High on his pointed lance his pennon hare 

His Cretan Jight, the conquer'd Minotaur :] 
Chaucer's original says, 

" A ml by his banner borne is his penon 
< If gold full riche, in which there was ybeto {i.e. stamped) 
Tin Minotaure which that he slew in Crete." 

This adventure of Theseus and the Minotaur is repre- 
sented l>y Virgil ;is being the subject of the sculpture on 
• lie front of the temple of Apollo otCunnc; which, I con- 
jecture, he borrowed, as he uses some of the very expres- 
stons of Catullus, from his description of the embroidered 
hangings or tapestry. Joun Waiiton. 



I spare the widows' tears, their woeful cries, 
And howling at their husbands' obsequies ; 
How Theseus at these funerals did assist, 
And with what gifts the mourning dames dis- 

miss'd. 
Thus when the victor chief had Creon slain, 135 
And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain 
His mighty camp, and, when the day retum'd, 
The country wasted, and tho hamlets buru'd, 
And left the pillagers, to rapine bred, 
Without control to strip and spoil the dead. m 

There, in a heap of slain, among the rest 
Two youthful knights they found beneath a load 

oppress'd 
Of slaughter'd foes, whom first to death they 

sent, 
The trophies of their strength, a bloody monu- 
ment. 
Both fair, and both of royal blood they seem'd, 145 
Whom kinsmen to the crown the heralds deem'd ; 
That day in equal arms they fought for fame ; 
Their swords, their shields, their surcoats were 

the same. 
Close by each other laid, they press'd the ground, 
Their manly bosoms pierced with many a grisly 

wound ; VM 

Nor well alive, nor wholly dead they were, 
But some faint signs of feeble life appear : 
The wandering breath was on the wing to part, 
Weak was the pulse and hardly heaved the heart. 
These two were sisters' sons ; and Arcite one, 155 
Much famed in fields, with valiant Palamon. 
From these their costly arms the spoilers rent, 
And softly both convey'd to Theseus' tent : 
Whom known of Creon's line, and cured with 

care, 
He to his city sent as prisoners of the war, 1C0 
Hopeless of ransom, and condemn'd to lie 
In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die. 
This done, he march'd away with warlike sound, 
And to his Athens turn'd with laurels crown'd, 
Where happy long he lived, much loved, and 

more renown'd. 1M 

But in a tower, and never to be loosed, 
The woeful captive kinsmen are enclosed : 

Thus year by year they pass, and day by day, 
Till once, 'twas on the morn of cheerful May, 
Tho young Emilia, fairer to be seen 1?0 

Than the fair lily on the flowery green, 
More fresh than May herself in blossoms new, 
For with the rosy colour strove her hue, 
Waked, as her custom was, before the day, 
To do the observance due to sprightly May : 1?5 
For sprightly May commands our youth to keep 
Tho vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard 

sleep ; 
Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she 

moves ; 
Inspires new flames, revives extinguish' d loves. 
In this remembrance Emily ere day 
Arose, and drcss'd herself in rich aiTay ; 
Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair : 
Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair : 
A ribband did the braided tresses bind, 
The rest was loose, and wanton'd in the wind : ,M 
Aurora had but newly chased the □ 
And purpled o'er the Bky with blushing light, 
When to the garden walk she took her way. 
To sport and trip along in COOl of day. 
And offer maiden vows in honour of tho May. ' 

q a 



228 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



be- 

210 



At every turn, she made a little stand, 
And thrust among the thorns her lily hand 
To draw the rose, and every rose she drew 
She shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew : 
Then party-colour'd flowers of white and red 19S 
She wove, to make a garland for her head : 
This done, she sung and caroll'd out so clear, 
That men and angels might rejoice to hear : 
Ev'n wondering Philomel forgot to sing : 
And learn'd from her to welcome in the spring. 200 
The tower, of which before was mention made, 
Within whose keep the captive knights were laid, 
Built of a large extent, and strong withal, 
Was one partition of the palace wall ; 
The garden was enclosed within the square, 205 
Where young Emilia took the morning air. 

It happen'd Palamon, the prisoner knight, 
Restless of woe, arose before the light, 
And with his jailor's leave desired to breathe 
An air more wholesome than the damps 

neath. 

This granted, to the tower he took his way, 
Cheer'd with the promise of a glorious day : 
Then cast a languishing regard around, 
And saw, with hateful eyes, the. temples crown'd 
With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. 215 
He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because he knew 
'Twas but a larger jail he had in view : 
Then look'd below, and from the castle's height 
Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight : 
The garden, which before he had not seen, 220 
In spring's new livery clad of white and green, 
Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks 

between. 
This view'd, but not enjoy'd, with arms across 
He stood, reflecting on his country's loss ; 
Himself an object of the public scorn, 225 

And often wish'd he never had been born. 
At last, for so his destiny required, 
With walking giddy, and with thinking tired, 
He through a little window cast his sight, 
Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light : 230 
But ev'n that glimmering served him to descry 
The inevitable charms of Emily. 
Scarce had he seen, but seized with sudden 
smart, 
Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart ; 
Struck blind with overpowering light he stood, 23S 
Then started back amazed, and cried aloud. 
Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with 
haste, 
To help his friend, and in his arms embraced ; 
And ask'd him why he look'd so deadly wan, 
And whence and how his change of cheer be- 
gan l 24 ° 
Or who had done the offence ? But if, said he, 
Your grief alone is hard captivity ; 
For love of heaven with patience undergo 
A cureless ill, since fate will have it so : 
So stood our horoscope in chains to lie, ^ 
And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky, 
Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth, 
When all the friendly stars were under earth : 
Whate'er betides, by destiny 'tis done ; 
And better bear like men, than vainly seek to 
shun. 25 ° 
Nor of my bonds, said Palamon again, 
Nor of unhappy planets I complain ; 
But when my mortal anguish caused my cry, 
That moment I was hurt through either eye ; 



Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away, S" 6 

And perish with insensible decay : 

A glance of some new goddess gave the wound, 

Whom, like Acta3on, unaware I found. 

Look how she walks along yon shady space, 

Not Juno moves with more majestic grace ; ®*> 

And all the Cyprian queen is in her face. 

If thou art Venus, (for thy charms confess 

That face was form'd in heaven, nor art thou less; 

Disguised in habit, undisguised in shape) 

Oh, help us captives from our chains to 'scape ; 265 

But if our doom be pass'd in bonds to he 

For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die, 

Then be thy wrath appeased with our disgrace, 

And show compassion to the Theban race, 

Oppress'd by tyrant power ! While yet he spoke, 

Arcite on Emily had fix'd his look ; Wi 

The fatal dart a ready passage found, 

And deep within his heart infix' d the wound : 

So that if Palamon were wounded sore, 

Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more : 275 

Then from his inmost soul he sigh'd, and said, 

The beauty I behold has struck me dead : 

Unknowingly she strikes ; and kills by chance ; 

Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance. 

Oh, I must ask ; nor ask alone, but move 

Her mind to mercy, or must die for love. 

Thus Arcite : and thus Palamon replies, 
(Eager his tone, and ardent were his eyes). 
Speak'st thou in earnest, or in jesting vein ? 
Jesting, said Arcite, suits but ill with pain. 23S 
It suits far worse, (said Palamon again, 
And bent his brows) with men who honour weigh, 
Their faith to break, their friendship to betray; 
But worst with thee, of noble lineage bom, 
My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn. :9 ° 
Have we not plighted each our holy oath, 
That one should be the common good of both ; 
One soul should both inspire, and neither prove 
His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love 1 
To this before the gods we gave our hands, ^ 
And nothing but our death can break the bands. 
This binds thee, then, to further my design, 
As I am bound by vow to further thine : 
Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the plain 
Appeach my honour, or thine own maintain, 30 ° 
Since thou art of my council, and the friend 
Whose faith I trust, and on whose care depend : 
And would'st thou court my lady's love, which I 
Much rather than release would choose to die ) 
But thou, false Arcite, never shalt obtain 
Thy bad pretence ; I told thee first my pain : 
For first my love began ere thine was born ; 
Thou as my council, and my brother sworn, 
Art bound to assist my eldership of right, 
Or justly to be deem'd a perjured knight. 



Ver. 258. Whom, like Actceon, unaware I found."] An 
Ovidian aHnsion. r John Warton. 

Ver. 261. And all tlie Cyprian queen, &c] 
" And Venus is it, sothly as I gesse. 
And therewithall on knees adoun he fell, 

And sayde : " 

This circumstance of his falling on his knees, which is 

striking and dramatic, Dryden has hastily omitted, without 

judgment, as appears by the tenor of Arcite's argument. 

John Waeton. 

Ver. 285. Jesting, said Arcite, suits but ill with pain.~] 

" Difficile est tristi fingere mente jocum." 

Tibullus, lib. iii. E. 6, 2. 

John Waeton. 



PALAMON AND APX'ITE. 



229 



Thus Palamon : but Arcite with disdain 
In haughty language thus replied again : 
Forsworn thyself, the traitor's odious name 
I first return, and then disprove thy claim. 
If love be passion, and that passion nursed 315 
With strong desires, I loved the lady first. 
Canst thou pretend desire, whom zeal inflamed 
To worship, and a power celestial named ? 
Thine was devotion to the blest above, 
I saw the woman, and desired her love : 32 ° 

First own'd my passion, and to thee commend 
The important secret, as my chosen friend. 
Suppose (which yet I grant not) thy desire 
A moment elder than my rival fire ; 
Can chance of seeing first thy title prove ? K5 

And know'st thou not, no law is made for love ? 
Law is to things which to free choice relate ; 
Love is not in our choice, but in our fate ; 
Laws are but positive ; love's power, we see, 
Is Nature's sanction, and her first decree. M0 

Each day we break the bond of human laws 
For love, and vindicate the common cause. 
Laws for defence of civil rights are placed, 
Love throws the fences down and makes a 

general waste : 
Maids, widows, wives, without distinction fall ; ^ 
The sweeping deluge, love, comes on and covers 

all. 
If then the laws of friendship I transgress, 
I keep the greater, while I break the less ; 
And both are mad alike, since neither can possess. 
Both hopeless to be ransom'd, never more 34 ° 

To see the sun, but as he passes o'er. 

Like -53sop's hounds contending for the bone, 
Each pleaded right, and would be lord alone : 
The fruitless fight continued all the day, 
A cur came by, and snatch'd the prize away. 3ts 
As courtiers therefore justle for a grant, 
And when they break their friendship, plead their 

want, 
So thou, if fortune will thy suit advance, 
Love on, nor envy me my equal chance: 
For I must love, and am resolved to try 35 ° 

My fate, or failing in the adventure die. 

Great was their strife, which hourly was re- 

new'd, 
Till each with mortal hate his rival view'd : 
Now friends no more, nor walking hand in hand ; 
But when they met, they made a surly stand ; 355 
And glared like angry lions as they pass'd, 
And wish'd that every look might be their last. 

It chanced at length, Pirithous came to attend 
This worthy Theseus, his familiar friend ; 
Their love in early infancy began, 360 

And rose as childhood ripen'd into man, 
Companions of the war ; and loved so well, 
That when one died, as ancient stories tell, 
His fellow to redeem him went to hell. 



Vcr.326. 



■ no law is made for love ;] 



" Quis legem dat amantibns ? 
Major lex amor est sibi." — Boeth. iii. 12. 
John Wahton. 
Ver. 342. Mice JKsop's hounds contending for the &one,] 
Dryden seems here to speak in his own person, which 
; the thread of the contest rather inartificiaUy, where- 
as the original continues in the first person. 

" We strive as did the houndes for the hone." 

John Warton. 
Ver. 352. Great was their strife, &c.] These six spirited 
lines arc entiivly our author's own, and an improvomenton 
the simple original. John Warton. 



But to pursue my tale; to welcome home 363 
His warlike brother is Pirithous come : 
Arcite of Thebes was known in anus long since, 
And honour'd by this young Thessalian prince. 
Theseus to gratify his friend ami gue t, 
Who made our Arcite's freedom his request, %° 
Restored to liberty the captive knight, 
But on these hard conditions I recite: 
That if hereafter Arcite should be (bund 
Within the compass of Athenian ground, 
By day or night, or on wbate'er pretence, S!i 

His head should pay the forfeit of the offence. 
To this Pirithous for his friend agreed, 
And on his promise was the prisoner freed. 

Unpleased and pensive hence he takes his way. 
At his own peril; for his life must pay. *" 

Who now but Arcite mourns his bitter fate, 
Finds his dear purchase, and repents too late? 
What have I gain'd, he said, in prison pent, 
If I but change my bonds for banishment I 
And banish'd from her sight, I suffer more 3S5 
In freedom, than I felt in bonds before ; 
Forced from her presence, and condeinn'd to live ; 
Unwelcome freedom, and untlmnk'd reprieve: 
Heaven is not, but where Emily abides, 
And where she 's absent, all is hell besides. 39 ° 
Next to my day of birth, was that accursed, 
Which bound my friendship to Pirithous first : 
Had I not known that prince, I still had been 
In bondage, and had still Emilia seen : 
For though I never can her grace deserve, 395 
'Tis recompence enough to see and serve. 

Palamon, my kinsman and my friend, 
How much more happy fates thy love attend ! 
Thine is the adventure ; thine the victory : 
Well has thy fortune turn'd the dice for thee : 400 
Thou on that angel's face may'st feed thine eyes, 
In prison, no ; but blissful paradise ! 

Thou daily seest that sun of beauty shine, 
And lov'st at least in love's extremest line. 

1 mourn in absence, love's eternal night ; *° 5 
And who can tell but since thou hast her sight, 
And art a comely, young, and valiant knight, 
Fortune (a various power) may cease to frown, 
And by some ways unknown thy wishes crown ? 
But I, the most forlorn of human kind, 41 ° 
Nor help can hope, nor remedy can find ; 

But doom'd to drag my loathsome life in care, 
For my reward, must end it in despair. 
Fire, water, air, and earth, and force of fates, 
That governs all, and Heaven that all creates, 415 
Nor art, nor nature's hand can ease my grief; 
Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief : 
Then farewell youth, and all the joys that dwell, 
With youth and life, and life itself farewell, 

But why, alas ! do mortal men in vain 4i0 

Of fortune, fate, or Providence complain? 



Ver. 379. Unpleased and pensive hence he takes his 104^,1 
The- original exceeds the imitation here in the picture of 
Arcite's distress : 

" How great a sorwe suffereth now Arcite ? 
The deth he felcth thurgh his horte smite ; 
llewcepeth, waileth, crieth pitously; 
To sleen himself ho waiteth hourly." 

An admirable picture of despair! John 'Warton. 

Ver. 883.] So Ferdinand in the Tempest, Act the first 

" Might I hut through my prison once a clay 

Behold this maid : all corners else of the earth 

Let liberty make use of; shall enough 

Have I In such a prison." John Waktoh. 



230 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



God gives us what lie knows our wants require, 
And better things than those which we desire : 
Some pray for riches ; riches they obtain ; 
But, , watch' d by robbers, for then- wealth are 

slain : 425 

Some pray from prison to be freed ; and come, 
When guilty of their vows, to fall at home ; 
Murder'd by those they trusted with their life, 
A favour'd servant, or a bosom wife. 
Such dear-bought blessings happen every day, 43 ° 
Because we know not for what things to pray. 
Like drunken sots about the street we roam : 
Well knows the sot he has a certain home : 
Yet knows not how to find the uncertain place, 
And blunders on, and staggers every pace. 435 

Thus all seek happiness ; but few can find, 
For far the greater part of men are blind. 
This is my case, who thought our utmost good 
Was in one word of freedom understood : 
The fatal blessing came : from prison free, 44 ° 

I starve abroad, and lose the sight of Emily. 

Thus Arcite ; but if Arcite thus deplore 
His sufferings, Palamon yet suffers more. 
For when he knew his rival freed and gone, 
He swells with wrath; he makes outrageous 

moan : M5 

He frets, he fumes, he stares, he stamps the 

ground; 
The hollow tower with clamours rings around :■»- 
With briny tears he bathed his fetter'd feet, 
And droop'd all o'er with agony of sweat. 
Alas ! he cried ! I, wretch, in prison pine, 450 

Too happy rival, while the fruit is thine : 
Thou liVst at large, thou draw'st thy native air, 
Pleased with thy freedom, proud of my despair : 
Thou may"st, since thou hast youth and courage 

join'd, 
A sweet behaviour and a solid mind, 455 

Assemble ours, and all the Theban race, 
To vindicate on Athens thy disgrace ; 
And after, by some treaty made, possess ' 
Fair Emily, the pledge of lasting peace. 
So thine shall be the beauteous prize, while I 460 
Must languish in despair, in prison die. 
Thus all the advantage of the strife is thine, 
Thy portion double joys, and double sorrows 

mine. 
The rage of jealousy then fired his soul, 
And his face kindled like a burning coal : 465 

Now cold despair, succeeding in her stead, 
To livid paleness turns the glowing red. 
His blood, scarce liquid, creeps within his veins, 
Like water which the freezing wind constrains. 
Then thus he said : Eternal Deities, i7 ° 

Who rule the world with absolute decrees, 



Ver. 427. guilty of their vows] A Latinism used 

by Virgil : — " Constituam ante aras, voti reus " 

.Shi. v. 237. John Wakton. 

Ver. 432. LiJce drunken sots about, &c] Sed ad hominum 
studia revertor, quorum animus, etsi caligante memoria, 
tamen summum bonum repetit ; sed veluti ebrius, domum 
quo tramite revertatur, ignorat. — Boetbius de Cons. 1. 3. 
John Waeton. 

Ver. 446. He frets, he fumes,"] Why should I tell the 
reader to admire these seven lines ? Dr. J. Wakton. 

Ver. 447. The hollow tower] An improvement : in 
Chaucer, " the grete tower." John Wakton. 

Ver. 448. his fetter'd feet,] I take occasion here 

to observe, once for all, the beauty and simplicity of Dry- 
den's epithets. John Waeton. 

Ver. 470. Eternal Deities,] We think we are 



And write whatever time shall bring to pass, 

With pens of adamant, on plates of brass ; 

What, is the race of human kind your care 

Beyond what all his fellow creatures are ? 4 ? 5 

He with the rest is liable to pain, 

And like the sheep, his brother-beast, is slain. 

Cold, hunger, prisons, ills without a cure, 

All these he must, and guiltless oft endure ; 

Or does your justice, power, or prescience fail, 4m 

When the good suffer, and the bad prevail ? 

What worse to wretched virtue could befal, 

If fate or giddy fortune govern'd all 2 

Nay, worse than other beasts is our estate ; 

Them, to pursue their pleasures, you create ; ^ 

We, bound by harder laws, must curb our will, 

And your commands, not our desires, fulfil ; 

Then, when the creature is unjustly slain, 

Yet after death at least he feels no pain ; 

But man in life surchai'ged with woe before, 490 

Not freed when dead, is doom'd to suffer more. 

A serpent shoots his sting at unaware ; 

An ambush'd thief forelays a traveller ; 

The man lies murder'd, while the thief and snake, 

One gains the thickets, and one thrids the brake. 

This let divines decide ; but well I know, m 

Just, or unjust, I have my share of woe, 

Through Saturn, seated in a luckless place, 

And Juno's wrath, that persecutes my race ; 

Or Mars and Venus, in a quartile, move 60 ° 

My pangs of jealousy for Arcite's love. 

Let Palamon oppress'd in bondage mourn, 
While to his exiled rival we return. 
By this, the sun, declining from his height, 
The day had shorten'd to prolong the night : 505 
The lengthen'd night gave length of misery 
Both to the captive lover and the free. 
For Palamon in endless prison mourns, 
And Arcite forfeits life if he returns : 
The banish'd never hopes his love to see, 510 

Nor hopes the captive lord bis liberty : 
'Tis hard to say who suffers greater pains : - 
One sees his love, but cannot break his chains : 
One free, and all his motions uncontroll'd, 
Beholds whate'er he would, but what he would 
behold. 618 

Judge as you please, for I will haste to tell 
What fortune to the banish'd knight befel. 

When Arcite was to Thebes return'd again, 
The loss of her he loved renew'd his pain; 
What could be worse, than never more to see 52 ° 
His life, his soul, his charming Emily ? 



reading a chapter in Bayle, in defence of the Manichsean 
doctrines, instead of a passage in a romantic poem, con- 
cerning the lives of two unfortunate cavaliers. It is strange 
our author should introduce a metaphysical discourse in 
the midst of such a story. But Johnson says his delight 
was in ratiocination. The same may be said of a passage 
below, at verse 830. Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 473. With pens of adamant, on plates of fo'ass;] 
XaXxys otftus oCtrviTTTov ix h~£hTou y^occpviv. From Chaucer, 
Milton has adopted this expression : 

' incisas leges adamante perenni." 

See Todd's Milton, vol. vii. p. 333. 
John Wakton. 

Ver. 512. 'Tis hard to say] In the original is an apo- 
strophe, which in my humble opinion greatly heightens the 
pathos : 

" You lovers axe I now this question, 
Who hath the werse, Arcite or Palamon?' 

John Wabtok 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



231 



He raved with all the madness of despair, 

He roar'd, he beat his breast, he tore his hair. 

Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears, 

For, wanting nourishment, he wanted tears : 626 

His eye-balls in their hollow sockets sink, 

Bereft of sleep he loathes his meat and drink. 

He withers at his heart, and looks as wan 

As the pale spectre of a murder'd man : 

That pale turns yellow, and his face receives ^ 

The faded hue of sapless boxen leaves : 

In solitary groves he makes his moan, 

Walks early out, and ever is alone : 

Nor, mix'd in mirth, in youthful pleasures shares, 

But sighs when songs and instruments he hears. 635 

His spirits are so low, his voice is drown'd, 

He hears as from afar, or in a swound, 

Like the deaf murmurs of a distant sound : 

Uncomb'd his locks, and squalid his attire, 

Unlike the trim of love and gay desire ; 5i0 

But full of museful mopings, which presage 

The loss of reason, and conclude in rage. 

This when he had endured a year and more, 

Nor wholly changed from what he was before, 

It happen'd once, that, slumbering as he lay, 545 

He dream'd, (his dream began at break of day) 

That Hermes o'er his head in ah- appear'd, 

And with soft words his drooping spirits cheer'd ; 

His hat, adorn'd with wings, disclosed the god, 

And in his hand he bore the sleep-compelling 

rod : 55 ° 

Such as he seem'd when, at his sire's command, 
On Argus' head he laid the snaky wand. 
Arise, he said, to conquering Athens go, 
There fate appoints an end to all thy woe. 
The fright awaken'd Arcite with a start, 5S5 

Against his bosom bounced his heaving heart ; 
But soon he said, with scarce recover'd breath, 
And thither will I go, to meet my death, 
Sure to be slain ; but death is my desire, 
Since in Emilia's sight I shall expire. 66 ° 

By chance he spied a mirror while he spoke, __ 
And gazing there beheld his alter'd look ; 
Wondering, he saw his features and his hue 
So much were changed, that scarce himself he 

knew. 
A sudden thought then starting in his mind, 665 
Since I in Arcite cannot Arcite find, 
The world may search in vain with all their eyes, 
But never penetrate through this disguise. 
Thanks to the change which grief and sickness 

give, 
In low estate I may securely live, S7 " 

Ver. 524. Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears^ 

"IffTccTxi, acy^urvou avi^a. o'wxu.vtvis" 
Juliani jEgyptii in imaginem Philoctetis. 

Antholog. H. Steph.p. 313. 
John Wahton. 
Ver. 535. But sighs when songs and instruments lie hears.] 
" Qui tristis audis musicum citharm snniim, 
Quern tibiarum macerat jucunditas." — Phcodrus. 
John Warton. 
Ver. 561. By chance he spied a mirror while he spate,"] 
This la not according to the original, which, I think, con- 
tains a very natural incident: "And with that word ho 
caught a gret mirrour." In the sudden thought of revisit- 
ing Athens, he wished to see what appearance he made. 
John Warton. 

Ver. 566. Since. I'm Arcite, &c.] Chaucer continues his 
narrative, which is more judicious. John Warton. 



And see unknown my mistress day by day. 
He said ; and clothed himself in coarse array : 
A labouring hind ill show ; then forth he went, 
And to the Athenian towers his journey bent : 
One squire attended in the same disguise, ws 

Made conscious of his master's enterprise. 
Arrived at Athens, soon he came to court, 
Unknown, unquestion'd in that thick resort : 
Proffering for hire his service at the gate, 
To drudge, draw water, and to run or wait. wn 

So fair befel him, that for little gain 
He served at first Emilia's chamberlain ; 
And, watchful all advantages to spy, 
Was still at hand, and in his master's eye ; 
And as his bones were big, and sinews strong, 685 
Refused no toil that could to slaves belong ; 
But from deep wells with engines water drew, 
And used his noble hands the wood to hew. 
He pass'd a year at least attending thus 
On Emily, and call'd Philostratus. 59 ° 

But never was there man of his degree 
So much esteem'd, so well beloved as he. 
So gentle of condition was he known, 
That through the court his courtesy was blown : 
All think him worthy of a greater place, 5 ' J5 

And recommend him to the royal grace ; 
That exercised within a higher sphere, 
His virtues more conspicuous might appear. 
Thus by the general voice was Arcite praised, 
And by great Theseus to high favour raised ; Gu0 
Among his menial servants first enroll'd, 
And largely entertain'd with sums of gold : 
Besides what secretly from Thebes was sent, 
Of his own income, and his annual rent : 
This well employ'd, he purchased friends and 
fame, wi 

But cautiously conceal'd from whence it came. 
Thus for three years ho lived with large increase, 
In arms of honour, and esteem in peace ; 
To Theseus' person he was ever near ; 
And Theseus for his virtues held hi in dear. 610 



BOOK II. 

While Arcite lives in bliss, the story turns 
Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns. 
For six long years immured, the captive knight 
Had dragg'd his chains, and scarcely seen tho 

light: 
Lost liberty and love at onco he bore : 
His prison pain'd him much, his passion more : 
Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove, 
Nor ever wishes to be free from love. 

But when the sixth revolving year was run, 
And May within the Twins received the sun, 6i0 
Were it by chance, or forceful destiny, 
Which forms in causes first whate'er shall be, 
Assisted by a friend, one moonless night, 
This Palamon from prison took his flight : 

Ver. 610. And Theseus, &c] "Palamon and Areyte," a 
comedy, was acted before queen Elizabeth in Christ Church 
Hall at Oxford, 1566, with which the queen appeared 
much delighted, and promised to reward the author, Hichard 
Edwards, for his pains. His poems are printed In the Pa- 
radise of Dainty Devises. London, quarto, 1578. Dr. J. 
Warton- 



232 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



A pleasant beverage he prepared before, 625 

Of wine and honey mix'd with added store 

Of opium ; to his keeper this he brought, 

Who swallow' d unaware The sleepy draiight, 

And snored secure till morn, his senses bound 

In slumber, and in long oblivion drown'd. M0 

Short was the night, and careful Palamon 

Sought the next covert ere the rising sun. 

A thick-spread forest near the city lay, 

To this with lengthen'd strides he took his way, 

(For far he could not fly, and fear'd the day.) 635 

Safe from pursuit, he meant to shun the light, 

Till the brown shadows of the friendly night 

To Thebes might favour his intended flight. 

When to his country come, his next design 

Was all the Theban race in arms to join, M0 

And war on Theseus, till he lost his life, 

Or won the beauteous Emily to wife. 

Thus while his thoughts the lingering day beguile, 

To gentle Arcite let us turn our style ; 

Who little dreamt how nigh he was to care, 645 

Till treacherous fortune caught him in the snare. 

The morning lark, the messenger of day, 

Saluted in her song the morning gray ; 

And soon the sun arose with beams so bright, 

That all the horizon laugh'd to see the joyous 

sight ; 650 

He with his tepid rays the rose renews, 
And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews ; 
When Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay 
Observance to the month of merry May : 
Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode, 655 

That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod : 
At ease he seem'd, and, prancing o'er the plains, 
Turn'd only to the grove his horse's reins, 
The grove I named before ; and, lighted there, 
A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair ; 66 ° 
Then turn'd his face against the rising day, 
And raised his voice to welcome in the May. 
For thee, sweet month, the groves green 

liveries wear, 
If not the first, the fairest of the year : 
For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, 665 
And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers : 
When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun 
The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. 
So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, 
Nor goats with venom'd teeth thy tendrils bite, 67 ° 
As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find 
The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind. 

His vows address'd, within the grove he stray'd, 
Till fate or fortune near the place conveyed 
His steps where secret Palamon was laid. 6 ? 5 

Full little thought him of the gentle knight, 
Who, flying death, had there conceal'd his flight, 
In brakes and brambles hid, and shunning mortal 

sight. 
And less he knew him for his hated foe, 
But fear'd him as a man he did not know. 680 

But as it has been said of ancient years, 
The fields are full of eyes, and woods have ears ; 
For this the wise are ever on their guard, 
For, unforeseen, they say, is unprepared. 

Ver. 682. That fields are full of eyes, and woods have ears ;] 
There is an old Monkish verse to this effect : 

" Campus hahet lumen, et hahet nemus auris acumen." 

Tyrwhitt. 

There is an Hebrew proverh much to the same purpose : 
' Do not speak of great matters in a field that is full of 
little hills." — Ray's Proverbs. John Waeton. 



Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone, "^ 

And less than all suspected Palamon; 

Who listening heard him, while he search'd the 

grove, 
And loudly sung his roundelay of love : 
But on the sudden stopp'd, and silent stood, 
As lovers often muse, and change their mood ; rm 
Now high as heaven, and then as low as hell ; 
Now up, now down, as buckets in a well ; 
For Venus, like her day, will change her cheer 
And seldom shall we see a Friday clear. 
Thus Arcite having sung, with alter'd hue C95 

Sunk on the ground, and from his bosom drew 
A desperate sigh, accusing heaven and fate, 
And angry Juno's unrelenting hate. 
Cursed be the day when first I did appear ; 
Let it be blotted from the calendar, 7°° 

Lest it pollute the month, and poison all the year. 
Still will the jealous Queen pursue our race ? 
Cadmus is dead, the Theban city was : 
Yet ceases not her hate : for all who come 
From Cadmus are involved in Cadmus' doom. ? 05 
I suffer for my blood : unjust decree ! 
That punishes another's crime on me. 
In mean estate I serrve my mortal foe, - 
The man who caused my country's overthrow. 
This is not all ; for Juno, to my shame, ? 10 

Has forced me to forsake my former name ; 
Arcite I was, Philostratus I am. 
That side of heaven is all my enemy ; 
Mars ruin'd Thebes : his mother ruin'd me. 
Of all the royal race remains but one 716 

Besides myself, the unhappy Palamon, 
Whom Theseus holds in bonds, and will not free; 
Without a crime, except his kin to me. 
Yet these, and all the rest, I could endure ; 
For love 's a malady without a cure ; ?so 

Fierce Love has pierced me with his fiery dart, 
He fires within, and hisses at my heart. 
Your eyes, fair Emily, my fate pursue ; 
I suffer for the rest, I die for you. 
Of such a goddess no time leaves record, T 25 

Who burn'd the temple where she was adored : 
And let it burn, I never will complain, 
Pleased with my sufferings, if you knew my pain. 

At this a sickly qualm his heart assail'd, 
His ears ring inward, and his senses fail'd. 73 ° 

No word miss'd Palamon of all he spoke, 
But soon to deadly pale he changed his look : 
He trembled every limb, and felt a smart, 
As if cold steel had glided through his heart ; 
Nor longer stood, but starting from his place, 735 
Discover'd stood, and show'd his hostile face : 



Ver. 699. Cursed be the day when first I did appear ; 
Let it be blotted from the calendar. 
Lest it pollute the month, and poison all the year.'] 
" Let the day perish wherein I was horn, and let it not 
he joined unto the days of the year. Let it not come into 
the number of the months. Let them curse it that curse 
the day." — Job iii. 3, et seq. John Waeton. 

Ver. 703. the Theban city was :] 

"fuit Ilium." John Wakton. 

Ver. 722. hisses at my heart.} Inexcusably vulgar. 

Dr. J. Waeton. 
Ver. 725. Of such a goddess no time leaves record, 

Who burn'd the temple where she was adored ;] 
This conceit is not in the original of Chaucer, but may 
he found in Dryden's Miscellanies, being the concluding 
couplet of a copy of verses, called, "A Cruel Mistress," by 
T. Carew, Esq. What could induce our poet to insert them 
here, we cannot readily conceive. John Wabton. 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



233 



False traitor Arcite, traitor to thy blood, 
Bound by thy sacred oath to seek my good, 
Now art thou found forsworn, for Emily ; 
And dar'st attempt her love, for whom I die. 74u 
So hast thou cheated Theseus with a wile, 
Against thy vow, returning to beguile 
Under a borrow'd name : as false to me, 
So false thou art to him who set thee free : 
But rest assured, that cither thou shalt die, 7K 
Or else renounce thy claim in Emily; 
For though unarm'd I am, and (freed by chance) 
Am here without my sword, or pointed lance : 
Hope not, base man, unquestion'd hence to go, 
For I am Palamon, thy mortal foe. ' 50 

Arcite, who heard his tale, and knew the man, 
His sword unsheathed, and fiercely thus began : 
Now, by the gods, who govern heaven above, 
Wert thou not weak with hunger, mad with love, 
That word had been thy last, or in this grove 7M 
This hand should force thee to renounce thy love. 
The surety which I gave thee, I defy : 
Fool, not to know that love endures no tie, 
And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury. 
Know I will serve the fair m4hy despite; ' co 

But since thou art my kinsman, and a knight, 
Here, have my faith, to-morrow in this grove 
Our arms shall plead the titles of our love : 
And Heaven so help my right, as I alone 
Will come, and keep the cause and quarrel both 
unknown, ?M 

With arms of proof both for myself and thee ; 
Choose thou the best, and leave the worst to me. 
And, that at better ease thou may'st abide, 
Bedding and clothes I will this night provide, 
And needful sustenance, that thou may'st be !7 ° 
A conquest better won, and worthy me. 
His promise Palamon accepts ; but pray'd, 
To keep it better than the first he made. 
Thus fair they parted till the morrow's dawn, 
For each had laid his plighted faith to pawn. "'° 
Oh Love ! thou sternly dost thy power maintain, 
And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign, 
Tyrants and thou all fellowship disdain. 
This was in Arcite proved, and Palamon, 
Both in despair, yet each would love alone. 7S0 
Arcite return'd, and, as in honour tied, 
His foe with bedding, and with food supplied ; 
Then, ere the day, two suits of armour sought, 
Which borne before him on his steed he brought : 
Both were of shining steel, and wrought so pure, 7S5 
As might the strokes of two such arms endure. 
Now, at the time, and in the appointed place, 
The challenger and challenged, face to face, 
Approach ; each other from afar they knew, 
And from afar their hatred changed their hue. " 90 
So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear, 
Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear, 

Ver. 750. For I am Palamon^] That profound philoso- 

5>her, who of all others penetrated most deeply into the 
in heart, has observed, that a tliscoit< ry is, of all events, 
most likely to interest a reader. Dr. J. Warton. 
Ver. 777. And wilt not hear a rival in thy reign, 

Tyrants and thou all fellowship disdain."] 
" Nee rogna socium fcrre nee taidaj sciunt." 

Sen. Agam. 259. 
So also Spenser : 

" For love and lordship hide no paragono." 

Mother Hubli. Talc. 
John Wanton. 
■\ or. 791. So stands the Thracian] Our Ianguago scarce 



And hears him rustling in the wood, and sees 
His course at distance by the bending trees 
And thinks, Here conies my mortal enemy, 70S 
And either he must full in fight, or I : 
This while he thinks, he lifts aloft his dart ; 
A generous chilness seizes every part : 
The veins pour back the blood, and fortify the 
heart. 
Thus pale they meet; their eyes with fury 
burn ; 8 "° 

None greets ; for none the greeting will return : 
But in dumb surliness, each arm'd with care 
His foe profess'd, as brother of the war : 
Then both, no moment lost, at once advance 
Against each other, arm'd with sword and lance : soi 
They lash, they fain, they pass, they strive to boro 
Their corslets, and the thinnest parts explore. 
Thus two long hours in equal arms they stood, 
And, wounded, wound ; till both were bathed in 

blood ; 
And not a foot of ground had either got, 81 ° 

As if the world depended on the spot. 
Fell Arcite like an angry tiger fared, 
And like a lion Palamon appeared : 
Or, as two boars, whom love to battle draws, 
With rising bristles, and with frothy jaws, 81s 

Their adverse breasts with tusks oblique they 

wound ; 
With grunts and groans the forest rings around. 
So fought the knights, and fighting must abide, 
Till fate an umpire sends their- difference to 

decide. 
The power that ministers to God's decrees, 
And executes on earth what Heaven foresees, 
Call'd Providence, or Chance, or Fatal Sway, 
Comes with resistless force, and finds or makes 

her way, 
Nor kings, nor nations, nor united power, 
One moment can retard the appointed hour, m 
And some one day, some wondrous chance ap- 
peal's, 
Which happen'd not in centuries of years : 
For sure, whate'er we mortals hate, or love, 
Or hope, or fear, depends on powers above ; 
They move our appetites to good or ill, 
And by foresight necessitate the will. 
In Theseus this appears ; whose youthful joy 
Was beasts of chace in forests to destroy ; 
This gentle knight, inspired by jolly May, 
Forsook his easy couch at early day, 
And to the wood and wilds pursued his way. 

can produce nine more bcautifully-Gnished lines. Dr. J. 
Wahtos. 
I think the original fully equal to the imitation : 
" Right as the hunter in the regne of Trace 
That stondeth at a gappe with a spere, 
Whan hunted is the li"" or the here, 
And heretb him come rushing in the groves, 
And braking bothe the boughes and the leves, 
And thinketh. here cometh my mortal enemy, 
Withoutm faille, he must he ded or 1 ; 
For evther I mote slen him at the gappe : 
Or he mote slen me, if that me mishappe. 

Jons Wahtox. 

Ver. 826. And soma one day, some wondrous d 

M hich happi ntl not in a nturii t o) yeart:} 
" The extreme parts of time extremely form 
ah causes to the purpose of his speed ; 
And often, at his very loose, deci 

That which long process could not arbitrate. 

Bhakspeare's Love's Lab, Lost, Act. v. 
John W'autus. 



2U 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



Beside him rode Hippolita the queen, 

And Emily attired in lively green, 

With horns, and hounds, and all the tuneful cry, 

To hunt a royal hart within the covert nigh : m 

And as he follov/d Mars before, so now 

He serves the goddess of the silver bow. 

The way that Theseus took was to the wood 

Where the two knights in cruel battle stood : 

The lawn on which they fought, the appointed 

place m 

In which the uncoupled hounds began the chace. 
Thither forth-right he rode to rouse the prey, 
That shaded by the fern in harbour lay ; 
And thence dislodged, was wont to leave the 

wood, 
For open fields, and cross the crystal flood. 85 ° 
Approach'd, and looking underneath the sun, 
He saw proud Arcite, and fierce Palamon, 
In mortal battle doubling blow on blow ; 
Like lightning flamed their fauchions to and fro, 
And shot a dreadful gleam; so strongtheystrook, 855 
There seem'd less force required to fell an oak : 
He gazed with wonder on their equal might, 
Look'd eager on, but knew not either knight : 
Resolved to learn, he spurr'd his fiery steed 
With goring rowels to provoke his speed. 86 ° 

The minute ended that began the race, 
So soon he was betwixt 'em on the "place ; 
And with his sword unsheathed, on pain of life 
Commands both combatants to cease their strife : 
Then with imperious tone pursues his threat ; 865 
What are you ? why in arms together met ? 
How dares your pride presume against my laws, 
As in a listed field to fight your cause ? 
Unask'd the royal grant ; no marshal by, 
As knightly rites require ; nor judge to try ? ^ 
Then Palamon, with scarce recover'd breath, 
Thus hasty spoke : We both deserve the death, 
And both would die ; for look the world around, 
A pair so wretched is not to be found. 
Our life 's a load ; encumber'd with the charge, 8 '' 5 
We long to set the imprison'd soul at large. 
Now, as thou art a sovereign judge, decree 
The rightful doom of death to him and me ; 
Let neither find thy grace ; for grace is cruelty. 
Me first, oh, kill me first ; and cure my woe : 8S0 
Then sheathe the sword of justice on my foe : 
Or kill him first ; for when his name is heard, 
He foremost will receive his due reward. 
Arcite of Thebes is he ; thy mortal foe : 
On whom thy grace did liberty bestow, 885 

But first contracted, that if ever found 
By day or night upon the Athenian ground, 
His head should pay the forfeit ; see return'd 
The perjured knight, his oath and honour scorn'd. 
For this is he, who, with a borrow'd name 890 

And proffer'd service, to thy palace came, 
Now call'd Philostratus : retain'd by thee, 
A traitor trusted, and in high degree, 
Aspiring to the bed of beauteous Emily. 
My part remains; from Thebes my birth I own, 
And call myself the unhappy Palamon. 896 

Think me not like that man ; since no disgrace 
Can force me to renounce the honour of my race. 

"Ver. 880. Me first, oh, Mil me first ;] For the passionate 
repetition of Me he is indebted to his old master, Virgil. 
John Wartok. 

Ver. 897. Think me not Wee that man ;] It does not often 
happen that the additions made by our poet are really im- 
provements. I rather think that these words are not in 



Know me for what I am : I broke my chain, 
Nor promised I thy prisoner to remain : 9C0 

The love of liberty with fife is given, 
And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven. 
Thus without crime I fled ; but farther know, 
I, with this Arcite, am thy mortal foe : 
Then give me death, since I thy life pursue ; 905 
For safeguard of thyself, death is my due. 
More would' st thou know ? I love bright Emily, 
And, for her sake, and in her sight, will die : 
But kill my rival too ; for he no less 
Deserves ; and I thy righteous doom will bless, 91 ° 
Assured that what I lose, he never shall possess. 
To this replied the stern Athenian prince, 
And sourly smiled : In owning your offence 
You judge yourself; and I but keep record 
In place of law, while you pronounce the word. 915 
Take your desert, the death you have decreed ; 
I seal your doom, and ratify the deed : 
By Mars, the patron of my arms, you die. 
He said ; dumb sorrow seized the standers-by. 
The queen above the rest, by nature good, 92 ° 

(The pattern form'd of perfect womanhood) 
For tender pity wept : when she began, 
Through the bright quire the infectious virtue ran. 
All dropp'd their tears, even the contended maid: 
And thus among themselves they softly said : 92S 
What eyes can suffer this unworthy sight ! 
Two youths of royal blood, renown'd in fight, 
The mastership of heaven in face and mind, 
And lovers, far beyond their faithless kind : 
See their wide-streaming wounds : they neither 

came 93U 

For pride of empire, nor desire of fame : 
Kings fight for kingdoms, madmen for applause : 
But love for love alone ; that crowns the lover's 

cause. 
This thought, which ever bribes the beauteous 

kind, 
Such pity wrought in every lady's mind, 935 

•They left their steeds, and prostrate on the place, 
From the fierce king implored the offenders' 

grace. 
He paused a while, stood silent in his mood, 
(For yet his rage was boiling in his blood ;) 
But soon his tender mind the impression felt, 94 ° 
(As softest metals are not slow to melt, 
And pity soonest runs in softest minds :) 
Then reasons with himself; and first he finds 
His passion cast a mist before his sense, 
And either made, or magnified the offence. 945 
Offence? of what? to whom? who judged the 

cause ? 
The prisoner freed himself by nature's laws : 
Born free, he sought his right : the man he freed 
Was perjured, but his love excused the deed : 
Thus pondering, he look'd under with his eyes, 95 ° 
And saw the women's tears, and heard their 

cries; 
Which moved compassion more ; he shook his 

head, 
And softly sighing to himself he said : 

Curse on the unpardoning prince, whom tears 

can draw 
To no remorse ; who rules by lions' law ; 955 



character with the noble-minded ingenuous Palamon. 
John Wakton. 

Ver. 913. And sourly smiled,'] The aspramente sorrise 
and sorrise amaramente of Ariosto and Tasso. Todd, 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



235 



And deaf to prayers, by no submission bow'd, 
Rends all alike; the penitent, and proud ! 
At this, with, look serene, he raised his head; 
Reason resumed her place, and passion fled : 
Then thus aloud he spoke : The power of love, 960 
In earth, and seas, and air, and heaven above, 
Rules, unresisted, with an awful nod ; 
By daily miracles declared a god : 
Ho blinds the wise, gives eye-sight to the blind ; 
And moulds and stamps anew the lover's mind. 905 
Behold that Arcite, and this Palamon, 
Freed from my fetters, and in safety gone, 
AVhat hinder'd either in their native soil 
At ease to reap the harvest of their toil ] 
But Love, their lord, did otherwise ordain, 97 ° 
And brought 'em in their own despite again, 
To suffer death deserved ; for well they know, 
'Tis in my power, and I their deadly foe. 
The proverb holds, that to be wise and love, 
Is hardly granted to the gods above. 9?s 

See how the madmen bleed : behold the gains 
With which their master, Love, rewards then- 
pains. 
For seven long years, on duty every day, 
Lo their obedience, and their monarch's pay : 
Yet, as in duty bound, they serve him on ; 9S0 
And, ask the fools, they think it wisely done ; 
Nor ease, nor wealth, nor life itself, regard, 
For 'tis their maxim, Love is love's reward. 
This is not all ; the fair, for whom they strove, 
Nor knew before, nor could suspect their love, 983 
Nor thought, when she beheld the fight from far, 
Her beauty was the occasion of the war. 
But sure a general doom on man is pass'd, 
And all are fools and lovers, first or last : 
This, both by others and myself, Iknow, "° 

For I have served their sovereign long ago ; 
Oft have been caught within the winding train 
Of female snares, and felt the lover's pain, 
And learn'd how far the god can human hearts 

constrain. 
To this remembrance, and the prayers of those, 
Who for the offending warriors interpose, 996 

I give their forfeit lives ; on this accord, 
To do me homage as their sovereign lord ; 
And as my vassals, to their utmost might, 
Assist my person, and assert my right. 10no 

This freely sworn, the knights their grace obtain'd. 
Then thus the king his secret thoughts explain'd : 
If wealth, or honour, or a royal race, 
Or each, or all may win a lady's grace, 
Then either of you knights may well deserve I0 " 5 
A princess born ; and such is she you serve : 
For Emily is sister to the crown, 
And but too well to both her beauty known : 
But should you combat till you both were dead, 
Two lovers cannot share a single bed : IW0 

As therefore both are equal in degree, 
The lot of both be left to destiny. 

Vcr. 974. The proverb IwWs, &c] 
" Amare et sapero vix Deo conceditnr." — Publ. Sy. 
" To be wise and eke to love, 
Is granted scarce to gods above."— Spenser. 

Joun Wahtoh. 

Vor. 997. on this accord, 

To do vie tioma'jf. os their sovereign lord;"] 
So tbe magnanimous Scipio to Allucius; " llano mercc- 
dem imam pro C o inuiiere paci.sc.oi-, amicus I'opulo Romano 
ais."— Liv. 1. 26, c. 50. John Waiitos. 



Now hear the award, and happy may it prove 
To her, and him who best deserves her love. 
Depart from hence in peace, and, free as air, lnl5 
Search the wide world, and where you please 

repair ; 
But on the day when this returning sun 
To the same point through every sign has run, 
Then each of you his hundred knights shall bring, 
In royal lists, to fight before the king ; Me0 

And then the knight, whom fate or happy chance 
Shall with his friends to victory advance, 
And grace his arms so far in equal fight, 
From out the bars to force his opposite, 
Or kill, or make him recreant on the plain, 1026 
The prize of valour and of love shall gain ; 
The vanquish'd party shall their claim release, 
And the long jars conclude in lasting peace. 
The charge be mine to adorn the chosen ground, 
The theatre of war, for champions so renown'd ; 
And take the patron's place, of either knight, lu31 
With eyes impartial to behold the fight ; 
And Heaven of me so judge as I shall judge aright. 
If both are satisfied with this accord, 
Swear by the laws of knighthood on my sword. 

Who now but Palamon exults with joy 1 1036 
And ravish'd Arcite seems to touch the sky : 
The whole assembled troop was pleased as well, 
Extol the award, and on their knees they fell 
To bless the gracious king. The knights with 

leave m '° 

Departing from the place, his last commands 

receive ; 
On Emily with equal ardour look, 
And from her eyes their inspiration took. 
From thence to Thebes' old walls pursue their way, 
Each to provide his champions for the day. lu45 

It might be deem'd, on our historian's part, 
Or too much negligence, or want of art, 
If he forgot the vast magnificence 
Of royal Theseus, and his large expence. 
He first inclosed for lists a level ground, im 

The whole circumference a mile around ; 
The form was circular ; and all without 
A trench was sunk, to moat the place about. 
Within an amphitheatre appear'd, 
Raised in degrees, to sixty paces rcar'd : 105S 

That when a man was placed in one degree, 
Height was allow'd for him above to see. 

Eastward was built a gate of marble white ; 
The like adorn d the western opposite. 
A nobler object than this fabric was, 106 ° 

Rome never saw ; nor of so vast a space. 
For rich with spoils of many a conqucr'd land, 
All arts and artists Theseus could command ; 
Who sold for hire, or wrought for better fame; 
The master-painters, and the carvers, came. 1065 
So rose within the compass of the year 
An age's work, a glorious theatre. 
Then o'er its eastern gate was raised above 
A temple, sacred to the Queen of Love; 
An altar stood below : on either hand 
A priest with roses crown'd, who held a myrtle 

wand. 
The dome of Mars was on the gate opposed. 
And on the north a turret was inclosed, 

Ver. 1070. 

An altar stood below : on either hand 

A priest with roses crown d, who ht Id a myrtle wand.] 
Our author has adorned this passage with appropriate 
imagery. John WABTOV, 



236 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



Within the walls of alabaster white, 

And crimson coral for the queen of night, 1075 

Who takes in sylvan sports her chaste delight. 

Within these oratories might you see 
Rich carvings, portraitures, and imagery : 
Where every figure to the life express'd 
The godhead's power to whom it was address'd. 
In Venus' temple on the sides were seen 1081 

The broken slumbers of enamour'd men, 
Prayers that eVn spoke, and pity seem'd to call, 
And issuing sighs that smoked along the wall. 
Complaints, and hot desires, the lover's hell, 1085 
And scalding tears that wore a channel where 

they fell : 
And all around were nuptial bonds, the ties, 
Of love's assurance, and a train of lies, 
That, made in lust, conclude in perjuries. 
Beauty, and Youth, and Wealth, and Luxury, ,09 ° 
And sprightly Hope, and short-enduring Joy; 
And Sorceries to raise the infernal powers, 
And Sigils framed in planetary hours : 
Expence, and After-thought, and idle Care, 
And Doubts of motley hue, and dark Despair ; 1095 
Suspicions, and fantastical Surmise, 
And Jealousy suffused, with jaundice in her eyes, 
Discolouring all she view'd, in tawny dress'd ; 
Down-look'd, and with a cuckoo on her fist. 
Opposed to her, on t' other side advance no ° 

The costly feast, the carol, and the dance, 
Minstrels, and music, poetry, and play, 
And balls by night, and tournaments by day. 
All these were painted on the walls, and more ; 
With acts and monuments of times before : 1105 
And others added by prophetic doom, 
And lovers yet unborn, and loves to come : 
For there the Idalian mount, and Citheron, 
The court of Venus, was in colours drawn : 
Before the palace-gate, in careless dress, ,n0 

And loose array, sat portress Idleness : 
There, by the fount, Narcissus pined alone ; 
There Samson was ; with wiser Solomon, 
And all the mighty names by love undone.' 
Medea's charms were there, Circean feasts, m5 
With bowls that turn'd enamour'd youths to 

beasts : 
Here might be seen, that beauty, wealth, and wit, 
And prowess, to the power of love submit : 
The spreading snare for all mankind is laid; 
And lovers all betray, and are betray'd. 1120 

The goddess' self some noble hand had wrought; 
Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing thought : 



Ver. 1114. And all the mighty names, &c] Our poet 
omits, in his haste, several of the most apposite examples. 
As for instance, Chaucer says : 

" Ne yet the gxete strength of Hercules, 
Ne of Turnus the hardy tiers corage, 
The riche Cresus, caltif in servage." 
For Hercules he has substituted Samson. John War- 
ton. 

Ver. 1121. The goddess' self J My reader perhaps may 
not tie displeased with the following lines, which contain 
some of the leading features of this animated description : 

°Qs XH' cup'V'O'-e.'^'a-ira. $ta.Q°o%ov vSa.ri ^a/rate, 
EzflXt£ll voTi^uv Kp^ov atro n'krjy.a.ijUtiV. 

AvTXt VUV Ig&OUtriV Ab'/lVdl'/J T£ KOU H|'/J 

Qvk 'in coi fj.o^ia.% E/s l%iv s^xo/AWa." 

Anthol. H. Steph. p. 326. 

John Warton. 



From ocean as she first began to rise, 

And smooth'd the ruffled seas, and clear'd the 

skies ; 
She trod the brine all bare below the breast, 1125 
And the green waves but ill conceal'd the rest. 
A lute she held ; and on her head was seen 
A wreath of roses red, and myrtles green ; 
Her turtles fann'd the buxom air above ; 
And, by his mother, stood an infant Love, ll:i0 
With wings unfledged ; his eyes were banded o'er; 
His hands a bow, his back a quiver bore, 
Supplied with arrows bright and keen, a deadly 

store. 
But in the dome of mighty Mars the red 
With different figures all the sides were spread ; 
This temple, less in form, with equal grace, 1136 
Was imitative of the first in Thrace : 
For that cold region was the loved abode, 
And sovereign mansion of the warrior god. 
The landscape was a forest wide and bare ; 114 ° 
Where neither beast, nor human kind repair ; 
The fowl, that scent afar, the borders fly, 
And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the 

sky. 
A cake of scurf lies baking on the ground, 
And prickly stubs, instead of trees, are found ; 
Or woods with knots and knares deform'd and 

old ; "« 

Headless the most, and hideous to behold : 
A rattling tempest through the branches went, 
That stripp'd 'em bare, and one sole way they 

bent. 
Heaven froze above, severe, the clouds congeal, 
And through the crystal vault appear'd the 

standing hail. 1151 

Such was the face without : a mountain stood 
Threatening from high, and overlook'd the wood : 
Beneath the lowering brow, and on a bent, 
The temple stood of Mars armipotent : 1155 

The frame of burnish'd steel, that cast a glare 
From far, and seem'd to thaw the freezing air. 
A strait long entry to the temple led, 
Blind with high walls, and horror over head : 



Ver. 1126. And the green waves'] Dryden, as in this 
most elegant passage, scarce ever uses above one epithet 
to its substantive. Many of our late writers, with a nau- 
seous affectation, accumulate three or four epithets on the 
same subject. Lucretius, the most nervous of all poets, 
has some lines of great energy, without one single epithet 
in them : 

" Nubila, ros, imbres, nix, venti, fulmina, grando." 
" Vulneribus, clamore, fuga, clangore, tumultfl." 
"Prata, lacus, rivos, segetes, vinetaque laeta." 
Horace has a few : 

" Viribus, ingenio, specie, virtute, loco, re." 

I remember no one line without epithet in Virgil. One 
of Milton has great force : 

" Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades of death." 

Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1140. The landscape was a forest wide and bare;] 
Our author has here added circumstances that highly im- ( 
prove the original, and has set before us a picture full of 
the wild imagery of Salvator Rosa. That my reader may 
judge, I have here cited the original passage : 

II First on the wall was peinted a forest, 

In which ther wonneth neyther man ne best, 

With knotty knarry barrein trees old, 

Of stuhbes sharpe and hidous to behold ; 

In which ther ran a romble and a swough, 

As though a storme shuld bresten every bough." 

John Warton. 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



237 



Thence issued such a blast, and hollow roar, nGU 
As threatened from the hinge to heave the door ; 
[n through that door, a northern light there 

shone ; 
Twas all it had, for windows there were none. 
The gate was adamant ; eternal frame ! 
Which, hew'd by Mars himself, from Indian 

quarries came, U05 

The labour of a god ; and all along 
Tough iron plates were clench'd to make it 

strong. 
A tun about was every pillar there ; 
A polish'd mirror shone not half so clear. 
There saw I how the secret felon wrought, U7 ° 
And treason labouring in the traitor's thought, 
And midwife Time the ripen'd plot to murder 

brought. 
There the red Anger dared the pallid Fear ; 
Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer ; 
Soft smiling, and demurely looking down, n ' 3 
But hid the dagger underneath the gown : 
The assassinating wife, the household fiend, 
And far the blackest there, the traitor-friend. 
On t' other side there stood Destruction bare; 
Unpunish'd Eapine, and a waste of war. 1180 

Contest, with sharpen'd knives in cloisters drawn, 
And all with blood bespread the holy lawn. 
Loud menaces were heard, and foul disgrace, 
And bawling infamy, in language base ; 
Till sense was lost in sound, and silence fled the 

place. U85 

The slayer of himself yet saw I there, 
The gore congeal'd was clotted in his hair : 
With eyes half closed, and gaping mouth he lay, 
And gi'im, as when he breathed his sullen soul 

away. 
In midst of all the dome, Misfortune sat, n9 ° 

And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate, 
And Madness laughing in his ireful mood ; 
And arm'd complaint on theft; and cries of blood. 
There was the murder'd corpse, in covert laid, 
And violent death in thousand shapes display'd : 
The city to the soldier's rage resign'd : 1198 

Successless wars, and poverty behind : 
Ships burnt in fight, or forced on rocky shores, 
And the rash hunter strangled by the boars : 
The new-born babe by nurses overlaid ; lal ° 

And the cook caught witlun the raging fire he 

made. 
All ills of Mars his nature, flame, and steel ; 
The gasping charioteer, beneath the wheel 
Of his own car; the ruin'd house that falls 
And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls : 120s 
The whole division that to Mars pertains, 
All trades of death that deal in steel for gains, 
Were there : the butcher, armourer, and smith, 
Who forges sharpen'd fauchions, or the scythe. 
The scarlet Conquest on a tower was placed, '- 10 
With shouts, and soldiers' acclamations graced; 
A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his head, 
Sustain' d but by a slender twine of thread. 
There saw I Mai's his ides, the Capitol, 
The seer in vain foretelling Caesar's fall ; 1213 

Ver. llfil. An threaten' d from the hinge to heave the door;'] 
An happy instance of alliteration. John Waiiton 
Ver. 1212. A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his head,'] 
" Districtus ensis cni super impitt 
Cervice pendct." — llor. lib. iii. Od. 1. 

John Wahton. 



The last triumvirs, and the wars they move, 

And Antony, who lost the world for love. 

These, and a thousand more, the fane adorn ; 

Their fates were painted ere the men were born, 

All copied from the heavens, and ruling force 122 

Of the red star, in his revolving course. 

The form of Mars high on a chariot stood, 

All sheathed in arms, and gruffly look'd the god : 

Two geomantic figures were display'd 

Above his head, a warrior and a maid,* l --~> 

One when direct, and one when retrograde. 

Tired with deformities of death, I haste 
To the third temple of Diana chaste. 
A sylvan scene with various greens was drawn, 
Shades on the sides, and in the midst a lawn : 123 ° 
The silver Cynthia, with her nymphs around, 
Pursued the flying deer, the woods with homs 

resound : 
Calisto there stood manifest of shame, 
And, tum'd a bear, the northern star became : 
Her son was next, and, by peculiar grace, I23S 

In the cold circle held the second place : 
The stag Actceon in the stream had spied 
The naked huntress, and, for seeing, died : 
His hounds, unknowing of his change, pursue 
The chace, and their mistaken master slew. ,24 ° 
Peneian Daphne too was there to see, 
Apollo's love before, and now his tree : 
The adjoining fane the assembled Greeks ex- 

press'd, 
And hunting of the Caledonian beast, 
ffinides' valour, and his envied prize : i*»> 

The fatal power of Atalanta's eyes ; 
Diana's vengeance on the victor shown, 
The murd'ress mother, and consuming son ; 
The Volscian queen extended on the plain ; 
The treason punish'd, and the traitor slain. 
The rest were various huntings, well design'd, 
And savage beasts destroy' d, of every kind. 
The graceful goddess was array 'd in green; 
About her feet were little beagles seen, 
That watch'd with upward eyes the motions of 

their queen. 1S5S 

Her legs were buskin'd, and the left before 
In act to shoot ; a silver bow she bore, 
And at her back a painted quiver wore. 
She trod a wexing moon, that soon would wane, 
And, drinking borrow'd light, be fill'd again : 12<J0 
With downcast eyes, as seeming to survey 
The dai'k dominions, her alternate sway. 
Before her stood a woman in her throes, 
And call'd Lucina's aid her burthen to disclose. 



Ver. 1223. 



■ O r "ffl'J look'd the god :] Original : 



" The statue of Mara npon a carte stood, 
Armed and looked grim, as he were wood." 

John Wabton. 
• Rubens and Puella. Original edition. 

Ver. 1226. One when direct, and one when retrograde.] Our 
author has hero omitted one of the most lively images : 
"A wolfe tber stode before him at his feet, 
With eyen red, and of a man he etc." 

John Wabton. 

Ver. 1253. 77/e graceful goddess mas arrayed In green;] 
lie has here also omitted a picturesque circumstance : 
"The goddess on an hart ful heye Bete." 
But our author chose bo represent the goddess In o stand- 
ing attitude, as about to si I . 

Her legs were buskin'd, and the left before 

In act to shoot. Jo' 1!i Wabtom. 



238 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



All these the painter drew with such command, 1265 
That Nature snatch'd the pencil from his hand, 
Ashamed and angry that his art could feign 
And mend the tortures of a mother's pain. 
Theseus beheld the fanes of every god, 1S69 

And thought his mighty cost was well bestoVd. 
So princes now their poets should regard ; 
But few can write, and fewer can reward. 

The theatre thus raised, the lists enclosed, 
And all with vast magnificence disposed, 12 ' 4 

We leave the monarch pleased, and haste to bring 
The knights to combat, and their arms to sing. 



BOOK III. 

The day approach'd when fortune should decide 
The important enterprise, and give the bride ; 
For now, the rivals round the world had sought, 
And each his number, well appointed, brought. 
The nations, far and near, contend in choice, 12sl 
And send the flower of war by public voice ; 
That after, or before, were never known 
Such chiefs, as each an army seem'd alone : 
Beside the champions, all of high degree, 1285 

Who knighthood loved, and deeds of chivalry, 
Throng'd to the lists, and envied to behold 
The names of others, not their own, enroll'd. 
Nor seems it strange ; for every noble knight 
Who loves the fail', and is endued with might, 129 ° 
In such a quarrel would be proud to fight. 
There breathes not scarce a man on British ground 
(An isle for love, and arms, of old renown'd) 
But would have sold his life to purchase fame, 
To Palamon or Arcite sent his name : 1295 

And had the land selected of the best, 
Half had come hence, and let the world provide 

the rest. 
A hundred knights with Palamon there came, 
Approved in fight, and men of mighty name j 
Their arms were several, as their nations were, 
But furnish'd all alike with sword and spear. 1301 
Some wore coat-armour, imitating scale ; 
And next their skins were stubborn shirts of mail. 
Some wore a breast-plate and a light jupon, 
Their horses clothed with rich caparison : 1305 

Some for defence would leathern bucklers use, 
Of folded hides ; and others shields of Pruce. 
One hung a pole-axe at his saddle-bow, 
And one a heavy mace to shun the foe ; 
One for his legs and knees provided well, 1310 

With jambeaux arm'd, and double plates of steel : 

Ver. 1265. All these the painter drew with such command, 
That nature snatctid the pencil from his hand,] 
This addition is not perfectly in unison with the sim- 
plicity of the original. John Waeton. 

Ver. 1271. So princes] Poets of every age and nation 
are fond of making this complaint ; not always well founded. 
Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ibid. So princes now) This reflection is his own ; no 
trace of it in the original. John Waeton. 
Ver. 1296. 
And hod the land selected of the best, 
Half liad come hence, and let the world provide the rest.'] 
This couplet is written with the genuine spirit of a true- 
born Englishman. John Wakton. 



This on his helmet wore a lady's glove, 
And that a sleeve embroider'd by his love. 

With Palamon above the rest in place, 
Lycurgus came, the surly king of Thrace ; I315 
Black was his beard and manly was his face ; 
The balls of his broad eyes roll'd in his head, 
And glared betwixt a yellow and a red : 
He look'd a lion with a gloomy stare, 
And o'er his eye-brows hung his matted hair : I320 
Big-boned, and large of hmbs, with sinews strong, 
Broad-shoulder'd, and his arms were round and 

long. 
Four milk-white bulls (the Thracian use of old) 
Were yoked to draw his car of burnish'd gold. 
Upright he stood, and bore aloft his shield, 1325 
Conspicuous from afar, and overlook'd the field. 
His surcoat was a bear-skin on his back ; 
His hair hung long behind, and glossy raven 

black. 
His ample forehead bore a coronet 1329 

With sparkling diamonds, and with rubies set : 
Ten brace, and more, of greyhounds, snowy fair, 
And tall as stags, ran loose, and coursed around 

his chair, 
A match for pards in flight, in grappling for the 

bear: 
With golden muzzles all their mouths were 

bound, 
And collars of the same their necks surround. 1335 
Thus through the fields Lycurgus took his way; 
His hundred knights attend in pomp and proud 

array. 
To match this monarch, with strong Arcite came 
Emetrius, king of Inde, a mighty name, 
On a bay courser, goodly to behold, 134 ° 

The trappings of his horse adorn'd with barbarous 

gold. 
Not Mars bestrode a steed with greater grace ; 
His surcoat o'er his arms was cloth of Thrace, 
Adorn'd with pearls, all orient, round, and great ; 
His saddle was of gold, with emeralds set, 13 " 

His shoulders large a mantle did attire, 
With rubies thick, and sparkling as the fire : 
His amber-colour'd locks in ringlets run, 
With graceful negligence, and shone against the 

sun. 
His nose was aquiline, his eyes were blue, 1350 
Ruddy his lips, and fresh and fair his hue : 
Some sprinkled freckles on his face were seen, 
Whose dusk set off the whiteness of the skin : 
His awful presence did the crowd surprise, 
Nor durst the rash spectator meet his eyes : 1355 
Eyes that confess'd him born for kingly sway, 
So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day. 
His age in nature's youthful prime appear'd, 
And just began to bloom his yellow beard. 
Whene'er he spoke, his voice was heard around, 
Loud as a trumpet, with a silver sound : 1361 

Ver. 1320. And o'er his eye-trows hung his matted hair : | 
A strange misconstruction of the original : 

" "With kemped heres on his browes stout." 

John Waeton 
Ver. 1343. His surcoat o'er his arms was cloth of Thrace,] 
" His cote-armour was of a cloth of Tars." 

John Waeton. 

Ver. 1355. rash spectator meet his eyes: 

Eyes that confess'd him horn for kingly sway,] 

" ardentia lumina frustra, 

Lumina." — Virgil. 

John Waeton. 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



239 



A laurel wroath'd bis temples, fresh, and green ; 
And myrtle sprigs, the marks of love, were mix'd 

between. 
Upon his fist he bore, for his delight, 
An eagle well reclaim'd, and lily white. I3M 

His hundred knights attend him to the war, 
All arm'd for battle ; save their heads were bare. 
Words and devices blazed on every shield, 
. And pleasing was the terror of the field. 
For kings, and dukes, and barons, you might see, 
Like sparkling stars, though different in degree, 1371 
All for the increase of arms, and love of chivalry. 
Before the king tame leopards led the way, 
And troops of lions innocently play. 
So Bacchus through the conquer'd Indies rode, 1375 
And beasts in gambols frisk'd before their honest 

god. 
In this array the war of either side 
Through Athens pass'd with military pride. 
At prime, they enter'd on the Sunday mom ; 
Rich tapestry spread the streets, and flowers the 

posts adorn. las0 

The town was all a jubilee of feasts ; 
So Theseus will'd, in honour of his guests ; 
Himself with open arms the kings embraced, 
Then all the rest in their degrees were graced. 
No harbinger was needful for the night, I38S 

For every house was proud to lodge a knight. 

I pass the royal treat, nor must relate 
The gifts bestow'd, nor how the champions sate : 
"Who first, who last, or how the knights address'd 
Their vows, or who was fairest at the feast ; 1:i ' J0 
Whose voice, whose graceful dance did most 

surprise ; 
Soft amorous sighs, and silent love of eyes. 
The rivals call my Muse another way, 
To sing their vigils for the ensuing day. 

'Twas ebbing darkness, past the noon of night : 
And Phosphor, on the confines of the light, 1396 
Promised the sun ; ere day began to spring, 
The tuneful lark already stretch'd her wing, 
And flickering on her nest made short essays to 

sing. 
When wakeful Palamon, preventing day, 1400 
Took to the royal lists his early way, 
To Venus at her fane, in her own house, to pray. 
There, falling on his knees before her shrine, 
He thus implored with prayers her power divine : 
Creator Venus, genial power of love, lm 

The bliss of men below, and gods above ! 
Beneath the sliding sun thou rann'st thy race, 
Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place. 

Ver. 1375. 

So Bacchus through the conquered Indies rode, 

And beasts in gambols frisk' d before tlieir honest god.~\ 

A simile not to be found in the original. By the epithet 
torn st, Dryden means to express the youthful grace of the 
god agreeably to the expression of Virgil : 

" Et quocunque Deus circum caput egit honestvm." 

Georg. lib. ii. John Wartok. 
Ver. 1391. 
Whose voice, whose graceful dance did most surprise ;] 

" What hawkes Bitten on the perche above, 
What houndea liggen on the (lore adowxt. 
Of all this now I make no mention." — Original. 

These images our poet has omitted as trifling, but 1 must 
be excused for saying that they have their propriety, and 
are founded in nature, and are strongly expressive or the 
manners and customs of the aye. .John Wanton. 



For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear, 
Thy month reveals the spring, and opens all tho 
year. Ui0 

Thee, goddess, thee the storms of winter fly, 
Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the 

sky, 
And birds to lays of love their tuneful notes 

apply. 
For thee tho lion loathes the taste of blood, ,4M 
Anil roaring hunts his female through the wood ; 
For thee the bulls rebellow through the groves, 
And tempt the stream, and snuff their absent 

loves. 
'Tis thine, whate'er is pleasant, good, or fair : 
All nature is thy provinces, life thy care : 
Thou madest the world, and dost the world re- 
pair. 14:c 
Thou gladder of the mount of Cytheron, 
Increase of Jove, companion of the sun ; 
If e'er Adonis toueh'd thy tender heart, 
Have pity, goddess, for thou know'st the smart. 
Alas ! I have not words to tell my grief; 1 ' 125 
To vent my sorrow would be some relief; 
Light sufferings give us leisure to complain; 
We groan, but cannot speak, in greater pain. 
goddess, tell thyself what I would say, 
Thou know'st it, and I feel too much to pray. llao 
So grant my suit, as I enforce my might, 
In love to be thy champion, and thy knight ; 
A servant to thy sex, a slave to thee, 
A foe profess'd to barren chastity. 
Nor ask I fame or honour of the field, ll25 
Nor choose I more to vanquish than to yield : 
In my divine Emilia make me blest, 
Let Fate, or partial Chance, dispose the rest: 
Find thou the manner, and the means prepare : 
Possession, more than conquest, is my care. luo 



Ver. 1409. For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear,] 
" Te, dea, te fugunt venti, te nubila cceli, 
Adventumque tuuni ; tibi suaves dtedala tellus 
Summittit flores, tibi rident scquora ponti, 
Placatumque nitct diffuso lumine coelum. 

Lucr. lib. i. ver. 8. John Warton. 
Ver. Mil. Thee, goddess, thee the storms of winter fly , 4o.] 
It has been well observed by Mr. Upton, that Dryden, in 
this address of Palamon to Venus, \vm\ certainly his eye on 
Spenser as well as Lucretius. I am inclined to think, that 
to our elder poet the palm of superior elegance must be 
awarded, at least in the opening of this poetical orison. — 
See Faer. Qu. iv. x. 44. 

"Great Venus I qneenc of Heautic and of Grace, 
The joy of gods and men, that tinder skic 
Dost fayrest shine, and most adorne thy place; 
That, with thy smyling looke dost pacific 
The raging seas, and mak'st the stonnes to flic; 
Thee, goddesse, thee the winds, the clouds do feare; 
And, when thou spredst thy mantle forth on hie, 
The waters play, and pleasant lands appeare, 
And heavens laugh, and all the world shews joyous 

cheare." 
The conclusion of Spenser's address is also more pleasing 
than Dryden's : 

gladder of the mount of Cytheron, 

Increase of Jove, companion of the sv.nl 

Thus smoothly and naturally the elder bard : 

" Mother of laughter, and well-spring of blisse, 
O graunt that of my love at last I may not missc. 

Todd. 
Ver. 1427. Light suffi rings .7»'<- us l< isvtrt to complain: 
We gram, / . in greater pat*.] 

"Cui'B! levcs loquuntnr, ingentes stnpcnt." 

John Warton. 




Mars is the warrior's god ; in Mm it lies, 

On whom he favours to confer the prize ; 

With smiling aspect you serenely move 

In your fifth orb, and rule the realm of love. 

The Fates but only spin the coarser clue, 144 ° 

The finest of the wool is left for you; 

Spare me but one small portion of the twine, 

And let the sisters cut below your line : 

The rest among the rubbish may they sweep, 

Or add it to the yarn of some old miser's heap. 1430 

But, if you this ambitious prayer deny, 

(A wish, I grant, beyond mortality,) 

Then let me sink beneath proud Arcite's arms, 

And I once dead, let him possess her charms. 

Thus ended he ; then with observance due 1453 

The sacred incense on her altar threw : 

The curling smoke mounts heavy from the fires ; 

At length it catches flame, and in a blaze expires ; 

At once the gracious goddess gave the sign, 

Her statue shook, and trembled all the shrine : 146 ° 

Pleased Palamon the tardy omen took ; 

For, since the flames pursued the trailing smoke, 

He knew his boon was granted ; but the day 

To distance driven, and joy adjourn'd with long 

delay. 
Now morn with rosy light had streak'd the 

sky, im 

Up rose the sun, and up rose Emily ; 
Address'd her early steps to Cynthia's fane, 
In state attended by her maiden train, 
"Who bore the vests that holy rites require, 
Incense, and odorous gums, and cover'd fire. 14 '° 
The plenteous horns with pleasant mead they 

crown, 
Nor wanted aught besides in honour of the Moon. 
Now while the temple smoked with haUow'd 

steam, 
They wash the virgin in a living stream ; 
The secret ceremonies I conceal, 14 " 3 

Uncouth, perhaps unlawful, to reveal : 
But such they were as pagan use required, 
Perform'd by women when the men retired, 
Whose eyes profane their chaste mysterious rites 
Might turn to scandal, or obscene delights. I48D 
Well-mean ers think no harm ; but for the rest, 
Things sacred they pervert, and silence is the 

best. 
Her shining hair, uncomb'd, was loosely spread, 
A crown of mastless oak adorn'd her head : 
When to the shrine approach' d, the spotless 

maid 14S3 

Had kindling fires on either altar laid : 
(The rites were such as were observed of old, 
By Statius in his Theban story told.) 
Then kneeling with her hands across her breast, 
Thus lowly she preferr'd her chaste request. 149 ° 

goddess, haunter of the woodland green, 
To whom both heaven and earth and seas are seen ; 



Ver. 1445. The Fates but only spin the coarser clue,] These 
six lines must strike the reader with disgust, and even as- 
tonishment. John Warton. 

Ver. 1478. Perform'd by women] Those of Bona Dea, at 
Rome, to which Clodius intruded. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1483. Ber shining hair, uncomb'd,, was loosely spread,] 
The original describes her only with dishevelled hair : 
" Her bright here kembed was, untressed all." 

In this respect he has altered the figure of Emily, though 
he has placed; her in so graceful an attitude as a suppliant, 
that an artist'of elegance (Angelica Kaufi'man) has thought 
proper to adopt it. John Warton. 



Queen of the nether skies, where half the year 
Thy silver beams descend, and light the gloomy 

sphere ; 
Goddess of maids, and conscious of our hearts, 
So keep me from the vengeance of thy darts, 14% 
(Which Niobe's devoted issue felt, 
When hissing through the skies the feather'd 

deaths were dealt,) 
As I desire to live a virgin life, 
Nor know the name of mother or of wife. 1500 
Thy vot'ress from my tender years I am, 
And love, like thee, the woods and sylvan game. 
Like death, thou know'st, I loathe the nuptial 

state, 
And man, the tyrant of our sex, I hate, 
A lowly servant, but a lofty mate ; 1605 

Where love is duty on the female side ; 
On their's mere sensual gust, and sought with 

surly pride. 
Now by thy triple shape, as thou art seen 
In heaven, earth, hell, and everywhere a queen, 
Grant this my first desire ; let discord cease, 1510 
And make betwixt the rivals lasting peace : 
Quench their hot fire, or far from me remove 
The flame, and turn it on some other love ; 
Or, if my frowning stars have so decreed, 
That one must be rejected, one succeed, 1515 

Make him my lord, within whose faithful breast 
Is fix'd my image, and who loves me best. 
But, oh ! ev'n that avert ; I choose it not, 
But take it as the least unhappy lot. 
A maid I am, and of thy virgin train ; 152 ° 

Oh, let me still that spotless name retain ! 
Frequent the forests, thy chaste will obey, 
And only make the beasts of chace my prey ! 

The flames ascend on either altar clear, 
While thus the blameless maid address'd her 

prayer. 152S 

When lo ! the burning fire that shone so bright, 
Flew off all sudden, with extinguish'd light, 
And left one altar dark, a little space ; 
Which turn'd self-kindled, and renew'd the blaze ; 
That other victor-flame a moment stood, 153 ° 

Then fell, and lifeless left the extinguish'd wood ; 



Ver. 1497. Which Mole's devoted issue felt,] He has 
substituted Niobe's issue for Action, without any visible 
reason. John Warton. 

Ver. 1499. As I desire to Hue a virgin life,] So Spenser, 
speaking of a nymph pursued by Faunus, says : 

" She set her down to weep for sore constraint, 
And, to Diana calling load for aid, 
Her dear besought to let her die a maid." 

" Da mihi, perpetua, genitor charissime, dixit, 
Virginitate frui."— Ovid. Met. lib. i. 

John "Warton. 
Ver. 1504. "And man, the tyrant of our sex, I hate, 
A lowly servant, but a lofty mate ,* 
Where love is duty on the female side; 
On their's, mere sensual gust, and sought with 
surly pride.] 
These four lines are not in the original, nor indeed are 
they in character with the speaker. He forgets the Hora- 
tian precept : 

" Eeddere personse scit convenientia cuique." 

John Warton. 
Ver. 1523. And only malte the beasts of chace my prey /] 
An ill-timed conceit. The reader must be chagrined at 
meeting with such a line on such an occasion. Our poet 
surely forgot the Horatian precept : 

" Effutire leves iudigna tragcedia versus." 

John Warton. 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



241 



For ever lost, the irrevocable light 
Forsook the blackening coals, and sunk to night : 
At either end it whistled as it flew, 
And as the brands were green, so dropp'd the 
dew ; 1MS 

Infected as it fell with sweat of sanguine hue. 

The maid from that ill omen turn'd her eyes, 
And with loud shrieks and clamours rent the skies, 
Nor knew what signified the boding sign, 
But found the powers displeased, and fear'd the 
wrath divine. 1H0 

Then shook the sacred shrine, and sudden light 
Sprung through the vaulted l'oof, and made the 
temple bright. 

The power, behold ! the power in glory shone, 
By ber bent bow, and her keen arrows known ; 
The rest, a huntress issuing from the wood, 1M5 
Reclining on her cornel spear she stood. 
Then gracious thus began : Dismiss thy fear, 
And Heaven's unchanged decrees attentive hear : 
More powerful gods have torn thee from my side, 
Unwilling to resign, and doom'd a bride : 155 ° 

The two contending knights are weigh'd above ; 
One Mars protects, and one the Queen of Love : 
But which the man, is in the Thunderer's breast ; 
This he pronounced, 'tis he who loves thee best. 
The fire that, once extinct, revived again, 1S55 

Foreshows the love allotted to remain : 
Farewell ! she said, and vanish'd from the place ; 
The sheaf of arrows shook, and rattled in the case. 
Aghast at this, the royal virgin stood, 
Disclaim'd, and now no more a sister of the wood : 
But to the parting goddess thus she pray'd ; 15G1 
Propitious still be present to my aid, 
Nor quite abandon your once favour'd maid. 
Then sighing she retum'd ; but smiled betwixt, 
With hopes, and fears, and joys with sorrows mixt. 

The next returning planetary hour 15M 

Of Mars, who shared the heptarchy of power, 
His steps bold Arcite to the temple bent, 
To adore with pagan rites the power armipotent : 
Then prostrate, low before his altar lay, 15 '° 

And raised his manly voice, and thus began to 

pray : 
Strong god of arms, whose iron sceptre sways 
The freezing North, and Hyperborean seas, 
And Scythian colds, and Thracia's wintry coast, 
Where stand thy steeds, and thou art honour'd 
most ; 15 ' 5 

There most ; but everywhere thy power is known, 
The fortune of the fight is all thy own : 
Terror is thine, and wild amazement, flung 
From out thy chariot, withers eVn the strong : 
And disarray and shameful rout ensue, 1580 

I And force is added to the fainting crew. 
Acknowledged as thou art, accept my prayer, 
If aught I have achieved deserve thy care : 



Ver. 1543. The power, behold/ the power in glory $hone,\ 

" Deus, ecce, Deus " 

JoHtf Waeton. 

Ver. 1564. hut smiled betwixt, 

Withhopes, and fears, and joyswithsorrowsmixt.] 

Trv h' afj.ee x«efx.a xai ocAyes sX£ tyetvtx' to» hi oi offffi 
Actzeucgiv tXwQiv' Scthl^t b*i oi iff^fiTO Qoivvi. 

This is the i««™:> y%\i.tra.cot of Homer somewhat di- 
lated. Our author, however, seems rather to have had in 
his eye an elegant passage of Carew's, a poet from whom, 
as before observed, lie has condescended to borrow a coup- 
let. John Wakton. 



If to my utmost power with sword and shield 

I dared the death, unknowing how to yield, 1586 

And falling in my rank, still kept the field : 

Then let my arms prevail, by thee sustain'd, 

That Emily by conquest may be gain'd. 

Have pity on my pains ; nor those unknown 

To Mars, which, when a lover, were his own. 159 ° 

Venus, the public care of all above, 

Thy stubborn heart has soften'd into love : 

Now, by her blandishments and powerful charms, 

When yielded she lay curling in thy arms, 

EVn by thy shame, if shame it may be call'd, 1596 

When Vulcan had thee in his net inthrall'd ; 

(Oh envied ignominy, sweet disgrace, 

When every god that saw thee wish'd thy place !) 

By those dear pleasures, aid my arms in fight, 

And make me conquer in my patron's right : ,M0 

For I am young, a novice in the trade, 

The fool of love, unpractised to persuade : 

And want the soothing arts that catch the fair, 

But, caught myself, lie struggling in the snare : 

And she I love, or laughs at all my pain, 1C05 

Or knows her worth too well ; and pays me with 

disdain. 
For sure I am, unless I win in arms, 
To stand excluded from Emilia's charms : 
Nor can my strength avail, unless, by thee 
Endued with force, I gain the victory : 1C1 ° 

Then for the fire which warm'd thy generous 

heart, 
Pity thy subject's pains, and equal smart. 
So be the morrow's sweat and labour mine, 
The palm and honour of the conquest thine : 
Then shall the war, and stern debate, and strife 
Immortal, be the business of my life ; 1C1 ° 

And in thy fane, the dusty spoils among, 
High on the bumish'd roof, my banner shall be 

hung : 
Rank'd with my champions' bucklers, and below, 
With arms reversed, the atchievements of my foe : 
And while these limbs the vital spirit feeds, ml 
While day to night, and night to day succeeds, 
Thy smoking altar shall be fat with food 
Of incense, and the grateful steam of blood ; 
Burnt-offerings morn and evening shall be thino 
And fires eternal in thy temple shine. 16:6 

This bush of yellow beard, this length of hair, 
Which from my birth inviolate I bear. 
Guiltless of stool, and from the razor free, 
Shall fall a plenteous crop, reserved for thee. :c30 
So may my arms with victory be blest, 
I ask no more ; let fate dispose the rest. 

The champion ceased; there follow'd in the 
close 
A hollow groan : a murmuring wind arose ; 
The rings of iron, that on the doors were hung, 
Sent out a jarring sound, and harshly rung : 1MC 
The bolted gates flow open at the blast, 
The stomi rush'd in, and Arcite stood aghast : 
The flames were blown aside, yet shone they 

bright, 
Fann'd by the wind, and gave a ruffled light. im 

Ver. 15S5. I dared the death, unknowing how to yield,'] 

" cedere nescii." — Horace. 

John Wabtoh. 

Ver. 1621. And while these limbs the vital spirit feeds,"] 

» dum spiritus lios regit Bttns."— VlrgU. 

dons Wautoh. 



242 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



Then from the ground a scent began to rise, 
Sweet smelling as accepted sacrifice : 
This omen pleased, and as the flames aspire 
With odorous incense Arcite heaps the fire : 
Nor wanted hymns to Mars, or heathen charms : 
At length the nodding statue clash'd his arms, 1646 
And with a sullen sound and feeble cry, 
Half sunk, and half pronounced the word of 

Victory. 
For this, with soul devout, he thank'd the god, 
And, of success secure, return'd to his abode. 1650 

These vows thus granted, raised a strife above, 
Betwixt the god of War, and Queen of Love. 
She, granting first, had right of time to plead; 
But he had granted too, nor would recede. 
Jove was for Venus ; but he fear'd his wife, 1655 
And seem'd unwilling to decide the strife ; 
Till Saturn from his leaden throne arose, 
And found a way the difference to compose : 
Though sparing of his grace, to mischief bent, 
He seldom does a good with good intent. 156 ° 

Wayward, but wise ; by long experience taught, 
To please both parties, for ill ends, he sought : 
For this advantage age from youth has won, 
As not to be outridden though outrun. 
By fortune he has now to Venus trined, 166! 

And with stern Mars in Capricorn was join'd : 
Of him disposing in his own abode, 
He soothed the goddess, while he gull'd the god : 
Cease, daughter, to complain, and stint the strife : 
Thy Palamon shall have his promised wife : 167 ° 
And Mars, the lord of conquest, in the fight 
With palm and laurel shall adorn his knight. 
Wide is my course, nor turn I to my place, 
Till length of time, and move with tardy pace. 1675 
Man feels me, when I press the ethereal plains, 
My hand is heavy, and the wound remains. 
Mine is the shipwreck, in a watery sign ; 
And in an earthy, the dark dungeon mine. 
Cold shivering agues, melancholy care, 
And bitter blasting winds, and poison'd air, 1680 
Are mine, and wilful death, resulting from de- 
spair. 
The throtling quinsey 'tis my star appoints, 
And rheumatisms ascend to rack the joints : 



Ver. 1647. 
And with a sullen sound and feeble, cry, 
Half sunk, and half 'pronounced the word of Victory^ 
The original is fine : 

" And with that soun he herd a murmuring 
Full low and dim, that said thus, Victorie." 
In my humble opinion Dryden has weakened the passage 
by the insertion " the word of." The passage is more ani- 
mated thus : 

" Half sunk and half pronounced, Victory." 

JOHH WAETON. 

Yer. 1650. And, of success secure, return'd to his abode.'] 
Dryden has here omitted a simile, which, though short, is 
natural, and highly expressive of Arcite's condition. 

" As fayn as foul is of the brighte Sonne ;" i. e. as much 
rejoiced at his reverse of fortune, as a bird is at the return 
of sunshine after a storm. So Nicholaus Aretius : — 

" uti solet volucris 

Kamo, vere novo, ad novos tepores 
Post solem accipere aetheris liquores 
Gestire et pluvise ore blandiendo." 

John Waeton. 
Ver. 1664. For this advantage age from, youth has won, 

As not to be outridden, though outrun!] 
The original word is " outrede," i. e. " outwit, surpass in 
counsel. The sense of this word has been most ridiculously 
mistaken by Dryden." — Tyrwhitt. John Waeton. 



When churls rebel against their native prince, 
I arm their hands, and furnish the pretence ; l685 
And bousing in the lion's hateful sign,' 
Bought senates, and deserting troops are mine. 
Mine is the privy poisoning ; I command 
Unkindly seasons, and ungrateful land. 
By me king's palaces are push'd to ground, 169 ° 
And miners erush'd beneath their mines are found. 
'Twas I slew Samson, when the pillar'd hall 
Fell down, and erush'd the many with the fall. 
My looking is the sire of pestilence, 16M 

That sweeps at once the people and the prince. 
Now weep no more, but trust thy grandsire's art, 
Mars shall be pleased, and thou perform thy part. 
'Tis ill, though different your complexions are, 
The family of heaven for men should war. 
The expedient pleased, where neither lost his 
right ; W 

Mars had the day, and Venus had the night. 
The management they left to Chronos' care ; 
Now turn we to the effect, and sing the war. 

In Athens all was pleasure, mirth, and play, 
All proper to the spring, and sprightly May : 1705 
Which every soul inspired with such delight, 
'Twas jesting all the day, and love at night. 
Heaven smiled, and gladded was the heart of man ; 
And Venus had the world as when it first began. 
At length in sleep their bodies they compose, 171 ° 
And dreamt the future fight, and early rose. 

Now scarce the dawning day began to spring, 
As at a signal given, the streets with clamours 

ring: 
At once the crowd arose ; confused and high, 
Even from the heaven, was heard a shouting 



cry; 



1715 



For Mars was early up, and roused the sky. 
The gods came downward to behold the wars, 
Sharpening their sights, and leaning from their 

stars. 
The neighing of the generous horse was heard, 
For battle by the busy groom prepared : 172 ° 

Bustling of harness, rattling of the shield, 
Clattering of armour, furbish'd for the field. 
Crowds to the castle mounted up the street, 
Battering the pavement with their coursers' feet : 
The greedy sight might there devour the gold 1725 
Of glittering arms, too dazzling to behold : 
And polish'd steel, that cast the view aside, 
And crested morions, with their plumy pride. 
Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 
In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires. ,?30 
One laced the helm, another held the lance : 
A third the shining buckler did advance. 
The courser pav/d the ground with restless feet, 
And snorting foam'd, and champ'd the golden 

bit. 
The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, 173S 
Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, 
And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for 

shields provide. 
The yeomen guard the streets, in seemly bands ; 
And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in 

their hands. 



Ver. 1701. Mars had the day, and Venus had the night!] 
An epigrammatic turn not to be found in Chaucer. John 
Waeton. 

Ver. 1716. For Mars was early up, and roused the sky."] 
Mars is here improperly introduced, as are the figures ol 
the gods descending to behold the tournament. John 
Waeton. 



PALAMON AND AltOITK. 



243 



The trumpets, next the gate, in order placed, 
Attend the sign to sound the martial blast; 174 ' 
The palace-yard is fill'd with floating tides, 
And the last comers bear the former to the sides. 
The throng is in the midst : the common crew 
Shut out, the hall admits the better few ; >" 45 

In knots they stand, or in a rank they walk, 
Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk : 
Factious, and favouring this or t'other side, 
As their strong fancy or weak reason guide : 1749 
Their wagers back their wishes ; numbers hold 
With the fair freckled king, and beard of gold : 
So vigorous are his eyes, such rays they cast, 
So prominent his eagle's beak is placed. 
But most their looks on the black monarch bend, 
J I is rising muscles, and his brawn commend; ,753 
His double-biting axe, and beamy spear, 
Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 
All spoke as partial favour moved the mind ; 
And, safe themselves, at others' cost divined. 

Waked by the cries, the Athenian chief arose, 
The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; 17el 

And passing through the obsequious guards, he sate 
Conspicuous on a throne, sublime in state ; 
There, for the two contending knights he sent : 
Arm'd cap-a-pie, with reverence low they bent : 
He smiled on both, and with superior look 17m 
Alike their offer'd adoration took. 
The people press on every side to see 
Their awful prince, and hear his high decree. 
Then signing to their heralds with his hand, ir7 ° 
They gave his orders from their lofty stand. 
Silence is thrice enjoin'd ; then thus aloud 
The king at arms bespeaks the knights and listen- 
ing crowd. 

Our sovereign lord has ponder'd in his mind 
The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; 177i 
And of his grace, and inborn clemency, 
He modifies his first severe decree ! 
The keener edge of battle to rebate, 
The troops for honour fighting, not for hate, 
He wills, not death should terminate their strife ; 
And wounds, if wounds ensue, be short of life : 1781 
But issues, ere the fight, his dread command, 
That slings afar, and poniards hand to hand, 
Be banish'd from the field ; that none shall dare 
With shorten'd sword to stab in closer war ; 178S 
But in fair combat fight with manly strength, 
Nor push with biting point, but strike at length ; 
The tourney is allow'd but one career, 
Of the tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear, 
But knights unhorsed may rise from off the plain, 
And fight on foot their honour to regain ; 1791 

Nor, if at mischief taken, on the ground 
Be slain, but prisoners to the pillar bound, 
At either barrier placed ; nor (captives made), 
Be freed, or arm'd anew the fight invade. 17M 

The chief of cither side, bereft of life, 
Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. 
Thus dooms the lord : now valiant knights and 

young, 
Fight each his fill with swords and maces long. 
The herald ends : the vaulted firmament ls0 ° 

With loud acclaims and vast applause is rent : 
Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so good, 
So just, and yet so provident of blood ! 

Vcr. 1742. Tlie pnlacr.-yard is fill'd with floating liJcs,} 
A. Virp;iliiiii expression: 

"Mane salutantum totis vomit tedious undam." 

John Waktost. 



This was the general cry. The trumpets sound, 
And warlike symphony is heard around. aas 

The marching troops through Athens take their 

way, 
The great earl-marshal orders their array. 
The fair from high the passing pomp behold; 
A l-ain of flowers is from the windows roll'd. 
The casements are with golden tissue spread, 18!0 
And horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken tapestry 

tread. 
The king goes midmost, and the rivals ride 
In equal rank, and close his either side. 
Next after these, there rode the royal wife, 
With Emily, the cause, and the reward of strife. 
The following cavalcade, by three and three, 1818 
Proceed by titles marshall'd in degree. 
Thus through the southern gate they take their 

way, _ 
And at the list arrived ere prime of day. 
There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide, 
And wheeling east and west, before their many 

ride. I5 ~ 

The Athenian monarch mounts his throne on 

high, 
And after him the queen and Emily : 
Next these, the kindred of the crown are graced 
With nearer seats, and lords by ladies placed. 1825 
Scarce were they seated, when with clamours 

loud 
In rush'd at once a rude promiscuous crowd : 
The guards, and then each other overbear, 
And in a moment throng the spacious theatre. 
Now changed the jarring noise to whispers low, 
As winds forsaking seas more softly blow ; 1S31 
When at the western gate, on which the car 
Is placed aloft, that bears the god of war, 
Proud Arcite, entering arm'd before his train, 
Stops at the 1 barrier, and divides the plain. 183S 
Red was his banner, and display'd abroad 
The bloody colours of his patron god. 

At that self moment enters Palamon 
The gate of Venus, and the rising Sun ; 
Waved by the wanton winds, his banner flies, lsl ° 
All maiden white, and shares the people's eyes. 
From east to west, look all the world around, 
Two troops so match'd were never to be found ; 
Such bodies built for strength, of equal age, 
In stature sized ; so proud an equipage : 1845 

The nicest eye could no distinction make, 
Where lay the advantage, or what side to take. 

Thus ranged, the herald for the last proclaims 
A silence, while they answer'd to their names : 
For so the king decreed, to shun with care lS50 
The fraud of musters false, the common banc of 

war. 
The tale was just, and then tho gates were 

closed ; 
And chief to chief, and troop to troop opposed. 
The heralds last retired, and loudly cried, 
The fortune of the field be fairly tried. K,i 

At this, the challenger with fierce defy 
His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply : 
With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted 

sky. 
Their visors closed, their lances in tho rest, 
Or at tho helmet pointed, or the crest, 
They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 
And spurring see decrease tin pace. 

A cloud of smoke envelops either host) 
And all at ouco the combatants are lost : 



244 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



Darkling they join adverse, and shock unseen, 1865 
Coursers with coursers justling, men with men : 
As labouring in eclipse, a while they stay, 
Till the next blast of wind restores the day. 
They look anew : the beauteous form of fight 
Is changed, and war appears a grisly sight. 18 '° 
Two troops in fair array one moment show'd, 
The next, a field with fallen bodies strow'd : 
Not half the number in their seats are found ; 1873 
But men and steeds lie grovelling on the ground. 
The points of spears are stuck within the shield, 
The steeds without their riders scour the field. 
The knights, unhorsed, on foot renew the fight ; 
The glittering fauchions cast a gleaming light : 
Hauberks and helms are hew'd with many a 

wound, 
Out spins the streaming blood and dyes the 

ground. 18S0 

The mighty maces with such haste descend, 
They break the bones, and make the solid armour 

bend. 
This thrusts amid the throng with furious force ; 
Down goes, at once, the horseman and the horse : 
That courser stumbles on the fallen steed, 1885 
And floundering throws the rider o'er his head. 
One rolls along, a foot-ball to his foes ; 
One with a broken truncheon deals his blows. 
This halting, this disabled with his wound, 
In triumph led, is to the pillar bound, 1S9 ° 

Where by the king's award he must abide : 
There goes a captive led on t 'other side. 
By fits they cease ; and leaning on the lance, 
Take breath a while, and to new fight advance. 

Pull oft the rivals met, and neither spared 1895 
His utmost force, and each forgot to ward. 
The head of this was to the saddle bent, 
That other backward to the crupper sent : 
Both were by turns unhorsed; the jealous blows 
Fall thick and heavy, when on foot they close. w0 ° 
So deep their fauchions bite, that every stroke 
Pierced to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave 

and took. 
Borne far asunder by the tides of men, 
Like adamant and steel they meet again. 

So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, 1905 
A famish'd lion issuing from the wood 
Eoars lordly fierce, and challenges the food. 
Each claims possession, neither will obey, 
But both their paws are fasten'd on the prey; 
They bite, they tear; and while in vain they strive, 
The swains come arm'd between, and both to 

distance drive. 19n 

At length, as fate foredoom'd, and all things 

tend 
By course of time to their appointed end ; 
So when the sun to west was far declined, 
And both afresh in mortal battle join'd, 1915 

The strong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid, 
And Palamon with odds was overlaid : 



_ Ver. 1905. So when a tiger sucks the bullock's Hood,] This 
simile falls short of the original as to spirit and propriety. 

" Ther u'as no tigre in the vale of Galaphey, 
Whan that hire whelpe is stole, whan it is lite, 
So cruel on the hunt, as is Arcite 
For jalous herte upon this Palamon : 
Ne in Belmarie ther n'is so fell lion 
That hunted is, or for his hunger wood, 
Ne of his prey deslreth so the hlood, 
As Palamon to sleen his foo Arcite." 

John Waeton. 



For turning short, he struck with all his might 
Full on the helmet of the unwary knight. 
Deep was the wound ; he stagger'd with the blow, 
And turn'd him to his unexpected foe ; 1921 

Whom with such force he struck, he fe'll'd him 

down, 
And cleft the circle of his golden crown. 
But Arcite's men, who now prevail'd in fight, 
Twice ten at once surround the single knight : 1925 
O'erpower'd, at length, they force him to the 

ground, 
Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound ; 
And king Lycurgus, while he fought in vain 
His friend to free, was tumbled on the plain. 

Who now laments but Palamon, compell'd 193 ° 
No more to try the fortune of the field ! 
And, worse than death, to view with hateful eyes 
His rival's conquest, and renounce the prize ! 

The royal judge on his tribunal placed, 
Who had beheld the fight from first to last, 19SS 
Bade cease the war ; pronouncing from on high, 
Arcite of Thebes had won the beauteous Emily. 
The sound of trumpets to the voice replied, 
And round the royal lists the heralds cried, 
Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride. I940 

The people rend the skies with vast applause ; 
All own the chief, when Fortune owns the cause. 
Arcite is own'd ev'n by the gods above, 
And conquering Mars insults the Queen of Love. 
So laugh'd he, when the rightful Titan fail'd, 1945 
And Jove's usurping arms in heaven prevail'd. 
Laugh'd all the powers who favour tyranny ; 
And all the standing army of the sky. 
But Venus with dejected eyes appears, 
And weeping on the lists distill'd her tears ; 195 ° 
Her will refused, which grieves a woman most, 
And, in her champion foil'd, the cause of Love is 

lost. 
Till Saturn said, Fair daughter, now be still, 
The blustering fool has satisfied his will ; 
His boon is given ; his knight has gain'd the day, 
But lost the prize, the arrears are yet to pay. 1956 
Thy hour is come, and mine the care shall be 
To please thy knight, and set thy promise free. 

Now while the heralds run the lists around, 
And Arcite, Arcite, heaven and earth resound ; 196 ° 
A miracle (nor less it could be call'd) 
Their joy with unexpected sorrow pall'd. 
The victor knight had laid his helm aside, 
Part for his ease, the greater part for pride : 
Bare-headed, popularly low he bow'd, 196s 

And paid the salutations of the crowd. 
Then spurring at full speed, ran endlong on 
Where Theseus sate on his imperial throne ; 
Furious he drove, and upward cast his eye, 
Where next the queen was placed his Emily; 197 ° 
Then passing, to the saddle-bow he bent : 
A sweet regard the gracious virgin lent" • 
(For women, to the brave an easy prey, 
Still follow Fortune where she leads the way :) 
Just then, from earth sprung out a flashing fire, 
By Pluto sent, at Saturn's bad desire : M7S 

The startling steed was seized with sudden fright, 
And, bounding, o'er the pommel cast the knight : 
Forward he flew, and pitching on his head, 
He quiver'd with his feet, and lay for dead. 19S0 

Ver. 1941. TJie people rend the skies with vast applause ;J 
An imitation of himself: Ode on Alexander's feast, st. 6. 
The many rend the skies with loud applause. Todd. 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



24; 



Black was his countenance in a little space, 

For all the blood was gather'd in his face. 

Help was at hand : they rear'd him from the 

ground, 1983 

And from his cumbrous arms his limbs unbound ; 
Then lanced a vein, aud watch'd returning breath; 
It came, but clogg'd with symptoms of his death. 
The saddle-bow the noble parts had press'd, 
All bruised and mortified his manly breast. 
Him still entranced, and in a litter laid, 
They bore from field, and to his bed convey 'd. 109ft 
At length he waked, and with a feeble cry, 
The word he first pronounced was Emily. 

Mean time the king, though inwardly he 

moum'd, 
In pomp triumphant to the town return'd, 
Attended by the chiefs, who fought the field ; 1MS 
(Now friendly mix'd, and in one troop compell'd) : 
Composed his looks to counterfeited cheer, 
And bade them not for Arcite's life to fear. 
But that which gladded all the warrior train, 
Though most were sorely wounded, none were 

slain. 2«ra 

The surgeons soon despoil'd 'em of their arms, 
And some with salves they cure, and some with 

charms; 
Foment the bruises, and the pains assuage, 
And heal their inward hurts with sovereign 

draughts of sage. 
The king in person visits all around, M05 

Comforts the sick, congratulates the sound ; 
Honours the princely chiefs, rewards the rest, 
And holds for thrice three days a royal feast. 
None was disgraced ; for falling is no shame ; 
And cowardice alone is loss of fame. 2M0 

The vent'rous knight is from the saddle thrown, 
But 'tis the fault of fortune, not his own ; 
If crowds and palms the conquering side adorn, 
The victor under better stars was born : 
The brave man seeks not popular applause, 2nl5 
Nor overpower'd with arms deserts his cause ; 
Unshamed, though foil'd, he does the best he can; 
Force is of brutes, but honour is of man. 

Thus Theseus smiled on all with equal grace, 
And each was set according to his place ; 2020 

With ease were reconciled the differing parts, 
For envy never dwells in noble hearts. 
At length they took their leave, the time expired ; 
Well pleased, and to their several homes retired. 

Meanwhile the health of Arcite still impairs ; 
From bad proceeds to worse, and mocks tho 

leeches' cares ; w ' x 

Swoll'n is his breast ; his inward pains increase, 
All means are used, and all without success. 
The clotted blood lies heavy on his heart, 
Corrupts, and there remains in spite of art : 2030 
Nor breathing veins, nor cupping will prevail; 
All outward remedies aud inward fail : 
The mould of nature's fabric is destroy'd, 
Her vessels discomposed, her virtue void : 
The bellows of his lungs begin to swell : 2035 

All out of frame is every secret cell, 
Nor can the good receive, nor bad expel. 
Those breathing organs, thus within oppress'd, 
With venom soon distend the sinews of his breast. 
Nought profits him to savo abandon'd life, '-'"" 
Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward laxative. 
The midmost region batter'd and destroy'd, 
When nature cannot work, the effect of art is 

void. 



For physic can but mend our crazy state, 

Patch an old building, not a new create. 2W6 

Arcito is doom'd to die in all his pride, 

Must leave his youth, aud yield his beauteous 

bride, 
feain'd hardly, against right, and unenjoy'd. 
When 'twas declared all hope of life was past, 
Conscience (that of all physic works the hist) 2 * 50 
Caused him to send for Emily in haste. 
With her, at his desire, came Pa I am on; 
Then on his pillow raised, he thus begun. 
No language can express the smallest part 
Of what I feel, and suffer in my heart, 2055 

For you, whom best I love and value most ; 
But to your service I bequeath my ghost ; 
Which from this mortal body when xintied, 
Unseen, unheard, shall hover at your side ; 
Nor fright you waking, nor your sleep offend, 20C0 
But wait officious, and your steps attend : 
How I have loved, excuse my faltering tongue, 
My spirits feeble, and my pains are strong : 
This I may say, I only grieve to die, 
Because I lose my charming Emily : 20M 

To die, when Heaven had put you in my power, 
Fate could not choose a more malicious hour ! 
What greater curse could envious Fortune give, 
Than just to die, when I began to live ! 
Vain men, how vanishing a bliss we crave, 20711 
Now warm in love, now withering in the grave ! 
Never, oh, never more to see the sun ! 
Still dark, in a damp vault, and still alone ! 
This fate is common ; but I lose my breath 
Near bliss, and yet not bless'd before my death. 
Farewell ; but take me dying in your- arms, - u ' 6 
'Tis all I can enjoy of all your charms : 
This hand I cannot but iu death resign ; 
Ah ! could I live ! but while I live 'tis mine. 
I feel my end approach, aud thus embraced, 20SO 
Am pleased to die ; but hear me speak my last : 
Ah ! my sweet foe, for you, and you alone, 
I broke my faith with injured Palamon. 
But love the sense of right and wrong confounds, 
Strong love and proud ambition have no 

bounds. 203S 

And much I doubt, should Heaven mylifcprolong, 
I should return to justify my wrong : 
For while my former flames remain witlun, 
Repentance is but want of power to sin. 
With mortal hatred I pursued his life, 209 ° 

Nor he, nor you, were guilty of tho strife ; 
Nor I, but as I loved ; yet all combined, 
Your beauty, and my impotence of mind ; 
And his concurrent flame, that blew my fire ; 
For still our kindred soids had one desire. 20M 
He had a moment's right in point of timo ; 
Had I seen first, then his had been the crime. 
Fate made it mine, and justified his right; 
Nor holds this earth a more deserving knight, 
For virtue, valour, and for noble blood, 2100 

Truth, honour, all that is comprised in good; 
So help mo Heaven, iu all the world is none 
So worthy to be loved as Palamon. 



Ver. 20Si. But love the senseof right and wrong con/, 
This speech is without doubt tedious and nnsuited t.. such 
an occasion: yet the next fourteen lines ate not in tho 
original, and therefore for them our author is answerable; 
and I fear we cannot make any suiVui.ui apology for so 
glaring an Impropriety, but must attribute its undue length 
to our author's perpetual indulgence of his talent for ratio- 
cination. John W.uuon. 



246 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



He loves you too, with, such an holy fire, 

As will not, cannot, but with life expire : 2105 

Our vow'd affections both have often tried, 

Nor any love but yours could ours divide. 

Then, by my love's inviolable band, 

By my long suffering, and my short command, 

If er'e you plight your vows when I am gone, 2U0 

Have pity on the faithful Palamon. 

This was his last ; for Death came on amain, 
And exercised below his iron reign ; 
Then upward to the seat of life he goes : 
Sense fled before him, what he touch'd he froze : 
Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, 2U0 
Though less and less of Emily he saw ; 
So, speechless, for a little space he lay ; 
Then grasp'd the hand he held, and sigh'd his 
soul away. 

But whither went his soul, let such relate 2120 
Who search the secrets of the future state : 
Divines can say but what themselves believe ; 
Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative : 
For, were all plain, then all sides must agree, 
And faith itself be lost in certainty. 2125 

To live uprightly then is sure the best, 
To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest. 
The soul of Arcite went where heathens go, 
Who better live than we, though less they know. 

In Palamon a manly grief appears ; 213 ° 

Silent, he wept, ashamed to show his tears : 
Emilia shriek'd but once, and then, oppress'd 
With sorrow, sunk upon her lover's breast : 
Till Theseus in his arms convey'd with care, 
Far from so sad a sight, the swooning fair. 2135 
'Twere loss of time her sorrow to relate; 
111 bears the sex a youthful lover's fate, 
When just approaching to the nuptial state. 
But like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast, 
That all at once it falls, and cannot last. 214 ° 

The face of things is changed, and Athens now, 
That laugh'd so late, becomes the scene of woe : 
Matrons and maids, both sexes, every state, 
With tears lament the knight's untimely fate. 
Nor greater grief in falling Ti*oy was seen 2M5 
For Hector's death ; but Hector was not then. 
Old men with dust deform'd their hoaiy hair, 
The women beat their breasts, their cheeks they 

tare. 
Why would'st thou go, with one consent they 

cry, 
When thou hadst gold enough, and Emily 1 2150 

Theseus himself, who should have cheer'd the 
grief 
Of others, wanted now the same relief; 
Old Egeus only could revive his son, 
Who various changes of the world had known, 
And strange vicissitudes of human fate, 2155 

Still altering, never in a steady state ; 
Good after ill, and, after pain, delight ; 
Alternate like the scenes of day and night : 



Ver. 2112. This was his last ;] "What Homer emphatically 
says in two words only, xtircu U«.t%ox\os, is far beyond the 
300 verses of Quintus Calaber in describing the death of 
Achilles in his 4th book. In truth, this speech of the dying 
Arcite, consisting of sixty lines, is too long, and the minute 
account of his departure rather tedious. But the lines 
from 2108 to 2120 are exquisitely pathetic. Though the 
death of Patroclus above-mentioned was not intended as a 
description, but merely to announce the event with brevity, 
yet, still is this description of the death of Arcite too prolix. 
The lines following 2120, relating to a future state, are 
strangely introduced and improper. Dr. J. Warton. 



Since every man, who lives, is born to die, 
And none can boast sincere felicity, 
With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, 
Nor joy, nor grieve, too much for things beyond 

our care. 
Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend ; 
The world 's an inn, and death the journey's end. 
EVn kings but play ; and when their part is done, 
Some other, worse or better, mount the throne. 
With words like these the crowd was satisfied, 
And so they would have been, had Theseus died. 
But he, their king, was labouring in his mind, 
A fitting place for funeral pomps to find, 2170 

Which were in honour of the dead design' d. 
And after long debate, at last he found 
(As love itself had mark'd the spot of ground) 
That grove for ever green, that conscious laund, 
Where he with Palamon fought hand to hand : 
That where he fed his amorous desires 2Xli 

With soft complaints, and felt his hottest fires, 
There other flames might waste his earthly part, 
And burn his limbs, where love had burn'd his 

heart. 
This once resolved, the peasants were enjoin'd 
Sere-wood, and firs, and dodder'd oaks to find. 2181 
With sounding axes to the grove they go, 
Fell, split, and lay the fuel on a row, 
Vulcanian food : a bier is next prepared, 
On which the lifeless body should be rear'd, 2185 
Cover'd with cloth of gold, on which was laid 
The corpse of Arcite, in like robes arrayed. 
White gloves were on his hands, and on his head 
A wreath of laurel, mix'd with myrtle, spread. 
A sword keen-edged within his right he held, 219 ° 
The warlike emblem of the conquer'd field : 
Bare was his manly visage on the bier : 
Menaced his countenance ; ev'n in death severe. 
Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, 
To lie in solemn state, a public sight. 2195 

Groans, cries, and howlings fill the crowded place, 
And unaffected sorrow sat on every face. 
Sad Palamon above the rest appears, 
In sable garments, dew'd with gushing tears : 
His auburn locks on either shoulder flow'd, 220 ° 
Which to the funeral of his friend he vow'd : 
But Emily, as chief, was next his side, 
A virgin-widow, and a mourning bride. 
And that the princely obsequies might be 
Perform'd according to his high degree, 
The steed, that bore him living to the fight, 
Was trapp'd with polish'd steel, all shining bright, 



Ver. 2163. Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend;~\ 
" Ex ipsa vita discedimus, tanquam ex hospitio, non tanquam 
ex domo ; commorandi enlm nobis natura diversorium non 
habitandi dedit." — Cicero. John Warton. 

Ver. 2193.] So Sallust, though of a quite different cha- 
racter. 

" ferociamque animi quam habuerat vivus, in vultu 

retinens." John Warton. 

Ver. 2206.] I hope my reader will not think the assertion 
trifling, that Dryden here with his usual haste has rendered 
Chaucer unfaithfully. 

The steed, that bore him living to the fight. 
The original says, 

" Duke Theseus let forth three, stedes being 
That trapped were in stele all glittering, 
And cover'd with the arms of Dan Arcite, 
And eke upon these stedes, gret and white, 
Their satten folk," &c. 
Chaucer abounds in minute and circumstantial painting. 
The observation of QuintUian is undoubtedly just, when 



PALAMON AND ARCITE. 



247 



And cover'd with the achievements of the knight. 

The riders rode abreast, and one his sliield, 

His lance of cornel-wood another held ; S210 

The third his bow, and, glorious to behold, 

The costly quiver, all of burnish'd gold. 

The noblest of the Grecians next appear, 

And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the bier ; 

With sober pace they march'd, and often staid, -" 15 

And through the master-street the corpse convey'iL 

The houses to their tops with black were spread, 

And ev'n the pavements were with mourning hid. 

The right side of the pall old Egeus kept, 

And on the left the royal Theseus wept ; 222 ° 

Each bore a golden bowl, of work divine, 

With honey fill'd, and milk, and mix'd with ruddy 

wine. 
Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, 
And after him appear'd the illustrious train. 
To grace the pomp, came Emily the bright, as86 
With cover'd fire, the funeral pile to light. 
With high devotion was the service made, 
And all the rites of pagan honour paid : 
So lofty was the pile, a Parthian bow, 
With vigour drawn, must send the shaft below. 2230 
The bottom was full twenty fathom broad, 
With crackling straw beneath in due proportion 

strow'd. 
The fabric scem'd a wood of rising green, 
With sulphur and bitumen cast between, 
To feed the flames : the trees were unctuous fir, 
And mountain-ash, the mother of the spear ; za6 
The mourner yew, and builder oak were there : 
The beech, the swimming alder, and the plane, 
Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, 
And laurels, which the gods for conquering chiefs 

ordain. 2240 

How they were rank'd, shall rest untold by me, 
With nameless Nymphs that lived in every tree ; 
Nor how the Dryads, or the woodland train, 
Disherited, ran howling o'er the plain : 
Nor how the birds to foreign seats repair'd, 2245 
Or beasts, that bolted out, and saw the forest bared : 
Nor how the ground, now clcar'd, with ghastly 

fright 
Beheld the sudden sun, a stranger to the light. 



after giving an accurate and particular account of a be- 
sieged city, he says, " Minus est tameu totiun dicere quam 
omnia." John Wakton. 

Ver. 2229. So lofty was the pile,'] 

" uti aera vincere summum 

Arboris haud ullre jactu potuere sagitte." 

Virg. Georgia John Waeton. 

Ver. 2235.] I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing 
here a passage from Cowper descriptive of trees whose 
peculiar beauties and properties have scarcely been noticed 
by other poets : 

" No trco in all the grove but has its charms, 
Though each its hue peculiar; paler some 
And of a wannish grey ; the willow such, 
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 
And ash- far-stretching his umbrageous arm; 
Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still, 
Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak; . 
Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun, 
The maple, and the beech, of oily nuts 
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
Diffusing odours; nor unnoted pass 
The sycamore, capricious in attire, 
Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet 
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright." 
Cowper's Task. John W'abton. 



The straw, as first I said, was laid below : 
Of chips and sere-wood was the second row ; "" 
The third of greens, and timber newly fell'd ; 
The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held, 
And pearls, and precious stones, and rich array, 
In midst of which, embalm'd, the body lay. '-"-'■'' 
The service sung, the maid with mourning eyes 
The stubble fired ; the smouldering flames arise : 
This office done, she sunk upon the ground ; 
But what she spoke, reeover'd from her swound, 
I want the wit in moving words to dress; 
But by themselves the tender sex may guess. - 50 
While the devouring fire wits burning fast, 
Rich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast; 
And some their shields, and some their lances 

threw, 
And gave their warrior's ghost a warrior's due. 
Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk, and blood, - 26i 
Were pour'd upon the pile of burning wood, 
And hissing flames receive, and hungry lick the 

food. 
Then thrice the mounted squadrons ride around 
The fire, and Arcite's name they thrice resound: 
Hail, and farewell, they shouted thrice amain, -'-"" 
Thrice facing to the left, and thrice they turn'd 

again: 
Still as they tum'd, they beat their clattering 

shields ; 
The women mix their cries; and clamour fills 

the fields. 
The warlike wakes continued all the night, 
And funeral games were play'd at new returning 

light ; 2 -< 5 

Who naked wrestled best, besmear'd with oil, 
Or who with gauntlets gave or took the foiL 
I will not tell you, nor would you attend ; 
But briefly haste to my long story's end. 

I pass the rest ; the year was fully mourn'd, '■ 2SC 
And Palamon long since to Thebes return'd : 
When by the Grecians' general consent, 
At Athens Theseus held his parliament : 
Among the laws that pass'd, it was decreed, 
That conquer'd Thebes from bondage should be 

freed ; "" 

Reserving homage to the Athenian throne, 
To which the sovereign summon'd Palamon. 
Unknowing of the cause, he took his way, 
Mournful in mind, and still in black array. 

The monarch mounts the throne, and, placed 
on high, "' x 

Commands into the court the beauteous Emily : 



Ver. 2263. And some (heir shields,} and some their lances 
threw,'] 

" Hinc alii spolia occisis direpta Latinis 
Conjiciunt igni, galeas, ensesquc decoros, 
Frenaque, ferventosque rotas, pars unmera notn, 
Ipsorum clypeos, et non felicia tela." — Virg. j£n. xi. 
John Wabtos. 

Ver. 2267. and hungry lick the food.] An expres- 
sion borrowed from the Scripture. 

" Then the fire of the lord fell, and consumed the burnt 
sacrifice, and the wood, and the stoneB, and the dust, and 
licked up the water that w:is in the trench."— 1 B 
chap, xviii., v. 88. John Wautos. 

Ver. 2268. TTicn thrice the mounted squadrons rid.- around] 

"Tercircum accensos, cineti fulgentlbus annis, 
Decnrrere rogos; tor moestum runerie I 
LuBtraverc in equis, iiluhitnsque oro dcdciv." 

Virg. ALa. xi. John Wabtou. 



248 



PALAMON AND AECITE. 



So call'd, she came ; the senate rose, and paid 

Becoming reverence to the royal maid. 

And first, soft whispers through the assembly 

went : 
With silent wonder then they watch'd the event : 
All hush'd, the king arose with awful grace, 2296 
Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in 

his face. 
At length he sigh'd ; and having first prepared 
The attentive audience, thus his will declared. 

The Cause and Spring of motion, from above, 
Hung down on earth the golden chain of Love : 2301 
Great was the effect, and high was his intent, 
When peace among the jarring seeds he sent. 
Fire, flood, and earth, and air by this were bound, 
And Love, the common link, the new creation 

crown'd. m * 

The chain still holds ; for though the forms 

decay, 
Eternal matter never wears away : 
The same first Mover certain bounds has placed, 
How long those perishable forms shall last : 
Nor can they last beyond the time assign'd 2310 
By that all-seeing, and all-making mind : 
Shorten their hours they may ; for will is free ; 
But never pass the appointed destiny. 
So men oppress'd, when weary of their breath, 
Throw off the burden, and suborn their death. 2315 
Then since those forms begin, and have their 

end, 
On some unalter'd cause they sure depend : 
Parts of the whole are we ; but God the whole : 
Who gives us life, and animating soul. 
For nature cannot from a part derive 2320 

That being, which the whole can only give : 
- He perfect, stable ; but imperfect we, 
Subject to change, and different in degree ; 
Plants, beasts, and man ; and, as our organs are, 
We more or less of his perfection share. 2325 

But by a long descent, the ethereal fire 
Corrupts ; and forms, the mortal part, expire : 
As he withdraws his virtue, so they pass, 
And the same matter makes another mass : 
This law the Omniscient Power was pleased to 

give, 233° 

That every kind should by succession live : 
That individuals die, his will ordains ; 
The propagated species still remains. 
The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, 
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees ; 233s 
Three centuries he grows, and three he stays, 
Supreme in state, and in three more decays ; 
So wears the paving pebble in the street, 
And towns and towers their fatal periods meet : 



Ver. 2301. Hung down on earth the golden chain of Love-] 
Our author's philosophy is borrowed, as it is usually, 
from Boethius. L. 2. Met. 8. 

" Hane rerum seriem ligat, 
Terras ac pelagus regens, 
Et cselo imperitans, amor. 

Tyrwhitt. John Wakton. 

Ver. 2310. Nor can they iast beyond the time assign'd] 

" Did he not all create 

To die again ? all ends that was begun, 
Their times in his eternal book of fate 
Are written sure, and have their certain date." 

Spens. 1. 9, 47. John Waeton. 
Ver. 2S38. So wears the paving pebble in the street,] From 



So rivers, rapid once, now naked lie, 
Forsaken of their springs ; and leave their chan- 
nels dry. 
So man, at first a drop, dilates with heat, 
Then, form'd, the little heart begins to beat ; 
Secret he feeds, unknowing in the cell ; 
At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the shell, 2345 
And struggles into breath, and cries for aid ; 
Then, helpless, in his mother's lap is laid. 
He creeps, he walks, and issuing into man, 
Grudges their life, from whence his own began : 
Retchless of laws, affects to rule alone, 235 ° 

Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne : 
First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last ; 
Rich of three souls, and lives all three to waste. 
Some thus ; but thousands more in flower of age : 
For few arrive to run the latter stage. 2355 

Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain, 
And others whelm'd beneath the stormy main. 
What makes all this, but Jupiter the king, 
At whose command we perish, and we spring 1 
Then 'tis our best, since thus ordain'd to die, 23G0 
To make a virtue of necessity ; 
Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain ; 
The bad grows better, which we well sustain ; 
And could we choose the time, and choose aright, 
'Tis best to die, our honour at the height. 236s 

When we have done our ancestors no shame, 
But served our friends, and well secured our 

fame; 
Then should we wish our happy life to close, 
And leave no more for fortune to dispose : 
So should we make our death a glad relief 23 "° 
From future shame, from sickness, and from grief: 
Enjoying while we live the present hour, 
And dying in our excellence and flower. 
Then round our death-bed every friend should 

run, 
And joyous of our conquest early won : 237s 

While the malicious world with envious tears 
Should grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs. 
Since then our Arcite is with honour dead, 
Why should we mourn, that he so soon is freed, 
Or call untimely, what the gods decreed? 2380 

With grief as just, a friend may be deplored, 
From a foul prison to free air restored. 
Ought he to thank his kinsman or his wife, 
Could tears recall him into wretched life 1 238< 
Their sorrow hurts themselves ; on him is lost ; 
And worse than both, offends his happy ghost. 
What then remains, but, after past annoy, 
To take the good vicissitude of joy? 
To thank the gracious gods for what they give, 
Possess our souls, and while we live, to live 1 2390 
Ordain we then two sorrows to combine, 
And in one point the extremes of grief to join ; 
That thence resulting joy may be renew'd, 
As jarring notes in harmony conclude. 



Lucretius ; but possibly my reader will not be displeased 
with the whole context : 

" Quin etiam, multis solis redeuntibus annis, 
Annulus in digito subtertenuatur habendo: 
Stillicidi casus lapidem cavat : uncus aratri 
Ferreus occulte decrescit vomer in arvis : 
Strataque jam vulgi pedibus detrita viarum 
Saxea conspicimus : turn, portas propter, ahena 
Signa manus dextras ostendunt attenuari 
Saepe salutantum tactu, praeterque meantum." 

Lib. i. 1. 312. John Wabton. 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



249 



Then I propose that Palamon shall be 239E 

In marriage join'd with beauteous Emily ; 

For which already I have gain'd the assent 

Of my free people in full parliament. 

Long love to her has borne the faithful knight, 

And well deserved, had Fortune done him right : 

'Tis time to mend her fault ; since Emily 2)01 

By Arcite's death from former vows is free : 

If you, fair sister, ratify the accord, 

And take him for your husband, and your lord, 

'Tis no dishonour to confer your grace 2 * 15 

On one descended from a royal race : 

And were he less, yet years of service past 

From grateful souls exact reward at last ; 

Pity is Heaven's and yours ; nor can she find 

A throne so soft as in a woman's mind. 2 ""° 

He said ; she blush'd ; and as o'eraw'd by might, 

Seem'd to give Theseus what she gave the knight. 

Then turning to the Theban thus he said ; 

Small arguments are needful to persuade 

Your temper to comply with my command ; 2 "" 3 

And speaking thus, he gave Emilia's hand. 

Smiled Venus, to behold her own true knight 

Obtain the conquest, though ho lost the fight ; 

And bless'd with nuptial bliss the sweet laborious 

night. 
Eros, and Anteros, on either side, 2420 

One fired the bridegroom, and one warm'd the 

bride ; 



And long-attending Hymen, from above, 

Shower'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove. 

All of a tenor was their afterlife, 

No day discolour'd with domestic strife; 2425 

No jealousy, but mutual truth believed, 

Secure repose, and kindness undeceived. 

Thus Heaven, beyond the compass of his thought, 

Sent him the blessing he so dearly bought. 

So may the Queen of love long duty bless, auo 
And all true lovers find the same success. 



Vor. 2430. So may the Queen] 

" Such was old Chaucer, such the placid ruicn 
Of him who first with harmony intbrm'd 
The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt 
For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls 
Have often heard him, while his legends blithe 
lie sang; of love, or knighihood, or the wiles 
Of homely life : through each estate and age 
The fashions and the follies of the world 
With cunning hand pourtraying. Though perchance 
From Blenheim's towers, O stranger, thou art come 
Glowing with Churchill's trophies; yet in vain 
Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold 
To him, this other hero ; who, in times 
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse 
To tame the rudeness of his native land." 

Dr. Akenside wrote these lines to be placed under a statue 
of Chaucer, at Woodstock, and they are in the true simple 
taste of ancient inscriptions. Dr. J. Wauton. 



THE COCK AND THE FOX; 



OE, THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST. 



There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore, 
A widow somewhat old, and very poor : 
Deep in a cell her cottage lonely stood, 
"Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood. 
This dowager, on whom my tale I found, 
Since last she laid her husband in the ground, 
A simple sober life, in patience, led, 
And had but just enough to buy her bread ; 
But huswifing the little Heaven had lent, 
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent ; ' 

And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two, 
To bring the year about with much ado. 

The cattle in her homestead were three sows, 
An ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows. 
Her parlour-window stuck with herbs around, i 



Ver. 15, and three following verses, a deviation from the 
original. 

" Ful sooty was hire boure, and eke hire halle." 

This image Drydeu has omitted, which is taken from 
Virgil. 

" assidua postes fuligine nigri."— Eel. vii. 5. 50. 

But which contains a lively picture of the homely furniture 
of the widow's cottage. 

Goldsmith has added many natural strokes: 

" Imagination fondly stoops to trace—" 

And an author who deserves to bo better known, Cuu- 



Of savoury smell ; and rashes strew'd the ground. 
A maple-dresser in her hall she had, 
On which full many a slender meal she made ; 
For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat; 
According to her cloth she cut her coat : -° 

No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat, 
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat : 
A sparing diet did her health assure ; 
Or sick, a pepper posset was her cure. 
Before the day was done, her work she sped, * 
And never went by candle-light to bed : 
With exercise she sweat ill humours out, 
Her dancing was not hindcr'd by the gout. 
Her poverty was glad ; her heart content, 
Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant. 
Of wine she never tasted through the year, 31 
But white and black was all her homely cheer : 
Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skimm'd 

her bowls) 
And rashers of singed bacon on the coals. 

ningham, has adopted one of these images in a little pleas 
ing song, called "Content:'' 

" Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, 
Green rushes were strew'd on the floor, 
Her casement sweel woodbines went modestly round, 
And deck,'d the sod seats at her door." 

Jons W.VUTOS 



250 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



On holy days an egg, or two at most ; M 

But her ambition never reach d to roast. 

A yard she had with pales enclosed about, 
Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without. 
Within this homestead lived, without a peer, 
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer ; 40 

So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass 
The merry notes of organs at the mass. 
More certain was the crowing of the cock 
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock ; 
And sooner than the matin-bell was rung, 45 

He clapp'd his wings upon his roost, and sung : 
For when degrees fifteen ascended right, 
By sure instinct he knew 'twas one at night. 
High was his comb, and ooral-red withal, 
In dents embattled like a castle wall ; m 

His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet ; 
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet : 
White were his nails, like silver to behold, 
His body glittering like the burnish'd gold. 
This gentle cock, for solace of his life, 55 

Six misses had, besides his lawful wife ; 
Scandal, that spares no king, though ne'er so 

good, 
Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood, 
His sisters both by sire and mother's side ; 
And sure their likeness show'd them near allied. 611 
But make the worst, the monarch did no more, 
Than all the Ptolemys had done before : 
When incest is for interest of a nation, 
'Tis made no sin by holy dispensation. 
Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone, 65 
Which by their common ugliness are known. 

But passing this as from our tale apart, 
Dame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart : 
Ardent in love, outrageous in his play, 
He feather'd her a hundred times a day : 70 

And she, that was not only passing fair, 
But was withal discreet, and debonair, 
Resolved the passive doctrine to fulfil, 
Though loth ; and let him work his wicked will : 
At board and bed was affable and kind, ' 75 

According as their marriage-vow did bind, 
And as the Church's precept had enjoin'd. 
EVn since she was a sennight old, they say, 
Was chaste and humble to her dying day, 
Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey. 80 

By this her husband's heart she did obtain ; 
What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain ! 
She was his only joy, and he her pride ; 
She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his side ; 
If, spurning up the ground, he sprung a corn, ^ 
The tribute in his bill to her was borne. 
But oh! what joy it was to hear bim sing 
In summer, when the day began to spring, 
Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat, 
Solus cum sola, then was all his note. m 

For in the days of yore, the birds of parts 
Were bred to speak, and sing, and learn the 
liberal arts. 

It happ'd that perching on the parlour-beam 
Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream, 
Just at the dawn ; and sigh'd, and groan'd so fast, 
As every breath he drew would be his last. 96 

Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his side, 
Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cried 
For help from gods and men ; and sore aghast 
She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last. 10 ° 
Dear heart, said she, for love of Heaven declare 
Your pain, and make me partner of your care. 



You groan, Sir, ever since the morning-light, 
As something had disturb'd your noble spright. 

And, Madam, well I might, said Chanticleer, los 
Never was.Shrove-tide cock in such a fear. 
Ev'n still I run all over in a sweat, 
My princely senses not recover'd yet. 
For such a dream I had of dire portent, 
That much I fear my body will be shent : 1M 

It bodes I shall have wars and woful strife, 
Or in a loathsome dungeon end my life. 
Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast, 
That in our yard I saw a murderous beast, 
That on my body would have made arrest. U5 
With waking eyes I ne'er beheld his fellow ; 
His colour was betwixt a red and yellow : 
Tipp'd was his tail, and both his pricking ears 
Were black ; and much unlike his other hairs : 
The rest, in shape a beagle's whelp throughout, • 20 
With broader forehead, and a sharper snout : 
Deep in his front were sunk his glowing eyes, 
That yet methinks I see him with surprise. 
Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat, , 
And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat. 125 

Now fie for shame, quoth she, by Heaven above, 
Thou hast for ever lost thy lady's love ; 
No woman can endure a recreant knight, 
He must be bold by day, and free by night : 
Our sex desires a husband or a friend, 13 ° 

Who can our honour and his own defend ; 
Wise, hardy, secret, liberal of his purse : 
A fool is nauseous, but a coward worse : 
No bragging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight. 
How dar'st thou talk of love, and dar'st not 
fight? m 

How dar'st thou tell thy dame thou art affear'd 1 
Hast thou no manly heart, and hast a beard '! 

If aught from fearful dreams may be divined, 
They signify a cock of dunghill kind. 
All dreams, as in old Galen I have read, 14 ° 

Are from repletion and complexion bred; 
From rising fumes of indigested food, 
And noxious humours that infect the blood : 
And sure, my lord, if I can read aright, 
These foolish fancies you have had to-night, 145 
Are certain symptoms (in the canting style) 
Of boiling choler, and abounding bile ; 
This yellow gall that in your stomach floats, 
Engenders all these visionary thoughts. 
When choler overflows, then dreams are bred 1M 
Of flames, and all the family of red ; 
Red dragons, and red beasts, in sleep we view, 
For humours are distinguish'd by their hue. 
From hence we dream of wars and warlike things, 
And wasps and hornets with their double wings. 155 

Choler adust congeals our blood with fear, 
Then black bulls toss us, and black devils tear. 
In sanguine airy dreams aloft we bound, 
With rheums oppress'd, we sink in rivers drown'd. 

More I could say, but thus conclude my theme, 
The dominating humour makes the dream. 161 
Cato was in his time accounted wise, 
And he condemns them all for empty lies. 
Take my advice, and when we fly to ground 
With laxatives preserve your body sound, 16S 

And purge the peccant humours that abound. 



Ver. 140. ■ — as in old Galen] Even Euripides has 

been blamed for making his Hecuba talk much too philo- 
sophically. What shall we say of the knowledge our Chan- 
ticleer displays in physics and metaphysics ? Dr. J. War- 
ton. 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



251 



I should be loth to lay you on a bier ; 
And though there lives no 'pothecary near, 
I dare for once prescribe for your disease, 
And save long bills, and a damn'd doctor's fees. 1 '° 

Two sovereign herbs, which I by practice know, 
And both at hand (for in our yard they grow) 
On peril of my soul shall rid you wholly 
Of yellow choler, and of melancholy : 
You must both purge and vomit ; but obey, 175 
And for the love of Heaven make no delay. 
Since hot and dry in your complexion join, 
Beware the sun when in a venial sign ; 
For when he mounts exalted in the Ram, 
If then he finds your body in a flame, ls0 

Replete with choler, I dare lay a groat, 
A tertian ague is at least your lot. 
Perhaps a fever (which the gods forefend) 
May bring your youth to some untimely end : 
And therefore, Sir, as you desire to live, 185 

A day or two before your laxative, 
Take just three worms, nor under nor above, 
Because the gods unequal numbers love. 
These digestives prepare you for your purge ; 
Of fumatory, centaury, and spurge, 10 ° 

And of ground-ivy add a leaf or two, 
.All which within our yard or garden grow. 
Eat these, and be, my lord, of better cheer : 
Your father's son was never born to fear. 

Madam, quoth he, gramercy for your care, 195 
But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare : 
'Tis true, a wise and worthy man he seems, 
And (as you say) gav» no belief to dreams : 
But other men of more authority, 
And, by the immortal powers, as wise as he, 200 
Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams fore- 
bode ; 
For Homer plainly says they come from God. 
Nor Cato said it : but some modern fool 
Imposed in Cato's name on boys at school. 

Believe me, Madam, morning dreams foreshow 
The events of things, and future weal or woe : al6 
Some truths are not by reason to be tried, 
But we have sure experience for our guide. 
An ancient author, equal with the best, 
Relates this tale of dreams among the rest. 2I0 

Two friends or brothers, with devout intent, 
On some far pilgrimage together went. 
It happen'd so that, when the sun was down, 
They just arrived by twilight at a town : 
That day had been the baiting of a bull, 21S 

'Twas at a fettst, and every inn so full, 
That no void room in chamber, or on ground, 
And but one sorry bed was to be found ; 
And that so little it would hold but one, 
Though till this hour they never lay alone. 2C0 

So were they forced to part ; one stay'd behind, 
His fellow sought what lodging he could find : 
At last he found a stall where oxen stood, 
And that he rather chose than lie abroad. 
'Twas in a farther yard without a door ; I2i 

But, for bis ease, well litter'd was the floor. 

His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept, 
Was weary, and without a rocker slept : 
Supine he snored; but, in the dead of night, 
He dreamt his friend appear'd before his sight, 23 " 

Ver. 188. Because the gods unequal] One of his many 
undesigned and involuntary imitations of Virgil. 

" numcro Deus impare gaudet.' — Virg. Eel. viii. 

John Warton. 



Who, with a ghastly look and doleful cry, 
Said, Help me, brother, or this night I die : 
Arise, and help, before all help be vain, 
Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain. 

Roused from his rest he waken'd in a start, ^ 
Shivering with horror, and with aching heart; 
At length to cure himself by reason tries ; 
'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies ? 
So thinking changed his side, and closed his eyes. 
His dream returns ; his friend appears again : ** 
The murderers come, now help, or 1 am slain : 
'Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain. 
He dreamt the third ; but now his friend appear'd 
Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood 

besmear'd : 
Thrice warn'd, awake, said he ; relief is late, 1Ai 
The deed is done ; but thou revenge my fate : 
Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes, 
Awake, and with the dawning day arise : 
Take to the western gate thy ready way, 
For by that passage they my corpse convey : 2S0 
My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among 
The filth and ordure, and enclosed with dung. 
That cart arrest, and raise a common cry ; 
For sacred hunger of my gold I die : 
Then show'd his grisly wounds : and last he 

drew 235 

A piteous sigh; and took a long adieu. 

The frighted friend arose by break of day, 
And found the stall where late his fellow lay. 
Then of his impious host inquiring more, 
Was answer'd that his guest was gone before : 2C0 
Muttering he went, said he, by morning-light, 
And much complain'd of his ill rest by night. 
This raised suspicion in the pilgrim's mind ; 
Because all hosts are of an evil kind, 
And oft to share the spoil with robbers join'd. 26S 
His dream confirm'd his thought ; with troubled 

look 
Straight to the western gate his way he took ; 
There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found, 
That carried compost forth to dung the ground. 
This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his 

throat, ■< 

And cried out murder with a yelling note. 
My murder'd fellow in this cart lies dead, 
Vengeance and justice on the villain's head ; 
You, magistrates, who sacred laws dispense, 
On you 1 call to punish this offence. ** 

The word thus given ; within a little spa'ce, 
The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the 

place. 
All in a trice they cast the cart to ground, 
And in the dung the murder'd body found ; 
Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the 

wound. ss0 

Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find 
Is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, 
Abhors the cruel ; and the deeds of night 
By wondrous ways reveals in open light : 
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time, 
But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime. 
And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels, 
The huo and cry of Heaven pursues him at the 

heels, 
I Fresh from the fact ; as in the present case, 
The criminals arc seized upon the place : 
Carter and host confronted face to face, 
Stiff' in denial, as the law appoints, 
On engines they distend their tortured joints: 



252 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



So was confession forced, the offence was known, 
And public justice on the offenders done. 295 

Here may you see that visions are to dread ; 
And in the page that follows this, I read 
Of two young merchants, whom the hope of gain 
Induced in partnership to cross the main : 
Waiting till willing winds their sails supplied, ^ 
Within a trading-town they long abide, 
Full fairly situate on a haven's side. 

One evening it befel, that looking out, 
The wind they long had wish'd was come about : 
Well pleased they went to rest ; and if the gale 30B 
Till morn continued, both resolved to sail. 
But as together in a bed they lay, 
The younger had a dream at break of day. 
A man he thought stood frowning at his side : 
Who warn'd him for his safety to provide, 3W 

Nor put to sea, but safe on shore abide. 
I come, thy genius, to command thy stay ; 
Trust not the winds, for fatal is the day, 
And death unhoped attends the watery way. 

The vision said : and vanish'd from his sight : 
The dreamer waken'd in a mortal fright : sl6 

Then pull'd his drowsy neighbour, and declared 
What in his slumber he had seen and heard. 
His friend smiled scornful, and with proud con- 
tempt 
Rejects as idle what his fellow dreamt. m 

Stay, who will stay ; for me no fears restrain, 
Who follow Mercury the god of gain ; 
Let each man do as to his fancy seems, 
I wait, not I, till you have better dreams. 
Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes ; 325 
When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes : 
Compounds a medley of disjointed things, 
A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings : 
Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad : 
Both are the reasonable soul run mad : 330 

And many monstrous forms in sleep we see, 
That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be. 
Sometimes forgotten things long cast behind 
Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind. 
The nurse's legends are for truths received, ^ 
And the man dreams but what the boy believed. 

Sometimes we but rehearse a former play, 
The night restores our actions done by day ; 
As hounds in sleep will open for their prey. 

Ver. 325 — 339. These lines are not in the original. It 
is prohable that our author had been reading, perhaps 
translating, Lucretius. 

" Et quoi quisque ferfi studio devinctus adhaeret, 
Aut quibus in rebus multrnn sumus ante morati ; 
Atque in qua ratione fuit contenta magis mens ; 
In somnis eadem plerumque videmur obire. 
* • * * 

Et quicunque dies multos ex ordine ludis 
Assiduas dederint operas : plerumque videmus, 
Quum jam destiterint ea sensibus usurpare, 
Reliquas tamen esse vias in mente patentes, 
Qua possint eadem rerum simulachra venire. 
Permultos itaque ilia dies eadem obversantur 
Ante oculos, etiam vigilantes ut videantur 
Cernere saltantes, et mollia membra moventes ; 
Et citharse liquidum carmen, chordasque loquentes, 
Auribus accipere, et consessum cernere eundem 
Scenaique simul varios splendere decore^;. 
Usque adeo magni refert 6tudium atque voluntas ; 
Et quibus in rebus consuerint esse operati 
Non homines solum, sed vero animalia cuncta. 

Venantumque canes in molli ssepe quiete 
Jactant crura tamen subito, vocesque repente 
Mittunt, et crebras reducunt naribus auras, 

Ut vestigia si teneant iuventa ferarum " 

John Wabton. 



In short the farce of dreams is of a piece, : 

Chimeras all ; and more absurd, or less : 
You, who believe in tales, abide alone ; 
Whate'er I get this v03 r age is my own. 

Thus while he spoke, he heard the shouting 
crew 
That call'd aboard, and took his last adieu. 345 
The vessel went before a merry gale, 
And for quick passage put on every sail : 
But when least fear'd, and ev'n in open day, 
The mischief overtook her in the way : 
Whether she sprung a leak, I cannot find, 35 ° 

Or whether she was overset with wind, 
Or that some rock below her bottom rent ; 
But down at once with all her crew she went : 
Her fellow-ships from far her loss descried ; 
But only she was sunk, and all were safe beside. 

By this example you are taught again, m 

That dreams and visions are not always vain ; 
But if, dear Partlet, you are still in doubt, 
Another tale shall make the former out. 
Kenelm, the son of Kenulph, Mercia's king, 3G0 
Whose holy life the legends loudly sing, 
Warn'd in a dream, his murder did foretel 
From point to point as after it befel : 
All circumstances to his nurse he told, 
(A wonder from a child of seven years old :) 365 
The dream with horror heard, the good old 

wife 
From treason counsell'd him to guard his life ; 
But close to keep the secret in Ms mind, 
For a boy's vision small belief would find. 
The pious child, by promise bound, obey'd, 370 
Nor was the fatal murder long dela/d : 
By Quenda slain, he fell before his time, 
Made a young martyr by his sister's crime. 
The tale is told by venerable Bede, 
Which, at your better leisure, you may read. y ' b 

Macrobius too relates the vision sent 
To the great Scipio, with the famed event : 
Objections makes, but after makes replies, 
And adds, that dreams are often prophecies. 

Of Daniel you may read in holy writ, 
Who, when the king his vision did forget, 
Could word for word the wondrous dream re- 
peat. 
Nor less of patriarch Joseph understand, 
Who by a dream enslaved the Egyptian land, 
The years of plenty and of dearth foretold, dS5 
When, for their bread, their liberty they sold. 
Nor must the exalted butler be forgot, 
Nor he whose dream presaged his hanging lot. 

And did not Croesus the same death foresee, 
Raised in his vision on a lofty tree] ; 

The wife of Hector, in his utmost pride, 
Dreamt of his death the night before he died ; 
Well was he warn'd from battle to refrain, 
But men to death decreed are warn'd in vain : 
He dared the dream, and by his fatal foe was 
slain. 3M 

Much more I know, which I forbear to speak, 
For see the ruddy day begins to break ; 
Let this suffice, that plainly I foresee 
My dream was bad, and bodes adversity : 
But neither pills nor laxatives I like, '' 

They only serve to make the well-man sick : 
Of these his gain the sharp physician makes, 
And often gives a purge, but seldom takes : 
They not correct, but poison all the blood, 
And ne'er did any but the doctors good. 40S 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



253 



Their tribe, trade, trinkets, I defy them all ; 

With every work of 'pothecary's hall. 

These melancholy matters I forbear : 

But let me tell thee, Partlet mine, and swear, 

That when I view the beauties of thy face, 410 

I fear not death, nor dangers, nor disgrace : 

So may my soul have bliss, as when I spy 

The scarlet red about thy partridge eye, 

While thou art constant to thy own true knight, 

While thou art mine, and I am thy delight, 415 

All sorrows at thy presence take their flight. 

For true it is, as in principio, 

Mulier est hominis confusio. 

Madam, the meaning of this Latin is, 

That woman is to man his sovereign bliss. 4M 

For when by night I feel your tender side, 

Though for the narrow pereh I cannot ride, 

Yet I have such a solace in my mind, 

That all my boding cares are east behind ; 

And ev'n already I forget my dream : 4SS 

He said, and downward flew from off the beam. 

For day-light now began apace to spring, 

The thrush to whistle, and the lark to sing. 

Then crowing clapp'd his wings, the appointed call, 

To chuck his wives together in the hall. ' 130 

By this the widow had unbarr'd the door, 
And Chanticleer went strutting out before, 
With royal courage, and with heart so light, 
As show'd he scorn'd the visions of the night. 
Now roaming in the yard, he spurn'd the ground, 
And gave to Partlet the first grain he found. 43S 
Then often feather'd her with wanton play, 
And trod her twenty times ere prime of day : 
And took by turns and gave so much delight, 
Her sisters pined with envy at the sight. 44 ° 

He chuck'd again, when other corns he found, 
And scarcely deign'd to set a foot to ground. 
But swagger'd like a lord about his hall, 
And his seven wives came running at his call. 

'Twas now the month in which the world 
began, M5 

(If March beheld the first created man :) 
And since the vernal equinox, the sun, 
In Aries twelve degrees, or more, had run ; 
When casting up his eyes against the light, 
Both month, and day, and hour he measured 
right ; "so 

And told more truly than the Ephemeris : 
For art may err, but nature cannot miss. 

Thus numbering times and seasons in his 
breast, 
His second crowing the third hour confess'd. 
Than turning, said to Partlet, See, my dear, 4S5 
How lavish nature has adorn'd the year ; 
How the pale primrose and blue violet spring, 
■And birds essay their throats disused to sing : 
All these are ours; and I with pleasure see 
Man strutting on two legs, and aping me : 400 

An unfledged creature, of a lumpish frame, 
Endow'd with fowor particles of flame ; 
Our dame sits cowering o'er a kitchen fire, 
I draw fresh air, and nature's works admire : 
And ev'n this day in more dolight abound, 4C5 
Bince I was an egg, I ever found. 

The time shall come when Chanticleer shall 

His words unsaid, and hate his boasted bliss : 
Fne crested bird shall by experience know, 
Jove made not him his masterpiece below; 4 '° 
And learn the latter end of joy is woe. 



The vessel of his bliss to dregs is run, 
And Heaven will have him taste his other tun. 
Ye wise, draw near, and hearken to my tale, 
Which proves that oft the proud by flattery 

fall : *<■ 

The legend is as true I undertake 
As Tristran is, and Launcelot of the Lake : 
Which all our ladies in such reverence hold, 
As if in Book ofMartyrs.it were told. 

A fox full-fraught with seeming sanctity, 4S0 
That fear'd an oath, but, like the devil, would 

lie; 
Who look'd like Lent, and had the holy leer, 
And durst not sin before he said his prayer ; 
This pious cheat, that never suck'd the blood, 
Nor chew'd the flesh of lambs, but when he 

could; 4S5 

Had pass'd three summers in the neighbouring 

wood : 
And musing long, whom next to circumvent, 
On Chanticleer his wicked fancy bent : 
And in his high imagination cast, 
By stratagem to gratify his taste. 490 

The plot contrived, before the break of day, 
Saint Reynard through the hedge had made his 

way; 
The pale was next, but proudly with a bound 
He leapt the fence of the forbidden ground : 
Yet fearing to be seen, within a bed 40S 

Of coleworts he conceal'd his wily head ; 
Then sculk'd till afternoon, and watch'd his time, 
(As murderers use) to perpetrate his crime. 

hypocrite, ingenious to destroy, 

traitor, worse than Sinon was to Troy ! 50 ° 

O vile subverter of the Gallic reign, 

More false than Gano was to Charlemagne ! 

O Chanticleer, in an unhappy hour 

Didst thou forsake the safety of thy bower : 

Better for thee thou hadst believed thy dream, M5 

And not that day descended from the beam ! 

But here the doctors eagerly dispute : 
Some hold predestination absolute : 
Some clerks maintain, that Heaven at first fore- 
sees, 
And in the virtue of foresight decrees. 
If this be so, then prescience binds tho will, 
And mortals are not free to good or ill ; 
For what he first foresaw, he must ordain, 
Or its eternal prescience may be vain : 
As bad for us as prescience had not been : 
For first, or last, he 's author of the sin. 
And who says that, let tho blaspheming man 
Say worse ev'n of the devil, if he can. 
For how can that eternal power be just . 
To punish man, who sins because he must 1 52 ° 
Or how can ho reward a virtuous deed, 
Which is not done by us; but first decreed? 

1 cannot bolt this matter to the bran, 
As Bradwardin and holy Austin can; 

Ver. 473. And Heaven will have him taste his other tun.] 
An allusion to Homer's allegory of the two urns. Ami )-*• 
ti UiOii, Iliad 24, 1. 627. used by Achilles in consolation to 
tho afUictod Priam. John Warton. 

Ver. 611. If this he sa, then prescience binds the will,] 

11 reason'd high 

Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and am, 
Fix'd fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute. 
And found no end, in wandering ruaxea l"-.t. 

Miltun, I'm: Lost, It. 2. 558. 
Jous Waiiton. 



254 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



If prescience can determine actions so 625 

That we must do, because he did foreknow, 
Or that foreknowing, yet our choice is free, 
Not forced to sin by strict necessity ; 
This strict necessity they simple call, 
Another sort there is conditional. : ' 

The first so binds the will, that things foreknown 
By spontaneity, not choice, are done. 
Thus galley-slaves tug willing at their oar, 
Content to work, in prospect of the shore ; 
But would not work at all if not constrain'd 
before. 635 

That other does not liberty constrain, 
But man may either act, or may refrain. 
Heaven made us agents free to good or ill, 
And forced it not, though he foresaw the will. 
Freedom was first bestow'd on human race, 640 
And prescience only held the second place. 

If he could make such agents wholly free, 
I not dispute, the point 's too high for me ; 
For Heaven's unfathom'd power what man can 

sound, 
Or put to his omnipotence a bound ? 545 

He made us to his image, all agree ; 
That image is the soul, and that must be, 
Or not the Maker's image, or be free. 
But whether it were better man had been 
By nature bound to good, not free to sin, 65n 

I waive, for fear of splitting on a rock. 
The tale I tell is only of a cock ; 
Who had not run the hazard of his life, 
Had he believed his dream, and not his wife : 
For women, with a mischief to their kind, S55 

Pervert, with bad advice, our better mind. 
A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, 
And made her man his paradise forego, 
Where at heart's ease he lived ; and might have 

been 
As free from sorrow as he was from sin. 66 ° 

For what the devil had their sex to do, 
That, born to folly, they presumed to know, 
And could not see the serpent in the grass,? 
But I myself presume, and let it pass. 

Silence in times of suffering is the best, 6C5 

'Tis dangerous to disturb an hornet's nest. 
In other authors you may find enough, 
But all they say of dames is idle stuff. 
Legends of lying wits together bound, 
The wife of Bath would throw 'em to theground; i7 ° 
These are the words of Chanticleer, not mine, 
I honour dames, and think their sex divine. 

Now to continue what my tale begun ; 
Lay Madame Partlet basking in the sun, 
Breast-high in sand : her sisters, in a row, 575 

Enjoy'd the beams above, the warmth below. 
The cock, that of his flesh was ever free, 
Sung merrier than the mermaid in the sea : 
And so befel, that as he cast his eye 
Among the coleworts on a butterfly, 5S0 

He saw false Reynard where he lay full low : 
I need not swear he had no list to crow : 
But cried, cock, cock, and gave a sudden start, 
As sore dismay'd and flighted at his heart. 
For birds and beasts, inform'd by Nature, know 
Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe. 586 

So Chanticleer, who never saw a fox, 
Yet shunn'd him as a sailor shuna the rocks. 

But the false loon, who could not work his 
will 
By open force, employ'd his flattering skill ; 59 ° 



I hope, my lord, said he, I not offend ; 

Are you afraid of me, that am your friend 

I were a beast indeed to do you wrong, 

I, who have loved and honour'd you so long: 

Stay, gentle Sir, nor take a false alarm, 686 

For on my soul I never meant you harm. 

I come no spy, nor as a traitor press, 

To learn the secrets of your soft recess : 

Far be from Reynard so profane a thought, 

But by the sweetness of your voice was brought : 

For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard 601 

The song as of an angel in the yard ; 

A song that would have charm'd the infernal gods, 

And banish'd horror from the dark abodes : 

Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, 605 

So much the hymn had pleased the tyrant's ear, 

The wife had been detain'd, to keep the husband 

there. 
My lord, your sire familiaxiy I knew, 
A peer deserving such a son as you : 
He, with your lady-mother, (whom Heaven 

rest) 61 ° 

Has often graced my house, and been my guest : 
To view his living features does me good, 
For I am your poor neighbour in the wood ; 
And in my cottage should be proud to see 
The worthy heir of my friend's family. 6I5 

But since I speak of singing, let me say, 
As with an upright heart I safely may, 
That, save yourself, there breathes not on the 

ground 
One like your father for a silver sound. 
So sweetly would he wake the winter-day, 620 

That matrons to the church mistook their way, 
And thought they heard the merry organ play. 
And he to raise his voice with artful care, 
(What will not beaux attempt to please the 

fair?) 
On tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength, 625 
And stretch'd his comely neck at all the length : 
And while he strain' d his voice to pierce the skies, 
As saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes, 
That the sound striving through the narrow 

throat, 
His winking might avail to mend the note. <ao 
By this, in song, he never had his peer, 
From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer ; 
Not Maro's muse, who sung the mighty man, 
Nor Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a 

swan. 
Your ancestors proceed from race divine : ess 

From Brennus and Belinus is your line ; 
Who gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms, 
That ev'n the priests were not excused from arms. 

Besides, a famous monk of modern times 
Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes, 640 

That of a parish priest the son and heir, 
(When sons of priests were from the proverb clear) 
Affronted once a cock of noble kind, 
And either lamed his legs, or struck him blind ; 
For which the clerk his father was disgraced, ^ 
And in his benefice another placed. 
Now sing, my lord, if not for love of me, 
Yet for the sake of sweet Saint Charity ; 
Make hills, and dales, and earth, and heaven rejoice, 
And emulate your father's angel- voice. 650 

The cock was pleased to hear him speak so fair, 
And proud beside, as solar people are ; 
Nor could the treason from the truth descry, 
So was he ravish'd with this flattery : 



THE COCK AND THE FOX. 



255 



So much the more, as from a little elf, 65s 

He had a high opinion of himself; 
Though sickly, slender, and not large of limb, 
Concluding all the world was made for him. 

Ye princes, raised by poets to the gods, 
And Aloxander'd up in lying odes, 6G0 

Believe not every nattering knave's report, 
There 's many a Reynard lurking in the court ; 
And he shall be received with more regard, 
And listen'd to, than modest truth is heard. 

This Chanticleer, of whom the story sings, G65 
Stood high upon his toes, and clapp'd his wings ; 
Then stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both 

his eyes, 
Ambitious as he sought the Olympic prize. 
But while he pain'd himself to raise his note, 
False Reynard rush'd, and caught him by the 
throat. c '° 

Then on his back he laid the precious load, 
And sought his wonted shelter of the wood ; 
Swiftly he made his way, the mischief done, 
Of all unheeded, and pursued by none. 

Alas, what stay is there in human state, 6 ' 5 

Or who can shun inevitable fate ? 
The doom was written, the decree was pass'd, 
Ere the foundations of the world were cast ! 
In Aries though the sun exalted stood, 
His patron-planet to procure his good ; 6S0 

Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he, 
In Libra raised, opposed the same degree : 
The rays both good and bad, of equal power, 
Each thwarting other, made a mingled hour. 

On Friday mom he dreamt this direful 
dream, 6SS 

Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme ! 
Ah blissful Venus, goddess of delight, 
How could'st thou suffer thy devoted knight 
On thy own day to fall by foe oppress'd, 
The wight of all the world who served thee best] 
Who, true to love, was all for recreation, m 

And minded not the work of propagation. 
Gaufride, who could'st so well in rhyme complain 
The death of Richard with an arrow slain, 
Why had not I thy muse, or thou my heart, 69i 
To sing this heavy dirge with equal art ! 
That I like thee on Friday might complain ; 
For on that day was Cccur de Lion slain. 
Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames, 
Were sent to heaven by woful Trojan dames, 70 ° 
When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade, 
And ofTcr'd Priam to his father's shade, 
Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made. 
Fair Partlet first, when he was borne from sight, 
With sovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive 
knight : '° 5 

Far louder than the Carthaginian wife, 
When Asdrubal her husband lost his life, 
When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend, 
And all the Punic glories at an end : 
Willing into the fires she plunged her head, 7i0 
With greater ease than others seek their bed. 
Not more aghast the matrons of renown, 
When tyrant Nero burn'd the imperial town, 
Shriek'd for the downfal in a doleful cry, 
For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to 
die. n« 

Now to my story I return again : 
The trembling widow, and her daughters twain, 
This woful cackling cry with horror heard, 
Of those distracted damsels in the yard : 



And starting up, beheld the heavy sight, W 

How Reynard to the forest took his flight. 
And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, 
The hope and pillar of the house was borne. 

The fox, the wicked fox, was all the cry ; 
Out from his house ran every neighbour nigh : J 2 * 
The vicar first, and after him the crew, 
With forks and staves the felon to pursue. 
Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band, 
And Mai kin, with her distaff in her hand : 
Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs, 7 30 

In panic horror of pursuing dogs ; 
With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak, 
Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break. 
The shouts of men, the women in dismay, 
With shrieks augment the terror of the day. T 35 
The ducks, that heard the proclamation cried, 
And fear'd a persecution might betide, 
Full twenty mile from town their voyage take, 
Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake. 
The geese fly o'er the barn ; the bees in arms 7i0 
Drive headlong from their waxen cells in 

swarms. 
Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout, 
Struck not the city with so loud a shout ; 
Not when with English hate they did pursue 
A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew : 74i 

Not when the welkin rang with " one and all ; " 
And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall : 
Earth seem'd to sink beneath, and heaven above 

to fall. 
With might and main they chased the murderous 

fox, 
With brazen trumpets, and inflated box, 
To kindle Mara with military sounds, 
Nor wanted horns to inspire sagacious hounds. 
But see how Fortune can confound the wise, 
And when they least expect it, turn the dice. 
The captive-cock, who scarce could draw his 

breath, ?M 

And lay within the very jaws of death ; 
Yet in this agony his fancy wrought, 
And fear supplied him with tliis happy thought : 
Your's is the prize, victorious prince, said he, 
The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. 760 
Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, 
And bid the churls that envy you the prey 
Call back their mongrel curs, and cease their cry. 
See, fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, 
And Chanticleer in your despite shall die, ' M 
He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone. 

'Tis well advised, in faith it shall be done ; 
This Reynard said : but as the word he spoke, 
The prisoner with a spring from prison broke : 
Then stretch'd his feather'd fans with all his 

might, "° 

And to the neighbouring maple wing'd his flight. 

Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld, 
He cursed the gods, with shame and sorrow fill'd; 

Ver.724. The fox, the wicked fox,") In the fables of all 
ages the fox makes a conspicuous figure. The fable of the 
Fox and the Grapes has been by severe critics thought un- 
natural. Mr. Dodslcy, in his sensible Dissertation on Table, 
has mentioned it as such; because this is an animal that 
docs not prey on this sort of fruit : but this is a mistake ; 
for Ilassolqnist describes the foxes destroying the vine- 
yards in his travels; they are mentioned as hurting vine- 
yards in Solomon's Sougs; and in the first My Ilium of 
Theocritus, in that beautiful description of the vessel (not 
cup, as it is called,) and which is one of the most pictui 
descriptions in any author, ancient or modem whatever 
and far beyond Virgil's cup. Dr. J. WABTOB. 



256 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAP. 



Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time, 
For plotting an unprofitable crime ; 775 

Yet mastering both, the artificer of lies 
Renews the assault, and his last battery tries. 

Though I, said he, did ne'er in thought offend, 
How justly may my lord suspect his friend] 
The appearance is against me, I confess, 780 

Who seemingly have put you in distress : 
You, if your goodness does not plead my cause, 
May think I broke all hospitable laws, 
To bear you from your palace-yard by might, 
And put your noble person in a fright : 785 

This, since you take it ill, I must repent, 
Though Heaven can witness, with no bad intent 
I practised it, to make you taste your cheer 
"With double pleasure, first prepared by fear. 
So loyal subjects often seize their prince, 79 ° 

Forced (for his good) to seeming violence, 
Yet mean his sacred person not the least offence. 
Descend ; so help me Jove, as you shall find 
That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind. 

Nay, quoth the cock ; but I beshrew us both, 
If I believe a saint upon his oath : ?9G 

An honest man may take a knave's advice, 
But idiots only may be cozen'd twice : 
Once warn'd is well bewared ; no flattering lies 



Shall soothe me more to sing with winking 
eyes, soo 

And open mouth, for fear of catching flies. 
Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim, 
When he should see, has he deserved to swim ? 
Better, sir Cock, let all contention cease, 
Come down, said Reynard, let us treat of 
peace. s 05 

A peace with all my soul, said Chanticleer ; 
But, with your favour, I will treat it here : 
And lest the truce with treason should be mix'd, 
'Tis my concern to have the tree betwixt. 

THE MORAL. 

In this plain fable you the effect may see 81 ° 
Of negligence, and fond credulity : 
And learn besides of flatterers to beware, 
Then most pernicious when they speak too fair. 
The cock and fox, the fool and knave imply ; 
The truth is moral, though the tale a lie. 815 

Who spoke in parables, I dare not say ; 
But sure he knew it was a pleasing way, 
Sound sense, by plain example, to convey. 
And in a heathen author we may find, 
That pleasure with instruction should be join'd ; 
So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind. m 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF:* 

OR, THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR. 

a Vidian. 



Now turning from the wintry signs, the sun 
His course exalted through the Ram had run, 
And whirling up the skies, his chariot drove 
Through Taurus, and the lightsome realms of love; 
Where Venus from her orb descends in showers, 5 
To glad the ground, and paint the fields with 

flowers : 
When first the tender blades of grass appear, 
And buds, that yet the blast of Eurus fear, 
Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe the 

year : 
Till gentle heat, and soft repeated rains, 10 

Make the green blood to dance within their veins ; 

* It is singularly strange that our author, enumerating 
the different pieces of Chaucer that he has versified, should 
not say a syllahleof this exquisite and elegant vision, which 
of all his compositions is perhaps the most perfectly me- 
lodious. Dr. J. Waeton. 
Ver. 7. 

When first the tender Wades of grass appear, 
Andlmds, that yet the Hast of Eurus fear, 
Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe the year :J 
" Inque novos soles audent se gramina tuto 
Credere, nee metuit surgentes pampinus Austros." 

John" Waeton. 
Ver. 11. Make the green blood to dance within their veins :] 
An expression perfectly Ovidian. 
" Omnia tunc florent : tunc est nova temporis aetas : 
Et nova de gravido palmite gemma tumet. 
Et modo formatis amicitur vitibus arbos : 
Prodit et in summum seminis herba solum." 

Ovid's Fasti, lib. 1, 150. John Waeton. 



Then, at their call, embolden'd out they come, 
And swell the gems, and burst the narrow room; 
Broader and broader yet, their blooms display, 
Salute the welcome sun, and entertain the day. 15 
Then from their breathing souls the sweets repair 
To scent the skies, and purge the unwholesome air : 
Joy spreads the heart, and, with a general song, 
Spring issues out, and leads the jolly months along. 
In that sweet season, as in bed I lay, 20 

And sought in sleep to pass the night away, 
I turn'd my weary side, but still in vain, 
Though full of youthful health, and void of pain : 
Cares I had none, to keep me from my rest, 
For love had never enter'd in my breast ; a 

I wanted nothing Fortune could supply, 
Nor did she slumber till that hour deny. 
I wonder'd then, but after found it true, 
Much joy had dried away the balmy dew : 
Seas would be pools, without the brushing air, w 

Ver. 19. Spring issues out,'] Lucretius was rather in his 
eye than his original. 

"It Ver et Venus," &e. 

John Waeton. 
Ver. 30.] 

" By ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
Constant rotation of th' unwearied wheel, 
That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, 
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 
An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves. 
Its own revolvency upholds the world," &c. 

Cowper. 
" The heavens themselves rim continually round, the sun 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



257 



To curl the waves ; ami sure some little care 
nld weary nature so, to make her want i 
When Chanticleer the second watch had sung, 
ning the scorner sleep, from bed I sprung ; 
' And dressing, by the moon, in loose array, 3 ' J 

! out in open air, preventing day, 
And sought a goodly grove, as fancy led my way. 
Straight as a line in beauteous order stood 
i If oaks unshorn a venerable wood; 
Fresh was the grass beneath, and every tree, 4 " 
At distance planted in a due degree, 
Their branching arms in air with equal space 
Stretch <1 to their neighbours with a long embrace: 
And the new leaves on every bough were seen, 
Some ruddy colour'd, some of lighter green. 4 ' 
The painted birds, companions of the spiing, 
Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing. 
Both eyes and ears received a like delight, 
Enchanting music, and a charming sight. 
On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire; 60 

And listen'd for the queen of all the quire ; 

v. ' "ild I hear her heavenly voice to sing ; 
And wanted yet an omen to the spring. 

Attending long in vain, I took the way, 
Which through a path, but scarcely printed, lay; s > 
In narrow mazes oft it seem'd to meet, 
And look'd, as lightly press'd by fairy feet. 
Wand'ring I walk'd alone, for still rnethought 
To i mic strange end so strange a path was wrought : 
At last it led me where an arbour stood, °° 

The sacred receptacle of the wood : 
This place unmark'd. though oft I walk'd the green, 
In all my progress I had never seen : 

risith and sets, the moon increaseth and decreascth, stars 
and planets keep their constant motions, the air is still 
i hy the winds, the waters ebh and flow to their con- 
servation no doubt, to teach ns that we should ever be in 
n."— Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 2G5, ed. 1051. 
John Warton. 

Ver. 40. every tret, 

At distance planted in a dm d :/ree,] 
" In which were okes great, straight as a Line, 
i nder the which the grasse so fresh of hew 
Was newly sprong,and an eight foot ornine 
Every tree well fro his fellou grew, 
With branches brode, lade with leves new, 
That sprongeu out ayen the sunne shene, 
Some very red, and some, a glad light g 

Chaucer, PI. and L. st. 5. 
■Omnia Bint paribus numeris dimensa viarum, 
No animum modo uti pascat prospectus inanem : 
Sed quia non aliter vires dabit omnibus a?quas 
Terra, neque in vacuum potenint se extendere rami." 

Georg. ii. 284. 
" Quid enim illo quincunce speciosius est, qui in 
quamcunquc partem spectaveris rictus est? ' 

Cic. de Senect. 17. 
" Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, 
Now seorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
From sultry suns; and in their shaded walks 
And long protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon 
The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
• • • » 

lien avenues! once more I mourn 
fate unmerited, once more rejoice, 
yet a remnant of your race survives. 
'in and how light the graceful arch, 

Yet awful as tl d roof 

!;■ echoing pious anthems ! while beneath 
hequer'd earth seems restless as a flood 
■ I by the wind. So sportive is the light 
Shot thn ugh the boughs, it dances as they dance, 

I iw and sunshine intermingling quick, 
And darkening and enlightening, as the 1 'i\ es 
Play wanton, every moment every spot." Ci 

Jobs Waktow. 



And seized at once with wonder and delight, 
Glazed all around me, new to the transporting sight. 
r b ich'd with turf, and goodly to - 
'lie- thick yotxrj e in £ en: 

The mound ■ ' rj made, no sight could pass 
Betwixt the nice partitions of the grass; 
The well-united sods so closely 1 •, 7U 

And all around the shades defended it from day, 
For sycamores with eglantine were spread, 
A hedge about the sides, a covering over head. 
And B0 the fragrant briar was wove between, 
The sycamore and flowers were mix'd with green, 
That nature seem'd to vary the delight, ' 6 

And Satisfied at once the smell and sight. 
The master workman of the bower was known 
Through fairy-lands, and built for Oberon ; ' 9 
Who twining leaves with such proportion drew, 
They rose by measure, and by rule they grew ; 
No mortal tongue can half the beauty tell : 
For none but hands divine could work so well. 
Both roof and sides were like a parlour d 
A soft recess, and a cool summer shade ; M 

The hedge was set so thick, no foreign eye 
The persons placed within it could espj 
But all that pass'd without with I Ben, 

As if nor fence nor tree was placed between. 
'Twas border'd with a field ; and some was plain m 
With grass, and some was sow'd with rising grain. 
That (now the dew with spangles deek'd the 

ground) 
A sweeter spot of earth was never found. 
I look'd and look'd. and still with new delight; 

Such joy my soul, such pleasures fill'd my si 

And the fresh eglantine exhaled a breath, 
Whose odours were of power to raise from death. 
Nor sullen discontent, nor anxious care, 
Even though brought thither, could inhabit there: 
But thence they fled as from their mortal foe ; lu0 
For this sweet place could only pleasure know. 

Thus as I mused, I cast aside my eye, 
And saw a medlar-tree was planted ni) b 
The spreading branches made a goodly show, 
And full of opening blooms was every bough : 10i 
A goldfinch there I saw with gaudy pride 
Of painted plumes, thai hopp'd from side to side, 
Still pecking as she pass'd ; and still she drew 
The sweets from every flower, and suck'd the dew : 
Sufficed at length, she warbled in her throat, no 
And tuned her voice to many a merry note, 
But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear. 
Yet such as sooth'd my soul, ami pleased my 
ear. 

Her short performance was no sooner tried, 
When she I sought, the nightingale, replied : lls 
So Bweet, so shrill, so variously she sung, 
That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung : 
And T so ravish'd willi her heavenly note, 
I stood intranced, and had no room for thought, 
But all o'crpower'd with ecstasy of Mis \ '-" 

Was in a pleasing dream of paradise ; 
A( length 1 waked, and looking round the bower 

ii'd every tree, and pried on every llov. 
II' any where by chance I mij In espy 
The rural poet id' the nielodx : 
For still rnethought she sung not faraway ; 
At last I found her laurel 



Ver. 7!t. ■ built for 

a, which is a ie\ lation n m llie original, is i 
Joiix YV 



258 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight, 
Full in a line, against her opposite ; 
Where stood with eglantine the laurel twined ; 13 ° 
And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd. 

On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long ; 
(Sitting was more convenient for the song :) 
Nor till her lay was ended could I move, 
But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove. 135 

Only methought the time too swiftly pass'd, 
And every note I fear'd would be the last. 
My sight, and smell, and hearing were employ 'd, 
And all three senses in full gust enjoy 'd. 
And what alone did all the rest surpass, 14 ° 

The sweet possession of the fairy place ; 
Single, and conscious to myself alone 
Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown ; 
Pleasures which no where else were to be found, 
And all Elysium in a spot of ground. 145 

Thus while I sat intent to see and hear, 
And drew perfumes of more than vital air, 
All suddenly I heard the approaching sound 
Of vocal music on the enchanted ground : 
An host of saints it seem'd so full the quire ; 15 ° 
As if the bless'd above did all conspire 
To join their voices, and neglect the lyre. 
At length there issued from the grove behind 
A fair assembly of the female kind . 
A train less fail", as ancient fathers tell, 155 

Seduced the sons of heaven to rebel. 
I pass their form, and every charming grace, 
Less than an angel would their worth debase : 
But their attire, like liveries of a kind, 
All rich and rare, is fresh within my mind. 16 ° 
In velvet, white as snow, the troop was gown'd, 
The seams with sparkling emeralds set around : 
Their hoods and sleeves the same ; and purfled o'er 
With diamonds, pearls, and all the shining store 
Of eastern pomp : their long descending train, 16S 
With rubies edged, and sapphires, swept the plain : 
High on their heads, with jewels richly set, 
Each lady wore a radiant coronet. 
Beneath the circles, all the quire was graced 
With chaplets green on their fair foreheads'placed. 



Ver. 132. On the green dank I sat, and listen'd long ; 
{Sitting was more convenient for the song:)~\ 

A deviation from the original, arising from the want of 
a rhyme, or his habitual carelessness. The original lines 
are — 

" for as for mine entent, 

The birdis song was more convenient, 
And more pleasant to me by many fold 
Than mete or drink, or any other thing." 
The design of her walking in the grove was to hear the 
nightingale, according to the notion expressed in Milton's 
elegant sonnet : 

" O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray 
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, 
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, 
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. 
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, 
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, 
Portend success in love." John Warton. 

"Ver. 142. Single, and conscious to myself alone 

Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown ;'j 
This is an improvement on the original. So Burton : 
" By a brook side or wood so greene, 
Unheard, unsoitght-for, and unseene." 

John Warton. 
Ver. 148. All suddenly J heard the approaching sound 
Of vocal music on the enchanted ground .•] 
" Till, suddenly awaked, I hear 
Strange whisper'd music in my car." 

John Warton. 



Of laurel some, of woodbine many more ; 171 

And wreaths of Agnus castus others bore ; 
These last, who with those virgin crowns were 

dress'd, 
Appear'd in higher honour than the rest. 
They danced around ; but in the midst was seen 
A lady of a more majestic mien; 176 

By stature, and by beauty, mark'd their sovereign 
queen. 

She in the midst began with sober grace ; 
Her servants' eyes were fix'd upon her face, 
And as she moved or tum'd, her motions view'd, 
Her measures kept, and step by step pursued. lsl 
Methought she trod the ground with greater grace, 
With more of godhead shining in her face ; 
And as in beauty she surpass'd the quire, 
So, nobler than the rest was her attire. IS5 

A crown of ruddy gold inclosed her brow, 
Plain without pomp, and rich without a show ; 
A branch of Agnus castus in her hand 
She bore aloft (her sceptre of command) ; 
Admired, adored by all the circling crowd, 1!K) 
For wheresoe'er she turn'd her face, they bov/d : 
And as she danced, a roundelay she sung, 
In honour of the laurel, ever young : 
She raised her voice on high, and sung so clear, 
The fawns came scudding from the groves to hear : 
And all the bending forest lent an ear. 
At every close she made, the attending throng 
Replied, and bore the burden of the song : 
So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note, 
It seem'd the music melted in the throat. 20 ° 

Thus dancing on, and singing as they danced, 
They to the middle of the mead advanced, 
Till round my arbour a new ring they made, 
A nd footed it about the secret shade. 
O'erjoy'd to see the jolly troop so near, 204 

But somewhat awed, I shook with holy fear ; 
Yet not so much, but that I noted well 
Who did the most in song or dance excel. 

Not long I had observed, when from afar 
I heard a sudden symphony of war ; 21 ° 

The neighing coursers, and the soldiers' cry, 
And sounding tramps that seem'd to tear the sky : 
I saw soon after this, behind the grove 
From whence the ladies did in order move, 
Come issuing out in arms a warrior train, 215 

That like a deluge pour'd upon the plain : 
On barbed steeds they rode in proud array, 
Thick as the college of the bees in May, 
When swarming o'er the dusky fields they fly, 
New to the flowers, and intercept the sky. 
So fierce they drove, their coursers were so fleet, 
That the turf trembled underneath their feet. 

To tell their costly furniture were long, 
The summer's day would end before the song : 
To purchase but the tenth of all their store, ^ 
Would make the mighty Persian monarch poor. 
Yet what I can, I will ; before the rest 
The trumpets issued in white mantles dress'd : 

Ver. 195. The fawns came scudding'] 
" Jam vero in numerum faunosque, ferasque videres 
Ludere, jam rigidas motare cacumina quercus." 

John Warton. 

Ver. 226. Persian monarch poor. A judicious im 

provement from 

" I trow the large wonis 

Of Preter John, ne all his tresory 
Might not unneth have bought the tenth party." 
John Warton. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



250 



A numerous troop, and all their heads around 
With chaplets green of cerrial oak were crown'd, 230 
And at each trumpet was a banner bound : 
Which waving in the wind display'd at large 
Their masters' coat of arms, and knightly charge. 
Broad were the banners, and of snowy hue, 
A purer web the silk-worm never drew. 235 

The chief about their nocks the scutcheons wore, 
With orient pearls and jewels powder'd o'er: 
Broad were their collars too, and every one 
Was set about with many a costly stone. 
Next these, of kings at arms a goodly tram 240 
In proud array came prancing o'er the plain : 
Their cloaks were cloth of silver mix'd with gold, 
And garlands green around their temples roll'd : 
Kich crowns were on their royal scutcheons placed, 
With sapphires, diamonds, and with rubies graced : 
And as the trumpets their appearance made, 24 ° 
So these in habits were alike array'd ; 
But with a pace more sober, and more slow ; 
And twenty, rank in rank, they rode a-row. 
The pursuivants came next, in number more ; 2S0 
And like the heralds each his scutcheon bore : 
Clad in white velvet all their troop they led, 
With each an oaken chaplet on his head. 

Nine royal knights in equal rank succeed, 
Each warrior mounted on a fiery steed ; K5 

In golden armour glorious to behold ; 
The rivets of their arms were nail'd with gold. 
Their surcoats of white ermine fur were made ; 
With cloth of gold between, that cast a glittering 

shade. 
The trappings of their steeds were of the same ; 2G0 
The golden fringe even set the ground on flame, 
And drew a precious trail : a crown divine 
Of laurel did about their temples twine. 

Three henchmen were for every knight assign'd, 
All in rich livery clad, and of a kind ; 265 

White velvet, but unshorn, for cloaks they wore, 
And each within his hand a truncheon bore : 
The foremost held a helm of rare device; 
A prince's ransom would not pay the price. 
The second bore the buckler of his knight, ^ a 
The third of cornel-wood a spear upright, 
Headed with piercing steel, and polish'd bright. 
Like to their lords their equipage was seen, 
And all their foreheads crown'd with garlands 
green. 

And after these camearm'd with spear and shield 
An host so great as cover'd all the field : V* 

And all their foreheads, like the knights before, 
With laurels evergreen were shaded o'er, 
Or oak, or other leaves of lasting kind, 
Tenacious of the stem, and firm against the wind. 2S|) 
Some in their hands, beside the lance and shield, 
The boughs of woodbine or of hawthorn held, 
Or branches for' their mystic emblems took, 
Of palm, of laurel, or of cerrial oak. 
Thus marching to the trumpet's lofty sound, 28i ' 
Drawn in two lines adverse they wheel'd around, 
And in the middle meadow took their ground. 



Vcr. 2(51. TJte tjoLL it feinf/i > »> >t set. the ground an flnmt,~\ 
lie imitates himself, in Palamon and Arei'te. .John Wak- 

TOIT. 

\ er '..'70. leaves of lasting kind, 

/; nacious <>/ the stem,] 

" Flos apprima tenax." — Virg. 

Judiciously and with reference to the moral, .ions 

W \KTON. 



Among themselves the tourney they divide, 

In equal squadrons ranged on either side. 

Then turn'd their horses' heads, and man to man. 

And steed to steed opposed, the jousts began. WI 

They lightly set their lances in the rest, 

And, at the sign, against each other prcss'd : 

They met. I sitting at my ease beheld 

The mix'd events, and fortunes of the field. M5 

Some broke their spears, some tumbled horse 

and man, 
And round the field the lighten'd coursers ran. 
An hour and more, like tides, in equal sway 
They rush'd, and won by turns, anil lost the day: 
At length the nine (who still together held) 3n0 
Their fainting foes to shameful Sight compell'd, 
And with resistless force o'er-ran the field. 
Thus, to their fame, when finish'd was the fight, 
The victors from their lofty steeds alight : 
Like them dismounted all the warliko train, aos 
And two by two proceeded o'er the plain : 
Till to the fair assembly they advanced, 
Who near the secret arbour sung and danced. 

The ladies left their measures at the sight, 
To meet the chiefs returning from the fight, 31 ° 
And each with open arms embraced her chosen 

knight. 
Amid the plain a spreading laurel stood, 
The grace and ornament of all the wood : 
That pleasing shade they sought, a soft retreat 
From suddenAprilshowers,ashcltcrfromtheheat : 
Her leafy arms with such extent were spread, 31fi 
So near the clouds was her aspiring head, 
That hosts of birds, that wing the liquid air, 
Perch'd in the boughs, had nightly lodging there: 
And flocks of sheep beneath the shade from far 32 ° 
Might hear the rattling hail, and wintry war ; 
From heaven's inclemency here found retreat, 
Enjoy 'd the cool, and slnum'd the scorching heat: 
A hundred knights might there at ease abide ; 
And every knight a lady by his side : 3ii 

The trunk itself such odours did bequeath, 
That a Moluccan breeze to these was common 

breath. 
The lords and ladies here, approaching, paid 
Their homage, with a low obeisance made ; 
And seem'd to venerate the sacred shade. 33 ° 

These rites perform'd, their pleasures they pursue, 
With songs of love, and mix with measures new; 
Around the holy tree their dance they frame, 
And every champion leads his chosen dame. 

I cast my sight upon the farther field, 
And a fresh object of delight beheld : 
For from the region of the West I heard 
New music soimd, and a new troop appeared ; 
Of knights and ladies mix'd a jolly band, 33J 

But all on foot they march'd, and hand in hand, 



Ver. 316. Her leafy arms with such extt tit were spread,] 

" Such as at this day to Indians known, 

In Malabar and Decan spreads her arms 
Branching so broad and long, that in tin- ground 
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 
About the mother tree, a pillar' d shado 
High ovcr-arch'd, and echoing walks between : 
There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning /teat, 
Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds 
At loop-holes cut through thickest shade." 
That our author had this passage of Milton in view is. 

I presume, evident. The circumstam i the sleep is not 

in Chaucer; nor the notion of the odoriferous Moluocan 
breeze, which was suggested to him by .Milton's pa 
John Wahton. 

8 2 



The ladies dress'd in rich symars were seen 
Of Florence satin, fiower'd with white and green, 
And for a shade betwixt the bloomy gridelin. 
The borders of their petticoats below 
Were guarded thick with rubies on a row ; 345 
And every damsel wore upon her head 
Of flowers a garland blended white and red. 
Attired in mantles all the knights were seen, 
That gratified the view with cheerful green : 
Their chaplets of their ladies' colours were, 350 
C imposed of white and red, to shade their 

shining hair. 
Before the merry troop the minstrels play'd ; 
All in their masters' liveries were array'd, 
And clad in green, and on their temples wore 
The chaplets white and red their ladies bore. 365 
Their instruments were various in their kind, 
Some for the bow, and some for breathing wind : 
The sawtry, pipe, and hautboy's noisy band, 
And the soft lute trembling beneath the touching 

hand. 
A tuft of daisies on a flowery lay 3G0 

They saw, and thitherward they bent their way ; 
To this both knights and dames their homage 

made, 
And due obeisance to the daisy paid. 
And then the band of flutes began to play, 
To which a lady sung a virelay : 365 

And still at every close she would repeat 
The burden of the song, The daisy is so sweet. 
The daisy is so sweet, when she begun, 
The troop of knights and dames continued on. 
The consort and the voice so charmed my ear, 
And soothed my soul, that it was heaven to 

hear. 371 

But soon their pleasure pass'd : at noon of day, 
The sun with sultry beams began to play : 
Not Sirius shoots a fiercer flame from high, 
When with his poisonous breath he blasts the 

sky ; 3 ' 5 

Then droop'd the fading flow'rs (their beauty fled) 
And closed their sickly eyes, and hung the head, 
And rivell'd up with heat, lay dying in their 

bed. 
The ladies gasp'd, and scarcely could respire ; 
The breath they drew, no longer ah - , but fire ; 380 
The fainty knights were scorch'd, and knew not 

where 
To run for shelter, for no shade was near; 
And after this the gathering clouds amain 
Pour'd down a storm of rattling hail and rain : 
And lightning flash'd betwixt: the field and 

flowers, ass 

Burnt up before, were buried in the showers. 
The ladies and the.knigkts, no shelter nigh, 
Bare to the weather and the wintry sky, 
Were dropping wet, disconsolate, and wan, 
And through their thin array received the rain ; 
While those in white, protected by the tree, 391 
Saw pass in vain the assault, and stood from 

danger free, 
But as compassion moved their gentle minds, 
When ceased the storm, and silent were the winds, 

Ver. 378.] Dryden uses the expression rivell'd; as Pope 
does in the Eape of the Lock, c. ii. 132. Some editions read 
shriveltd: hut Pope follows Dryden, as Mr. Wakefield has 
observed. Todi>. 

Ver. 380. The breath they drew, no longer air, but fire ;] 
A conceit introduced for the sake of the rhyme. John 
Warton. 



Displeased at what, not suffering they had seen, 
They went to cheer the faction of the green : 396 
The queen in white array, before her band, 
Saluting, took her rival by the hand ; 
So did the knights and dames, with courtly 

grace, 
And with behaviour sweet their foes embrace. m 
Then thus the queen with laurel on her brow, 
Fair sister, I have suffer'd in your woe ; 
Nor shall be wanting aught within my power 
For your relief in my refreshing bower. 
That other answer'd with a lowly look, m 

And soon the gracious invitation took : 
For ill at ease both she and all her train 
The scorching sun had borne, and beating rain. 
Like courtesy was used by all in white, 
Each dame a dame received, and every knight 

a knight. 4I ° 

The laurel champions with their swords invade 
The neighbouring forests, where the jousts were 

made, 
And serewood from the rotten hedges took, 
And seeds of latent fire from flints provoke : 
A cheerful blaze arose, and by the fire 415 

They warm'd their frozen feet, and dried their 

wet attire. 
Refreshed with heat, the ladies sought around 
For virtuous herbs, which gather'd from the ground 
They squeezed the juice, and cooling ointment 

made, 
Which on their sun-burnt cheeks, and their chapt 

skins they laid : 42 ° 

Then sought green salads, which they bade them 

eat, 
A sovereign remedy for inward heat. 

The Lady of the Leaf ordain'd a feast, 
And made the Lady of the Flower her guest : 
When, lo ! a bower ascended on the plain, 4i5 
With sudden seats ordain'd, and large for either 

train. 
This bower was near my pleasant arbour placed, 
That I could hear and see whatever pass'd : 
The ladies sat with each a knight between, 
Distinguish'd by their colours, white and green ; 
The vanquish'd party with the victors join'd, 431 
Nor wanted sweet discourse, the banquet -of the 

mind. 
Meantime the minstrels play'd on either side, 
Vain of their art, and for the mastery vied : 
The sweet contention lasted for an hour, 
And reach'd my secret arbour from the bower. 

The sun was set; and Vesper, to supply 
His absent beams, had lighted up the sky. 
When Philomel, officious all the day 
To sing the service of the ensuing May, 
Fled from her laurel shade, and wing'd her flight 
Directly to the queen array'd in white ; 

Ver. 414. And seeds of latent fire from flints provoke :] A 
circumstance, his own, founded on the line of Virgil : — 

" primus silici scintillam excudit Achates." 

The verb provoke is his own, and simple, strong, and ex- 
pressive. John Warton. 

Ver. 425.] Here I must, agreeably to my plan, note a 
small deviation from the original, in which there is no 
mention of the bower or the banquet. John Warton. 
Ver. 437. The sun was set ; and Vesper, to supply 

His absent beams, had lighted up the sky.] 
" The sun was sunk, and after him the star of Hesperus." 

Milton, ix. 40. 
John Warton. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



261 



And hopping sat familiar on her hand, 
A now musician, and increased the band. 

The goldfinch, who, to shun the scalding heat, *' 5 
Had changed the medlar for a safer seat, 
And hid in bushes 'scaped the bitter shower, 
Now perch'd upon the Lady of the Flower; 
And either songster holding out their throats, 
And folding up their wings, renew' d their notes : 
As if all day, preluding to the fight, 451 

They only had rehearsed, to sing by night. 
The banquet ended, and the battle done, 
They danced by star-light and the friendly moon: 
And when they were to part, the laureate queen 
Supplied with steeds the lady of the green, 456 
Her and her train conducting on the way, 
The moon to follow, and avoid the day. 

This when I saw, inquisitive to know 
The secret moral of the mystic show, 4G0 

I started from my shade, in hopes to find 
Some nymph to satisfy my longing mind : 
And as my fair adventure fell, I found 
A lady all in white, with laurel crown' d, 
Who closed the rear, and softly paced along, 465 
Repeating to herself the former song. 
With due respect my body I inclined, 
As to some being of superior kind, 
And made my court according to the day, 
Wishing her queen and her a happy May. 47 ° 

Great thanks, my daughter, with a gracious bow, 
She said ; and I, who much desired to know 
Of whence she was, yet fearful how to break 
My mind, adventured humbly thus to speak : 
Madam, might I presume and not offend, 4 ' 5 

So may the stars and shining moon attend 
Your nightly sports, as you vouchsafe to toll, 
What nymphs they were who mortal forms excel, 
And what the knights who fought in listed fields 

so well. 
To this the dame replied : Fair daughter, know, 
That what you saw was all a fairy show : 481 

And all those airy shapes you now behold 
Were human bodies once, and clothed with 

earthly mould, 
Our souls, not yet prepared for upper light, 
Till doomsday wander in the shades of night; 4S5 
This only holiday of all the year, 
We privileged in sunshine may appear : 
With songs and dance we celebrate the day, 
And with due honours usher in the May. 
At other times we reign by night alone, 4S0 

And posting through the skies pursue the moon : 
lint when the moon arises, none are found ; 
For cruel Demogorgon walks the round, 
And if he finds a fairy lag in light, 
He drives the wretch before, and lashes into night. 

All courteous are by kind ; and ever proud 4M 
With friendly offices to help the good. 
In every land we have a larger space 
Thau what is known to you of mortal race : 



Ver. 491. And posting through the sJciespursue the moon :] 
My reader will not be displeased at (lie following citation 
from a writer whose chief excellence does not consist in 
Imagery; but who shows from the following passage much 
of the genuine and real poet or maker. 

"Liulite, jam Nnx jungit equos, cnmunque scquuntur 
Matris Iasclvo sidera fulva choro, 
Postque venit tacitus fuscis circomdatue alia 
Soinnus, et incerto somnia nigra pede." 

Tibullus, lib. ii. Eleg. 1. line 87. 
John Wabtoh. 



Whore we with green adorn our fairy bowers, 60 ° 
And even this grove, unseen before, is ours. 
Know farther, every lad}- clothed in white, 
And, crown'd with oak and laurel every knight. 
Are servants to the Leaf, by liveries known 
Of innocence; and I myself am one. 6ns 

Saw you not her so graceful to behold, 
In white attire, and crown'd with radiant gold ? 
The sovereign lady of our land is she, 
Diana call'd, the queen of chastity : 
And, for the spotless name of maid she bears, 5! 
That Agnus castus in her hand appears ; 
And all her train, with leafy chaplets crown'd, 
Were for unblamcd virginity renown'd : 
But those the chief ami highest in command 
Who bear those holy branches in their hand : 5IS 
The knights adorn'd with laurel crowns are they, 
Whom death nor danger ever could dismay, 
Victorious names, who made the world obey : 
Who, while they lived, in deeds of arms excell'd, 
And after death for deities were held. •'-'" 

But those who wear the woodbine on their brow, 
Were knights of love, who never broke their vow ; 
Firm to their plighted faith, and ever free 
From fears, and fickle chance, and jealousy. 
The lords and ladies, who the woodbine bear, w * 
As true as Tristram and Isotta were. 
But what are those, said I, the unconquer'd nine, 
Who crown'd with laurel wreaths in golden ar- 
mour shine \ 
And who the knights in green, and what the train 
Of ladies dress'd with daisies on the plain ? i:m 
Why both the bands in worship disagree, 
And some adore the flower, and some the tree ? 

Just is your suit, fair daughter, said the dame : 
Those laurell'd chiefs were men of mighty fame ; 
Nine worthies were they call'd of different rites, 835 
Three Jews, threo Pagans, and three Christian 

knights. 
These, as you see, ride foremost in the field, 
As they the foremost rank of honour held, 
And all in deeds of chivalry excell'd : 
Their temples wreath'd with leaves, that still renew ; 
For deathless laurel is the victor's due : • r "" 

Who bear the bows were knights in Arthur's ri Q, 
Twelve they, and twelve the peers of Charlemagne : 
For bows the strength of brawny arms imply, 
Emblems of valour and of victory. i45 

Behold an order yet of newer date, 
Doubling their number, equal in their state ; 
Our England's ornament, the crown's defence, 
In battle brave, protectors of their prince : 
Unchanged by fortune, to their sovereign true, 55 ° 
For which their manly legs arc bound with blue. 
These, of the Garter call'd, of faith unstain'd 
In fighting fields the laurel have obtain'd, 
And well repaid the honours which they gain'd. 
The laurel wreaths were first by Cresar worn, M5 
And still they Caesar's successors adorn : 
One leaf of this is immortality, 
And more of worth than all the world can buy. 

One doubt remains, said I, the dames in green, 
What were their qualities, and who their quee 

Flora c imands, said she, those nymphs and 

knights, 
Who lived in slothful case and loose delights ; 
Who never acts of honour durst pursue, 
The men inglorious knights, the ladies all untrue : 

Who, mused in idleness, and train'd in coin: 
1'ass'd all their precious hours in plays 



262 



THE WIFE OP BATH'S TALE. 



Till death behind came stalking on unseen, 

And wither'd (like the storm) the freshness of 

their green. 
These, and their mates, enjoy their present hour, 
And therefore pay their homage to the Flower. 57 ° 
But knights in knightly deeds should persevere, 
And still continue what at first they were ; 
Continue, and proceed in honour's fair career. 
No room for cowardice, or dull delay ; 
From good to better they should urge their way. 5 ' 5 
For this with golden spurs the chiefs are graced, 
With pointed rowels arm'd to mend their haste. 
For this with lasting leaves their brows are bound; 
For laurel is the sign of labour crown' d, 
Which bears the bitter blast, nor shaken falls to 

ground : 58 ° 

From winter winds it suffers no decay, 
For ever fresh and fair, and every month is May. 
Even when the vital sap retreats below, 
Even when the hoary head is hid in snow, 
The life is in the leaf, and still between 585 

The fits of falling snow appears the streaky green. 
Not so the flower, which lasts for little space, 
A short-lived good, and an uncertain grace ; 
This way and that the feeble stem is driven, 
Weak to sustain the storms, and injuries of heaven. 
Propp'd by the spring, it lifts aloft the head, 5W 
But of a sickly beauty, soon to shed ; 



In summer living, and in winter dead. 
For things of tender kind, for pleasure made, 
Shoot up with swift increase, and sudden are 
decay'd. M5 

With humble words, the wisest I could frame, 
And proffer'd service, I repaid the dame ; 
That, of her grace, she gave her maid to know 
The secret meaning of this moral show. 
And she, to prove what profit I had made em 

Of mystic truth, in fables first convey'd, 
Demanded, till the next returning May, 
Whether the Leaf or Flower I would obey ? 
I chose the Leaf; she smiled with sober cheer, 
And wish'd me fair adventure for the year, ^ 
And gave me charms and sigils, for defence 
Against ill tongues that scandal innocence : 
But I, said she, my fellows must pursue, 
Already past the plain, and out of view. 
We parted thus : I homeward sped my way, 610 
Bewilder'd in the wood till dawn of day : 
And met the merry crew who danced about the 

May. 
Then late refresh'd with sleep, I rose to write 
The visionary vigils of the night. 

Blush, as thou may'st, my little book with shame, 
Nor hope with homely verse to purchase fame; G16 
For such thy maker chose ; and so design'd 
Thy simple style to suit thy lowly kind. 



THE WIFE OF BATH. 



HER TALE. 



In days of old, when Arthur fill'd the throne, 
Whose acts and fame to foreign lands were blown ; 
The king of elfs and little fairy queen' 
Gamboll'd on heaths, and danced on every green ; 
And where the jolly troop had led the round, 5 
The grass unbidden rose, and mark'd the ground : 
Nor darkling did they dance, the silver light 
Of Phcebe served to guide their steps aright, 
And with their tripping pleased, prolong the night. 
Her beams they follow'd, where at full she 

play'd, 10 

No longer than she shed her horns they staid, 
From thence with airy flight to foreign lands 

convey'd. 
Above the rest our Britain held they dear, 
More solemnly they kept their sabbaths here, 
And made more spacious rings, and revell'd half 

the year. 15 

I speak of ancient times, for now the swain 
Keturning late may pass the woods in vain, 
And never hope to see the nightly train : 
In vain the dairy now with mints is dress'd, 
The dairy-maid expects no fairy guest, ^ 

To skim the bowls, and after pay the feast. 
She sighs, and shakes her empty shoes in vain, 
No silver penny to reward her pain : 



For priests with prayers, and other godly gear, 
Have made the merry goblins disappear ; M 

And where they play'd their merry pranks be- 
fore, 
Have sprinkled holy water on the floor : 
And friars that through the wealthy regions run, 
Thick as the motes that twinkle in the sun, 
Eesort to farmers rich, and bless their halls, 30 
And exorcise the beds, and cross the walls : 
This makes the fairy quires forsake the place, 
When once 'tis hallow'd with the rites of grace : 
But in the walks where wicked elves have been, 
The learning of the parish now is seen, 
The midnight parson, posting o'er the green, 
With gown tuck'd up, to wakes, for Sunday next, 
With humming ale encouraging his text ; 
Nor wants the holy leer to country-girl betwixt. 
From fiends and imps he sets the village free, ^ 
There haunts not any incubus but he. 
The maids and women need no danger fear 
To walk by night, and sanctity so near : 
For by some haycock, or some shady thorn, 
He bids his beads both even-song and morn. * 

It so befel in this king Arthur's reign, 
A lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain ; 
A bachelor he was, and of the courtly train. 



THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 



2G3 



It happen'd as he rode, a damsel gay 
In russet robes to market took her way : w 

Soon on the girl he cast an amorous eye, 
So straight she walk'd, and on her pasterns high : 
If seeing her behind he liked her pace, 
Now turning short, he better likes her face. 
He lights in haste, and, Ml of youthM fire, 55 
By force accomplished his obscene desire : 
This done, away he rode, not unespied, 
For swarming at his back the country cried : 
And once in view they never lost the sight 
But seized, and pinion'd brought to court tho 
knight. w 

Then courts of kings were held in high renown, 
Ere made the common brothels of the town : 
There, virgins honourable vows received, 
But chaste as maids in monasteries lived ; 
The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave, M 

No bad example to his poets gave : 
And they, not bad, but in a vicious age, 
Had not, to please the prince, debauch'd the stage. 

Now what should Arthur do 1 He loved the 
knight, 
But sovereign monarchs are the source of right : '° 
Moved by the damsel's tears and common cry, 
He doom'd the brutal ravisher to die. 
But fair Geneura rose in his defence, 
And pray'd so hard for mercy from the prince, 
That to his queen the king the offender gave, " 5 
And left it in her power to kill or save : 
This gracious act the ladies all approve, 
Who thought it much a man should die for love ; 
And with their mistress join'd in close debate, 
(Covering their kindness with dissembled hate ;) m 
If not to free him, to prolong his fate. 
At last agreed, they call'd him by consent 
Before the queen and female parliament ; 
And the fair speaker, rising froni the chair, 
Did thus the judgment of the house declare. M 

Sir knight, though I have ask'd thy Life, yet still 
Thy destiny depends upon my will : 
Nor hast thou other surety than the grace 
Not due to thee from our - offended race. 
But as our kind is of a softer mould, m 

And cannot blood without a sigh behold, 
I grant thee life ; reserving still the power 
To take the forfeit when I see my hour : 
Unless thy answer to my next demand 
Shall set thee free from our avenging hand 93 
The question, whose solution I require, 
Is, What the sex of women most desire 1 
In this dispute thy judges are at strife ; 
Beware ; for on thy wit depends thy life. 
Yet (lest, surprised, unknowing what to say, lllu 
Thou damn thyself) we give thee farther day : 
A year is thine to wander at thy will ; 
And learn from others, if thou want'st the skill. 
But, not to hold our proffer'd turn in scorn, 
Good sureties will wc have for thy return; Wb 
That at the time prefix'd thou shalt obey, 
And at thy pledge's peril keep thy day. 

Woe was the knight at this severe command; 
But well ho knew 'twas bootless to withstand : 
The terms accepted, as the fair ordain, "° 

He put in bail for his return again, 
And promised answer at the day assign'd, 
The best, with Heaven's assistance, he could find. 

His leave thus taken, on his way ho went 
With heavy heart, and full of discontent, "•' 

Misdoubting much, and fearful of the event. 



'Twaa hard the truth of such a point to find, 
As was not yet agreed among the kind. 
Thus on he went ; still anxious more and more, 
Ask'd all he met, and knock'd at every door ; 120 
Inquired of men; but made his chief request 
To leam from women what they loved the best. 
They answer'd each according to her mind 
To please herself, not all the female kind. 
One was for wealth, another was for place ; 125 
Crones, old and ugly, wish'd a better face. 
The widow's wish was oftentimes to wed ; 
The wanton maids were all for sport a-bed. 
Some said the sex were pleased with handsome 

lies, 
And some gross flattery loved without disguise : 130 
Truth is, says one, he seldom fails to win, 
Who flatters well ; for that's our darling sin. 
But long attendance, and a duteous mind, 
Will work even with the wisest of the kind 
One thought the sex's prime felicity 13i 

Was from the bonds of wedlock to be free : 
Their pleasures, hours, and actions all their own, 
And uncontroll'd to givo account to none. 
Some with a husband-fool ; but such are curst, 
For fools perverse of husbands are the worst : 
All women would be counted chaste and wise, 
Nor should our spouses see, but with our eyes ; 
For fools will prate ; and though they want the wit 
To find close faults, yet open blots will hit ; 
Though better for their ease to hold their 
tongue, l45 

For woman-kind was never in the wrong. 
So noise ensues, and quarrels last for life ; 
The wife abhors the fool, the fool the wife. 
And some men say, that great delight have we, 
To be for truth extoll'd, and secresy : 15 ° 

And constant in one purpose still to dwell ; 
And not our husband's counsels to reveal. 
But that 's a fable : for our sex is frail, 
Inventing rather than not tell a tale. 
Like leaky sieves no secrets we can hold : 1M 

Witness the famous talc that Ovid told. 

Midas the king, as in his book appears, 
By Phoebus was endow'd with asses' ears, 
Which under his long locks he well conceal'd, 
(As monarchs' vices must not be reveal'd) lco 

For fear the people have 'em in the wind, 
Who long ago were neither dumb nor blind: 
Nor apt to think from heaven their title springs, 
Since Jove and Mars left off begetting kings. 
This Midas knew ; and durst communicate lcs 
To none but to his wife his ears of state : 
One must be trusted, and he thought her fit, 
As passing prudent, and a parlous wit. 
To this sagacious confessor he went, 
And told her what a gift the gods had sent: l7 ° 
But told it under matrimonial seal, 
With strict injunction never to reveal. 
The secret heard, she plighted him her troth, 
(And sacred sure is every woman's oath) 
The royal malady should rest unknown, '" 5 

Both for her husband's honour and her own 
But nc'crthcless she pined with discontent; 
The counsel rumbled till it found a vent. 
The thing she knew she was obliged to hide ; 
By interest and by oath the wife was tied; 
But, if she told it not, the woman died, 
Loth to betray a husband and a prince, 

But sin; must burst, or blab, and no pretence 
Of honour tied her tongue from self-defence 



264 



THE WIFE OP BATH'S TALE. 



A marshy ground comrnodiously was near, ,S5 

Thither she ran, and held her breath for fear, 

Lest if a word she spoke of any thing, 

That word might be the secret of the king. 

Thus full of counsel to the fen she went, 

Griped all the way, and longing for a vent ; IU0 

Arrived, by pure necessity compell'd, 

On her majestic marrow-bones she kneel'd : 

Then to the water's brink she laid her head, 

And, as a bittour bumps within a reed, 

To thee alone, lake, she said, I tell, 195 

(And, as thy queen, command thee to conceal,) 

Beneath his locks the king my husband wears 

A goodly royal pair of asses' ears : 

Now I have eased my bosom of the pain, 

Till the next longing fit return again. 20n 

Thus through a woman was the secret known ; 
Tell us, and in effect you tell the town. 
But to my tale ; the knight with heavy cheer, 
Wand'ring in vain, had now consumed the year : 
One day was only left to solve the doubt, 205 

Yet knew no more than when he first set out. 
But home he must, and as the award had been, 
Yield up his body captive to the queen. 
In this despairing state he happ'd to ride, 
As fortune led him, by a forest side : 21 ° 

Lonely the vale, and full of horror stood, 
Brown with the shade of a religious wood : 
When full before him at the noon of night, 
(The moon was up, and shot a gleamy light) 
He saw a quire of ladies in a round 215 

That featly footing seem'd to skim the ground : 
Thus dancing hand in hand, so light they were, 
He knew not where they trod, on earth or air. 
At speed he drove, and came a sudden guest, 
In hope where many women were, at least S2 ° 
Some one by chance might answer his request. 
But faster than his horse the ladies flew, 
And in a trice were vanish'd out of view. 

One only hag remain'd ; but fouler far 
Than grandame apes in Indian forests are ; m 
Against a wither'd oak she lean'd her weight, 
Propp'd on her trusty staff, not half upright, 
And dropp'd an awkward court'sy to the knight. 
Then said, What makes you, Sir, so late abroad 
Without a guide, and this no beaten road ? 230 
Or want you aught that here you hope to find, 
Or travel for some trouble in your mind ? 
The last I guess ; and if I read, aright, 
Those of our sex are bound to serve a knight ; 



Ver. 194. And, as a littour lumps, &c] The mugient 
noise of the bittor, (to use the words of Sir Thomas Brown) 
by putting its bill into a reed, as most believe, which we 
term humping, is not so easily made out. See Enquiries into 
Vulgar and Common Errors, b. ill., ch. 27. The paraphrase 
of an old commentator on the passage in Chaucer, to which 
the lines before us correspond, is, for the sake of an harmless 
laugh, worth citing :— " She, (the wife of Midas) who had 
solemnly vowed never to disclose what he had recom- 
mended to her trust; both to keep her oath, and yet dis- 
gorge her stomach of that secret which lay so petting and 
frying on her, as she must needs be delivered of it ; re- 
solved one day to go down to a marrish near adjoyning, far 
remote from the sight or search of man ; where, just like as 
a bittern puts his beak in a reed, and through the hollowness 
of the cane makes a shrill and sharp sound, so lay Midas' 
wife with her mouth to the water, using these words :— 
Dost thou hear, thou marrish 1 my husband has a pair of asse's 
ears. This is a secret; none but myself know of it; I would 
not for a world impart it. So, now my heart is eased : my lace 
would have broke, if I had not disclosed it I " Comment upon 
two Tales of Chaucer, &c., 12mo. London, 1665, r> 161 
Todd. 



Perhaps good counsel may your grief assuage, 
Then tell your pain; for wisdom is in age. 236 

To this the knight : Good mother, would you 
know 
The secret cause and spring of all my woe 1 
My life must with to-morrow's light expire, 
Unless I tell what women most desire. 2W 

Now could you help me at this hard essay, 
Or for your inborn goodness, or for pay ; 
Yours is my life, redeem'd by your advice, 
Ask what you please, and I will pay the price : 
The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest <Mi 
Well satisfied of what they love the best. 
Plight me thy faith, quoth she, that what I ask, 
Thy danger over, and perform'd thy task, 
That thou shalt give for hire of thy demand ; 
Here take thy oath, and seal it on my hand ; 260 
I warrant thee, on peril of my life, 
Thy words shall please both widow, maid, and wife. 

More words there needed not to move the 
knight, 
To take her offer, and his truth to plight. 2M 

With that she spread a mantle on the ground, 
And, first inquiring whither he was bound, 
Bade him not fear, though long and rough the way, 
At court he should arrive ere break of day ; 
His horse should find the way without a guide. 
She said : with fury they began to ride, 20 ° 

He on the midst, the beldam at his side. 
The horse, what devil drove I cannot tell, 
But only this, they sped their journey well: 
And all the way the crone inform'd the knight, 
How he should answer the demand aright. 2la 

To court they came; thenewswas quicklyspread 
Of his returning to redeem his head. 
The female senate was assembled soon, 
With all the mob of women iu the town : 
The queen sat lord chief justice of the hall, 2 '° 
And bade the crier cite the criminal. 
The knight appear'd ; and silence they proclaim ;. 
Then first the culprit answer'd to his name : 
And, after forms of law, was last required 
To name the thing that women most desired. 27S 

The offender, taught his lesson by the way, 
And by his counsel order'd what to say, 
Thus bold began : My lady liege, said he, 
What all your sex desire is, Sovereignty. 
The wife affects her husband to command ; 2S0 
All must be hers, both money, house, and land. 
The maids are mistresses even in their name ; 
And of their servants full dominion claim. 
This, at the peril of my head, I say, 
A blunt plain truth, the sex aspires to sway, 285 
You to rule all, while we, like slaves, obey. 
There was not one, or widow, maid or wife, 
But said the knight had well deserved his life. 
Even fair Geneura, with a blush, confess'd 
The man had found what women love the best. 29 ° 

Up starts the beldam, who was there unseen, 
And,-reverence made, accosted thus the queen : 
My liege, said she, before the court arise, 
May I, poor wretch, find favour in your eyes, 
To grant my just request : 'twas I who taught 29S 
The knight this answer, and inspired his thought ; 
None but a woman could a man direct 
To tell us women, what we most affect. 
But first I swore him on his knightly troth 
(And here demand performance of his oath), aKI 
To grant the boon that next I should desire; 
He gave his faith, and I expect my hire : 



TJIE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 



My promise is fulfill'd : I saved his life, 

And claim his debt, to take me for his wife. 

The knight was ask'd, nor could his oath deny, ■* 

But hoped they would not force him to comply. 

The women, who would rather wrest the laws, 

Thau let a sister-plaintiff lose the cause, 

(As judges on the bench more gracious are, 

And more attent to brothers of the bar) 310 

Cried, one and all, the suppliant should have right, 

And to the grandame hag adjudged the knight. 

In vain he aigh'd, and oft with tears desired, 
Some reasonable suit might be required. 
But still the crone was constant to her note ; 315 
The more he spoke, the more she stretch'd her 

throat. 
In vain he proffer'd all his goods, to save 
His body destined to that living grave. 
The liquorish hag rejects the pelf with scorn ; 
And nothing but the man would serve her turn. 32 ° 
Not all the wealth of eastern kings, said she, 
Have power to part my plighted love, and me : 
And, old and ugly as I am, and poor, 
Yet never will I break the faith I sworo ; 
For mine thou art by promise, during life, 325 

And I thy loving and obedient wife. 

My love ! nay rather my damnation thou, 
Said he : nor am I bound to keep my vow; 
The fiend thy sire hath scut thee from below, 
Else, how couldst thou my secret sorrows know ? 
Avaunt, old witch, for I renounce thy bed : 331 
The queen may take the forfeit of my head, 
Ere any of my race so foul a crone shall wed. 
Both heard, the judge pronounced against the 

knight ; 
So was ho married in his own despite : m 

And all day after hid him as an owl, 
Not able to sustain a sight so foul. 
Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong, 
To pass the marriage feast, and nuptial song : 
Mirth there was none, the man was a-la-mort, sw 
And little courage had to make his court. 
To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride : 
Was never such an ill-pair'd couple tied : 
Restless he toss'd, and tumbled to and fro, 
And roll'd, and wriggled further off, for woe. 345 
The good old wife lay smiling by his side. 
And caught him in her quivering arms, and cried, 
When you my ravish'd predecessor saw, 
You were not then become this man of straw ; 
Had you been such, you might have 'scaped the law. 
Is this the custom of King Arthur's court .' MI 
Are all round-table knights of such a sort? 
Remember I am she who saved your life, 
Your loving, lawful, and complying wife: 
Not thus you swore in your unhappy hour, M5 
Nor I for this return employ'd my power. 
In time of need I was your faithful friend ; 
Nor did I since, nor ever will offend. 
Believe mo, my loved lord, 'tis much unkind ; 
What fury has possess'd your alter'd mind ? 3W 
Thus on my wedding night — without pretence — 
Come, turn this way, or tell mo my offence. 
If not your wife, let reason's rule persuade ; 
Name but my fault, amends shall soon lie made. 

Amends! nay, that 's impossible, said ho, 30S 
What change of age or ugliness can be ? 
Or could Medea's gic mend thy face, 

Thou art descended from so mean a race, 
That never knight was match'd with such dis- 
grace. 



265 



.!. ' 



What wonder, madam, if I move my .side, 
When, if I turn, I turn to such a bride I 
And is this all that troubles you so sore .' 
And what the devil couldst thou wish mo 

more? 
Ah, Benedicite ! replied the crone : 
Then cause of just complaining have you none. g ' 6 
The remedy to this were soon applied, 
Would you be like the bridegroom to the bride : 
But, for you say a long descended race, 
And wealth, and dignity, and power, and place, 
Make gentlemen, and that your high degree 3H " 
Is much disparaged to be match'd with me; 
Know this, my lord, nobility of blood 
Is but a glittering and fallacious good : 
The nobleman is he, whose noble mind 
Is fill'd with inborn worth, uuborrow'd from his 

kind. «6 

The King of Heaven was in s manger laid, 
And took his earth but from an humble Maid; 
Then what can birth, or mortal men. bestow '. 
Since floods no higher than their fountains flow. 
We, who for name and empty honour strive, 3X 
Our true nobility from him derive. 
Your ancestors, who puff your mind with pride, 
And vast estates to mighty titles tied, 
Did not your honour, but their own, advance ; 
For virtue comes not by inheritance. 3M 

If you tralincatc from your father's mind, 
What arc you else but of a bastard kind ? 
Do as your groat progenitors have done, 
And, by their virtues, prove yourself their son. 
No father can infuse or wit or grace ; ilK 

A mother comes across, and mars the race. 
A graudsire or a grandame taints the blood 
And seldom three descents continue good 
Were virtue by descent, a noble name 
Could never villanisc his father's fame : w ' 

But, as the first, the last of all the line, 
Would, like the sun, even in descending, shine. 
Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house 
Betwixt King Arthur's court and Caucasus; 
If you depart, the flame shall still remain, i10 

And the bright blaze enlighten all the plain : 
Nor, till the fuel perish, can decay, 
By nature form'd on things combustible to 

prey. 
Such is not man, who, mixing better seed 
With worse, begets a base degenerate breed : •■* 
The bad corrupts the good, and leaves behind 
No trace of all the great begetter's mind. 
The father sinks within his son, we see, 
And often rises in the third degree ; 
If better luck a better mother > 4M 

Chance gave us being, and by chance we live. 
Such as our atoms were, even such are we, 
Or call it chance, or strong necessity : 
Thus loaded with dead weight, the will is free. 
And thus it needs must be : for seed conjoiu'd * a 
Lets into nature's work the imperfect kind ; 
But fire, the enlivener of the general frame, 
Is one, its operation still the some, 
its principle is in itself: while ours 
Works, as confederates war. with mingled powers: 
Or man or woman, which soever fails ; 
And, oft, the vigour of the worse prevails. 
-Ether with sulphur blended altera hue. 

And casts a iln kj gleam of Sodo a blue. 

Thus, in a brute, their ancient honour ends, 

And tho fair mermaid in a fish descends: 



266 



THE WIFE OF BATHS TALE. 



The line is gone ; no longer duke or earl ; 

But, by himself degraded, turns a churl. 

Nobility of blood is but renown 

Of thy great fathers by their virtue known, 440 

And a long trail of light, to thee descending down. 

If in thy smoke it ends, their glories shine ; 

But infamy and villanage are thine. 

Then what I said before is plainly shoVd, 

The true nobility proceeds from God : 4ib 

Nor left us by inheritance, but given 

By bounty of our stars, and grace of Heaven. 

Thus from a captive Servius Tullius rose, 

Whom for his virtues the first Romans chose : 

Fabricius from their walls repell'd the foe, 450 

Whose noble hands had exercised the plough. 

From hence, my lord, and love, I thus conclude, 

That though my homely ancestors were rude, 

Mean as I am, yet I may have the grace 

To make you father of a generous race : 435 

And noble then am I, when I begin, 

In virtue clothed, to cast the rags of sin. 

If poverty be my upbraided crime, 

And you believe in Heaven, there was a time 

When he, the great controller of our fate, 46 ° 

Deign'd to be man, and lived in low estate ; 

Which he who had the world at his dispose, 

If poverty were vice, would never choose. 

Philosophers have said, and poets sing, 

That a glad poverty 's an honest thing. 4M 

Content is wealth, the riches of the mind ; 

And happy he who can that treasure find. 

But the base miser starves amidst his store, 

Broods on his gold, and, griping still at more, 

Sits sadly pining, and believes he 's poor. 4 '° 

The ragged beggar, though he want relief, 

Has not to lose, and sings before the thief. 

Want is a bitter and a hateful good, 

Because its virtues are not understood : 

Yet many things, impossible to thought, 4 ' 5 

Have been by need to full perfection brought : 

The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, 

Sharpness of wit, and active diligence ; 

Prudence at once, and fortitude, it gives, ' 

And, if in patience taken, mends our lives ; 480 



Ver. 439. NoMlity of Mood is but renown 

Of thy great fathers by their virtue known, 

And a long trail of light, to thee descending down."] 

A great deal of this reasoning is copied from Boethius de 
Consol. 1. iii. p. (.!. John Wabton. 

Ver. 473. War„t is a litter and a hateful good,] " In this 
commendation of poverty, our author seems plainly to have 
had in view the -following passage of a fabulous conference 
between the Emperor Adrian and Secundus the philosopher, 
reported by Vincent of Beauvais, Spec. His. 1. x., c. 71. 
' Quid est Paupertas ? Odibile bonum ; sanitatis mater ; 
remotio curarum; sapientise repertrix; negotium sine 
damno ; possessio absque calumnia ; sine sollicitudine feli- 
citas.' " — Tyrwhitt. 

To which I beg to add, that Savage seems to have had 
this passage in his mind : 

" By woe, the soul to daring action swells ; 
By woe, in plaintless patience it excels; 
From patience, prudent dear experience springs, 
And traces knowledge through the course of things ! 
Thence hope is form'd, thence fortitude, success, 
Renown ; whate'er men covet and caress." 

The last couplet is inferior to the original. 

" Poverte a spectakle is, as thinketh me, 
Thurgh which he may his veray frendes see." 

Down to " friend" the lines are nervous and simple. 

John Wakton. 



For even that indigence, that brings me low, 
Makes me myself, and Him above, to know. 
A good which none would challenge, few would 

choose, 
A fair possession, which mankind refuse. 
If we from wealth to poverty descend 485 

Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend. 
If I am old and ugly, well for you, 
No lewd adulterer will my love pursue. 
Nor jealousy, the bane of married life, 
Shall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife. 49 ° 
For age and ugliness, as all agree, 
Are the best guards of female chastity. 

Yet since I see your mind is worldly bent, 
I '11 do my best to further your content. 
And therefore of two gifts in my dispose, 495 

Think ere you speak, I grant you leave to choose : 
Would you I should be still deform'd and old, 
Nauseous to touch, and loathsome to behold; . 
On this condition to remain for life 
A careful, tender, and obedient wife, 60 ° 

In all I can contribute to your ease, 
And not in deed, or word, or thought displease ; 
Or would you rather have me young and fair, 
And take the chance that happens to your share 1 
Temptations are in beauty, and in youth, 505 

And how can you depend upon my truth 1 
Now weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss, 
And thank yourself, if aught should fall amiss. 

Sore sigh'd the knight, who this long sermon 
heard ; 
At length considering all, his heart he cheer'd ; 
And thus replied : My lady, and my wife, 6U 

To your wise conduct I resign my life ; 
Choose you for me, for well you understand 
The future good and ill, on either hand : 
But if an humble husband may request, 515 

Provide, and order all things for the best ; 
Yours be the care to profit, and to please : 
And let your subject servant take his ease. 

Then thus in peace, quoth she, concludes the 
strife, 
Since I am turn'd the husband, you the wife : w0 
The matrimonial victory is mine, 
Which, having fairly gain'd, I will resign ; 
Forgive if I have said or done amiss, 
And seal the bargain with a friendly kiss : 
I promised you but one content to share, 525 

But now I will become both good and fair. 
No nuptial quarrel shall disturb yo?j:.' ease; 
The business of my life shall be to please : 
And for my beauty, that, as time shall try, 
But draw the curtain first, and cast your eye. 5ao 
He look'd, and saw a creature heavenly fail-, 
In bloom of youth, and of a charming air. 
With joy he turn'd, and seized her ivory arm , 
And, like Pygmalion, found the statue warm. 
Small arguments there needed to prevail, 
A storm of kisses pour'd as thick as hail. 
Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embraced, 
And their first love continued to the last : 
One sunshine was their life, no cloud between ; 
Nor ever was a kinder couple seen. ! 

And so may all our lives like theirs be led ; 
Heaven send the maids young husbands fresh in 

bed: 
May widows wed as often as they can, 
And ever for the better change their man. 644 

And some devouring plague pursue their lives, 
Who will not well be govern'd by their wives. 



THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. 



267 



THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. 



A pabish priest was of the pilgrim train ; 

An awful, reverend, and religious man. 

His eyes diffused a venerable grace, 

And charity itself was in his face. 

Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor ; 6 

(As God had clothed his own ambassador;) 

For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore. 

Of sixty years he seem'd ; and well might last 

To sixty more, but that he lived too fast; 

Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense ; 10 

And made almost a sin of abstinence. 

Yet, had Ids aspect nothing of severe, 

Eut such a face as promised him sincere. 

Nothing reserved or sullen was to see : 

But sweet regards ; and pleasing sanctity : a 

Mild was his accent, and his action free. 

With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd ; 

Though harsh the precept, yet the preachercharm'd. 

For letting down the golden chain from high, 

He drew his audience upward to the sky ; 2U 

And oft, with holy hymns, he charm'd their ears : 

(A music more melodious than the spheres.) 

For David left him, when he went to rest, 

His lyre ; and after him he sung the best. 

He bore his great commission in his look : M 

But sweetly temper'd awe ; and soften'd all he 

spoke. 
He preach'd the joys of heaven, and pains of hell ; 
And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal ; 
But on eternal mercy loved to dwell. 
He taught tho gospel rather than the law ; 30 

And forced himself to drive ; but loved to draw. 
For fear but freezes minds ; but love, like heat, 
Exhales tho soul sublime, to seek her native seat. 



Ver. 19. For letting down the golden chain from high, 
lie drew his audience upward to the sky :] 

An evident allusion to the allegory of the golden chain in 
the exordium of Homer's eighth book of the Iliad, which 
Pope, with a penetration, which is commended by the acute 
Dr. Clarke, explains as descriptive of the superior attrac- 
tive force of the sun, whereby he continues unmoved, and 
draws all the rest of the planets towards him. John War- 
ton. 

Ver. 34—37. 

" Sol quondam et Aquilo, titer foret valentior, 
Dellagabant : domum iter qui earperet, 
Hominem videntes: in cum vires, inquiunt, 
Vicissim nostras experiri quid vetat ? 
Sciscunt, ut, ipsi pallium qui excusserit, 
Is jure merito sose victorem ferat. 
Tutu primus Aquilo Satibus horrisonis furit : 
Also viator contra vim venti arctius 
[nvolvil : ergo, postquam profecit nihil 
Aquilo, calentem Sol emolitur faccm, 
Bensimque radios, insinuando percutem 
Viatoris agit. Hie mox exrastuat; 
Mox et gravi humeros palllo aponte exult 

Vim vi repellunt homines plen foe: ast eos, 

Quo vult, volentes pertrahit Denignitas. 

Fab. yEsop. Dcsb. Fab. I, lib. iii. 
John Wauto.v. 



To threats tho stubborn sinner oft is hard, 
Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm pre- 
pared ; ^ 
But, when the milder beams of mercy play, 
lie melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away. 
Lightning and thunder (licvoii.s artillery) 
As harbingers before the Almighty fly : 
Those but proclaim his style, and disappear ; 40 
The stiller sound succeeds, and God is there. 

The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took ; 
But never sued, or cursed with bell and book. 
With patience bearing wrong ; but offering none : 
Since every man is free to lose his own. * 

The country churls, according to their kind, 
(Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind,) 
The less he sought his offerings, pinch'd the more, 
And praised a priest contented to be poor. 

Yet of his little he had some to spare, M 

To feed the famish'd, and to clothe the bare : 
For mortified he was to that degree, 
A poorer than himself he would not see. 
True priests, he said, and preachers of the word, 
Were only stewards cf their sovereign Lord ; M 
Nothing was theirs ; but all the public store : 
Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor. 
Who, should they steal, for want of his relief, 
He judged himself accomplice with the thief. 

Wide was his parish ; not contracted close m 
In streets, but here and there a straggling house ; 
Yet still he was at hand, without request, 
To serve the sick ; to succour the distrcss'd : 
Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright, 
Tho dangers of a dark tempestuous night. 

All this the good old man perform'd alone, 
Nor spared his pains ; for curate he had none. 
Nor durst he trust another with his care; 
Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair, 
To chaffer for preferment with his gold, ?u 

Whore bishoprics and sinecures are sold. 
But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day ; 
Anil from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey ; 
And hungry sent the wily fox away. 

The proud he tamed, the penitent he checr'd : 
Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd. 
His preaching much, but more his practice 

wrought : 
(A living sermon of the truths he taught ;) 
Fur this by rules severe his life he squared : 
That all might see the doctrino which they 
heard. «° 

For priests, he said, are patterns for tho rest : 
(The gold of heaven, who bear the Hod impress'd :) 
But when the precious coin is kept unclean, 
The sovereign's image is no longer 

II' they be foul on whom the people trust, 

Well may the baser brass < tract a ru.-t. 

The prelate, for his holy life he prized ; 

The worldly pomp of prelacy despised, 



268 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 



His Saviour came not with a gaudy show ; 
Nor was liis kingdom of the world below. 
Patience in want, and poverty of mind, 
These marks of Church and Churchmen he 

design' d, 
And living taught, and dying left behind. 
The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn : 
In purple he was crucified, not born. 
They who contend for place and high degree, 
Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee. 

Not but he knew the signs of earthly power 
Might well become Saint Peter's successor; 
The holy father holds a double reign, 10 ° 

The prince may keep his pomp, the fisher must 
be plain. 

Such was the saint; who shone with every grace, 
Reflecting, Moses like, his Maker's face. 
God saw his image lively was express'd ; 
And his own work, as in creation, bless'd. 1U5 

The tempter saw him too with envious eye ; 
And, as on Job, demanded leave to toy. 
He took the time when Richard was deposed, 
And high and low with happy Harry closed. 
This prince, though great in arms, the priest 
withstood : nu 

Near though he was, yet not the next of blood. 
Had Richard, unconstrain'd, resign'd the throne, 
A king can give no more than is his own : 
The title stood entail'd had Richard had a son. 



Conquest, an odious name, was laid aside, lls 
Where all submitted, none the battle tried. 
The senseless plea of light by providence 
Was, by a flattering priest, invented since ; 
And lasts no longer than the present sway ; 
But justifies the next who comes in play. 

The people's right remains ; let those who dare 
Dispute their power, when they the judges are. 

He join'd not in their choice, because he knew 
Worse might, and often did from change ensue. 
Much to himself he thought ; but 1 Li. 1 1 e spoke ; 
And, undeprived, his benefice forsook. 12 ° 

Now, through the land, his cure of souls he 
stretch 'd ; 
And like a primitive apostle preach'd. 
Still cheerful ; ever constant to his call ; 
By many follow'd ; loved by most ; admired by 
all. 'f 

With what he begg'd, his brethren he relieved ; 
And gave the charities himself received. 
Gave while he taught ; and edified the more, 
Because he show'd, by proof, 'twas easy to be poor. 

He went not with the crowd to see a shrine; 
But fed us, by the way, with food divine. lm 

In deference to his virtues, I forbear 
To show you what the rest in orders were : 
This bi n illiant is so spotless and so bright, 
He needs no foil, but shines by his own proper 
light. wo 



TRANSLATIONS FROM BOCCACE. 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 



While Norman Tancred in Salerno reign'd, 
The title of a gracious prince he gain'd ; 

* This story was translated into Latin by one of the 
first restorers of literature, and entitled, Libellus de Duobus 
Amantibus Guiscardo et Sigismunda, Tancredi Filia, in 
Latinum ex Boccatio convertit Leonardus Aretinus, 1475. 
Dryden says he would not have translated the story of 
Sigismunda if he had recollected the resemblance it bore to 
the argument of the Wife of Bath's tale, the preferring 
virtue to nobility of blood and titles. Surely he could not 
think this ludicrous tale of Chaucer equal to the striking 
and pathetic story of Sigismunda. Dr. J. Warton. 

The story of these lovers has often employed the pens of 
poets and narrators. Witness the following productions : 

Esopi Fabelle translate e greco a Laurentio Vallensi. 
hubnectitur Boccatit Hist, de Guiscardi et Sigismondi Amore, 

Ver. 1. While Norman} Barretti, in his positive and 
dogmatical manner, has the assurance to attack the stvle 
of Boccacio, against the established opinion of alibis eountiy- 
™ e IW llIS V i e T, of Ital y> a b00k daringly full of weak 
justifications of all the absurdities of Popery. I wonder 'he 
did not applaud Sextus V. for the speech he made in de- 
fending the murder of Henry III. by Jaques Clement, a 
T«»? lmc j"i • ' which s P eecn was printed at Paris in 
lob9, and there is a copy of it in Lord Somers's Tracts. Dr. 

J W A ETON. 



Till turn'd a tyrant in his latter days, 
He lost the lustre of his former praise, 

a Leon. Aretino in latinum sermonem conversa an. 1438. 
s. 1. aut a. 4to. 

Le Livre des deux A mans, Guisgard et Sigismunde, fille 
de Tancredus ; trad, du latin de Leonard Aretin en rime 
francoise, par Jehan Fleury, dit Floridus. Paris s. d. 4to. 

La piteuse et lamentable Histoire du vaillant et vertueux 
Chevalier Guiscard, et Gismunde Princesse de Salerne. 
Lyon, 1520, 16mo. 

Fabula Tancredi, ex Boccatio in Latinum versa a Philippo 
Beroaldo, in lib. intitnl. De fide Concubinarum in suos 
Psaffos, 4to. s. 1. 1501. sign. G. 3. 

See also Memoires Historiques sur la Maison de Coucy, 
sur la veritable aventure de la Dame de Faiel, &c. Par. M. 
De Belloy, 8vo. Paris, 1770. 

There is II Tancredi, Tragedia di Ridolfo Campeggi, 4to, 
Bologna, 1614. Sir Henry Wotton, as we are informed by 
Isaac Walton, wrote a tragedy entitled Tancrcdo ; but it 
does not appear to have been published. Thomson, we 
know, has given us a tragical drama of Tancred aud Sigis- 
munda; founded, however, not on the story, which is the 
theme of Dryden's fable, but on an interesting narrative in 
Gil Bias. 

See also Certaine worthye manuscript Poems of great 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISOARDO. 



269 



And, from the bright meridian where he stood 6 
Descending, dipp'd bis hands in lovers' blood. 
This prince, of Fortune's favour long possess'd, 
Yet was with one fair daughter only bless'd ; 
And bless'd he might have been with her alone : 
But oh ! how much more happy had he none ! ,0 
She was his care, his hope, and his delight, 
Most in his thought, and ever in his sight : 
Next, nay beyond his life, he held her dear ; 
She lived by him, and now he lived in her. 
For this, when ripe for marriage, he delay \.l 15 
Her nuptial bands, and kept her long a maid, 
As envying any else should share a part 
Of what was his, and claiming all her heart. 
At length, as public decency required, 
And all his vassals eagerly desired, ' x 

Willi mind averse, he rather underwent 
His people's will, thau gave his own consent. 
So was she torn, as from a lover's side, 
And made almost in his despite a bride. 

Short w r ere her marriage joys; for, in the 
prime *» 

Of youth, her lord expired before his time ; 
And to her father's court in little space 
Restored anew, she held a higher place ; 
More loved, and more exalted into grace. 
This princess, fresh and young, and fair and wise, 
The worshipp'd idol of her father's eyes, :)1 

Did all her sex in eveiy grace exceed, 
And had more wit beside than women need. 

Youth, health, and case, and most an amorous 
mind, 
To second nuptials had her thoughts inclined : * 
And former joys had left a secret sting behind. 
But, prodigal in every other grant, 
Her sire left unsupplied her only want ; 
And she, betwixt her modesty and pride, 
Her wishes, which she could not help, would hide. 

Resolved at last to lose no longer time, 41 

And yet to please herself without a crime, 
She cast her eyes arouud the court, to find 
A worthy subject suiting to her mind, 
To him in holy nuptials to bo tied, 45 

A seeming widow, and a secret bride. 
Among the train of courtiers, one she found 
AVith all the gifts of bounteous nature crown'd, 
Of gentle blood ; but one whose niggard fate 
Had set him far below her high estate ; 50 

Guiscard his name was call'd, of blooming age, 
Now squire to Tancred, and before his page : 
To him, the choice of all the shining crowd, 
Her heart the noble Sigismonda vow'd. 

Yet hitherto she kept her love conceal'd, M 
And with those graces every day beheld 
The graceful youth ; and every day increased 
The raging fires that burn'd within her breast ; 
Some secret charm did all his acts attend, 
And what his fortune wanted, hers could mend ; 



antiquitie, reserved Ion;? in the Stndie of a Northfolke 
Gentleman, and now- first published by J. S., containing, 
Tlir Stately Tragedy of Gnistnril nn<\ Si.iiimml ; thr: Northern 
Mother's Blessing, &c. 12mo. 1597. Todd. 

\ er. 26. her lord expired he/ore his lime ,■] Mallet, 

by the same simple expression, gives considerable interest 
to his narration of Margaret's death, in his celebrated 
ballad : 

" But love had, like the canker worm, 
Consumed her early prime ; 
The rose -n «■ pale, and left her cheek j 
si, ,/.. / '.. i\, re for tivie." 

Todd. 



Till, as the (ire will force its outward way, 

Or, in the prison pent, consume the prey; 

So long her earnest eyes on his were set, 

At length their twisted rays together met; 

And he, surprised with humble joy, survey 'd " 

Ono sweet regard, shot by the royal maid : 

Not well assured, while doubtful hopes he Durs'd, 

A second glance came gliding like the first ; 

And he. who suv,' the sharpness of the dart, 

Without defence received it in his heart. '" 

In public, though their passion wanted speech, 

Yet mutual looks interpreted for each ; 

Time, ways, and means of meeting were denied; 

But all those wants ingenious love supplied. 

The inventive god, who never fails his part, "•'' 

Inspires the wit, when once he warms the heart. 

When Guiscard next was in the circle seen, 
Where Sigismonda held the place of queen, 
A hollow cane within her hand she brought, 
But in the concave had enclosed a note; 
With this she seein'd to play, and, as in sport, 
Toss'd to her love, in presence of the court ; 
Take it, she said ; and when your needs require, 
This little brand will serve to light your fire. 
He took it with a bow, and soon divined M 

The seeming toy was not for nought design'd : 
But when retired, so long with curious eyes 
He view'd his present, that he found the prize. 
Much was in little writ; and all convey 'd 
With cautious care, for fear to be betray'd w 

By some false confident, or favourite maid. 
The time, the place, the manner how to meet, 
Were all in punctual order plainly writ : 
But since a trust must be, she thought it best 
To put it out of laymen's power at least ; '■'< 

And for their solemn vows prepared a priest. 

Guiscard (Iter secret purpose understood) 
AVith joy prepared to meet the coming good; 
Nor pains nor danger was resolved to spare, 
But use the means appointed by the fair. 10fl 

Next the proud palace of Salerno stood 
A mount of rough ascent, and thick with wood. 
Through this a cave was dug with vast expense : 
The work it seem'd of some suspicious prince. 
AVho, when abusing power with lawless might, 
From public justice would secure his flight. m 
The passage made by many a winding way. 
Reach'd ev'n the room in which the tyrant lay. 
Fit for his purpose, on a lower floor. 
He lodged, whose issue was an iron door; "" 

From whence, by stairs descending to the ground. 
In the blind grot a safe retreat he found. 
Its outlet ended in a brake o'ergrown 
AVith brambles, choked by time, and now un- 
known. 
A rift there was, which from the mountain's 
height ,,s 

Convey 'd a glimmering and malignant light, 
A breathing-place to draw the damps away, 
A twilight of an intercepted day. 
The tyrant's den, whose use, though lost to fame. 
AA r as now the apartment of the royal dame; ,80 
The cavern only to her father known. 
By him was to Lis darling daughter shown. 

Neglected long she let the Becret rest, 
Till Love recall'd it to her labouring bri 
And hinted as the way by heaven design'd '■ 
The teacher, by the means he taught, to blind. 
What will not "women do. wl. 
Their wit, or love their inclination 



270 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 



Though jealousy of state the invention found, 
Yet love refined upon the former ground. 13 ° 

That way, the tyrant had reserved, to fly 
Pursuing hate, now served to bring two lovers 

nigh. 
The dame, who long in vain had kept the key, 
Bold by desire, explored the secret way ; 
Now tried the stairs, and, wading through the 
night 135 

Search'd all the deep recess, and issued into 

light. 
All this her letter had so well explain' d, 
The instructed youth might compass what re- 
main' d ; 
The cavern's mouth alone was hard to find, 
Because the path, disused, was out of mind : 14 ° 
But in what quarter of the copse it lay, 
His eye by certain level could survey : 
Yet (for the wood perplex'd with thorns he knew) 
A frock of leather o'er his limbs he drew ; 
And thus provided, search'd the brake around, 
Till the choked entry of the cave he found. 14G 
Thus, all prepared, the promised hour arrived, 
So long expected, and so well contrived : 
With love to friend, the impatient lover went, 
Fenced from the thorns, and trod the deep de- 
scent. 15 ° 
The conscious priest, who was suborn'd before, 
Stood ready posted at the postem door ; 
The maids in distant rooms were sent to rest, 
And nothing wanted but the invited guest. 
He came, and knocking thrice without delay, 165 
The longing lady heard, and turn'd the key ; 
At once invaded him with all her charms, 
And the first step he made was in her arms : 
The leathern outside, boisterous as it was, 
Gave way, and bent beneath her strict em- 
brace : 10 ° 
On either side the kisses flew so thick, 
That neither he nor she had breath to speak. 
The holy man, amazed at what he saw, 
Made haste to sanctify the bliss by law; 
And mutter'd fast the matrimony o'er, 16i 
For fear committed sin should get before. 
His work perform' d, he left the pair alone, 
Because he knew he could not go too soon ; 
His presence odious, when his task was done. 
What thoughts he had beseems me not to say; 1 '° 
Though some surmise he went to fast and pray, 
And needed both to drive the tempting thoughts 

away. 
The foe once gone, they took their full delight; 
'Twas restless rage, and tempest all the night ; 
For greedy love each moment would employ, ^ 5 
And grudged the shortest pauses of their joy. 
Thus were their loves auspiciously begun, 
And thus with secret care were carried on. 
The stealth itself did appetite restore, 
And look'd so like a sin, it pleased the more. ,3 ° 

The cave was now become a common way, 
The wicket, often open'd, knew the key : 
Love rioted secure, and long enjoy 'd, 
Was ever eager, and was never cloy'd. 

But as extremes are short, of ill and good, 185 
And tides at highest mark regorge their flood ; 

Ver. 149. With love to friend,] An expression from 
Spenser, Faer. Qu. iii. iii. 14. 

" UntiU the hardy Mayd (with Love to f rend) 
First entering," &c. Todd. 



So fate, that could no more improve their joy, 
Took a malicious pleasure to destroy. 

Tancred, who fondly loved, and whose delight 
Was placed in his fair daughter's daily sight, 19(1 
Of custom, when his state .affairs were done, 
Would pass his pleasing hours with her alone ; 
And, as a father's privilege allow'd, 
Without attendance of the officious crowd. 

It happen'd once, that when in heat of day 195 
He tried to sleep, as was his usual way, 
The balmy slumber fled his wakeful eyes, 
And forced him, in his own despite, to rise : 
Of sleep forsaken, to relieve his care, 
He sought the conversation of the fair ; 200 

But with her train of damsels she was gone, 
In shady walks the scorching heat to shun : 
He would not violate that sweet recess, 
And found besides a welcome heaviness, 
That seized his eyes; and slumber, which for- 
got, 20S 
When call'd before, to come, now came unsought. 
From light retired, behind his daughter's bed, 
He for approaching sleep composed his head ; 
A chair was ready, for that use design'd, 
So quilted, that he lay at ease reclined ; 210 
The curtains closely drawn, the light to screen, 
As if he had contrived to lie unseen : 
Thus cover'd with an artificial night, 
Sleep did his office soon, and seal'd his sight. 

With Heaven averse, in this ill-omen'd hour 2I5 
Was Guiscard summon'd to the secret bower, 
And the fair nymph, with expectation fired, 
From her attending damsels was retired : 
For, true to love, she measured time so right, 
As not to miss one moment of delight. 220 

The garden, seated on the level floor, 
She left behind, and locking every door, 
Thought all secure ; but little did she know, 
Blind to her fate, she had enclosed her foe. 
Attending Guiscard, in his leathern frock, 225 

Stood ready, with his thrice-repeated knock : 
Thrice with a doleful sound the jarring grate 
Rung deaf and hollow, and presaged their fate. 
The door unlock'd, to known delight they haste, 
And, panting in each other's arms embraced, 23 ° 
Rush to the conscious bed, a mutual freight, 
And heedless press it with their wonted weight. 

The sudden bound awaked the sleeping sire, 
And show'd a sight no parent can desire ; 
His opening eyes at once with odious view 235 
The love discover'd, and the lover knew : 
He would have cried ; but hoping that he dreamt, 
Amazement tied his tongue, and stopp'd the at- 
tempt. 
The ensuing moment all the truth declared, 
But now he stood collected, and prepared, 24 ° 
For malice and revenge had put him on his guard. 
So like a lion that unheeded lay, 
Dissembling sleep, and watchful to betray, 
With inward rage he meditates his prey. 
The thoughtless pair, indulging their desires, 245 
Alternate, kindled, and then quench'd their 

fires ; 
Nor thinking in the shades of death they play'd, 
Full of themselves, themselves alone survey' d, 
And, too secure, were by themselves betray'd. 
Long time dissolved in pleasure thus they lay, 25 ° 
Till nature could no more suffice their play ; 
Then rose the youth, and through the cave again 
Retum'd ; the princess mingled with her train. 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 



271 



Resolved his unripe vengeance to defer, 
The royal spy, when now the coast was clear, ffi5 
Sought not the garden, but retired unseen, 
To brood in secret on his gather'd spleen, 
And methodise revenge : to death lie grieved ; 
And, but he saw the crime, had scarce believed. 
The appointment for the ensuing night he heard ; 
And therefore in the cavern had prepared 261 

Two brawny yeomen of his trusty guard. 

Scarce had unwary Guiscard set his foot 
Within the foremost entrance of the grot, 
When theso in secret ambush ready lay, 265 

And rushing on the sudden seized the prey : 
Encumber'd with his frock, without defence, 
An easy prize, they led the prisoner thence, 
And, as commanded, brought before the prince. 
The gloomy sire, too sensible of wrong, W 

To vent his rage in words, restrain'd his tongue, 
And only said, Thus servants are preferred, 
And. trusted, thus their sovereigns they reward. 
Had I not seen, had not these eyes received 
Too clear a proof, I could not have believed. W 
He paused and choked the rest. The youth 

who saw 
His forfeit life abandon'd to the law, 
The judge the accuser, and the offence to him 
Who had both power and will to avenge the 

crime, 
No vain defence prepared ; but thus replied : S8 ° 
The faults of love by love are justified : 
With unresisted might the monarch reigns, 
He levels mountains, and he raises plains ; 
And, not regarding difference of degree, 
Abased your daughter, and exalted me. ^ 

This bold return with seeming patience heard, 
The prisoner was remitted to the guard. 
The sullen tyrant slept not all the night, 
But, lonely walking by a winking light, 
Sobb'd, wept, and groan'd, and beat his wither'd 

breast, wo 

But would not violate his daughter's rest; 
AYlio long expecting lay, for bliss prepared, 
Listening for noise, and grieved that none she 

heard ; 
Oft rose, and oft in vain employ'd the key, 
And oft accused her lover of delay ; M5 

And pass'd the tedious hours in anxious thoughts 

away. 
The morrow came; and at his usual hour 
Old Tancred visited his daughter's bower ; 
Her cheek (for such his custom was) he kiss'd, 
Then bless'd her kneeling, and her maids dis- 

miss'd. 30n 

The royal dignity thus far maintain'd, 
Now left in private, he no longer feign'd ; 
But all at once his grief and rage appear'd, 
And floods of tears ran trickling down his beard. 
Sigismonda, he began to say : 3 " 5 

Thrice he began, and thrice was forced to stay, 
Till words, with often trying, found their way : 
I thought, Sigismonda (but how blind 
Arc parents' eyes, their children's faults to find !) 

Ver. 306. 

Thrice he hegan, and thrice was forced to 8tay t 

Till "'Orris irit/t nfh n Ir'liiifl fmnifl tin if ir.uj ; \ 

This ia a feeble imitation of Milton's fallen archangel, 
Par. L. B. i. 619. 

"Thrice ho assay'd, anil thrice In spite of scorn, 
Tears, such as angels weep, hurst forth : at hi il 
Words, interwove with sighs, found out their Wfi 

Todd 



Thy virtue, birth, and breeding were above 3lv 

A mean desire, and vulgar sense of love: 

Nor less than sight and hearing could convince 

So fond a father, and so just a prince, 

Of such an unforeseen, and unbelieved offence. 

Then what indignant sorrow must I have, 3l '' 

To see thee lie subjected to my slave ! 

A man so smelling of the people's lee, 

The court received him first for charity ; 

And since with no degree of honour graced, 

But only suffcr'd, where he first was placed : ■" 

A grovelling insect still ; and so design'd 

By nature's hand, nor born of noble kind : 

A thing, by neither man nor woman prized, 

And scarcely known enough to be despised! 

To what has Heaven reserved my age i Ah ! why 

Should man, when nature calls, not choose to die, 

Rather than stretch the spaa of life, to find 

Such ills as fate has wisely ca. t behind, 

For thoso to feel, whom fond desire to live 

Makes covetous of more than life can give ! •' nu 

Each has his share of good ; and when 'tis gone, 

The guest, though hungry, cannot rise too soon. 

But I, expecting more, in my own wrong 

Protracting life, have lived a day too long. 

If yesterday could be recall'd again, <■ 

Even now would I conclude my happy reign : 

But 'tis too late, my glorious race is run, 

And a dark cloud o'crtakes my setting sun. 

Hadst thou not loved, or loving saved the shame. 

If not the sin, by some illustrious name, ■ M0 

This little comfort had relieved my mind, 

'Twas frailty, not unusual to thy kind : 

But thy low foil beneath thy royal blood. 

Shows downward appetite to mix with mud : 

Thus not the least excuse is loft for thee, >* 

Nor the least refuge for unhappy me. 

For him I have resolved : whom by surprise 
I took, and scarce can call it, in disguise ; 
For such was his attire, as, with intent 
Of nature, suited to his mean descent : 3, '° 

The harder question yet remains behind. 
What pains a parent and a prince can find 
To punish an offence of tliis degenerate kind. 

As I have loved, and yet I love thee, more 
Than ever father loved a child before ; 
So that indulgence draws me to forgive : 
Nature, that gave thee life, would have thee live. 
But, as a public parent of the state, 
My justice, and thy crime, requires thy fate. 
Fain would I choose a middle course to steer ; 3 "' 
Nature 's too kind, and justice too severe : 
Speak for us both, and to the balance bring 
On either side the father and the king. 
Heaven knows, my heart is bent to favour thee ; 
Make it but scanty weight, and leave the rest to ma 

Here stopping with a sigh, he pour'd a flod 
Of tears, to make his last expression good. 
She, who had heard him speak, nor saw alone 
The secret conduct of her love was known, 
But he was taken who her soul posscss'd, 
Felt all the pangs of sorrow in her breast : 
And little wanted, but a woman's heart, 
With cries and tears, had testified her smart ; 
But inborn worth, that fortune can control, 
Now strung, and stiller bent her softer soul; 37S 
The heroine assumed the woman's plat B, 
Conlirm'd her mind, and fortified her face : 

Why should Bhe beg, or what could she pretend, 
When her stern father had condemn'd tier friend I 



a72 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 



Her life she might have had ; but her despair 3S0 

Of saving his, had put it past her care ; 

Resolved on fate, she would not lose her breath, 

But, rather than not die, solicit death. 

Fix'd on this thought, she not, as women use, 

Her fault by common frailty would excuse ; 385 

But boldly justified her innocence, 

And, while the fact was own'd, denied the offence : 

Then with dry eyes, and with an open look, 

She met his glance mid-way, and thus undaunted 

spoke-: 
Tancred, I neither am disposed to make 390 
Bequest for life, nor offer'd life to take ; 
Much less deny the deed ; but least of all 
Beneath pretended justice weakly fall. 
My words to sacred truth shall be confined, 
My deeds shall show the greatness of my mind. 395 
That I have loved, I own ; that still I love, 
I call to witness all the powers above : 
Yet more I own : to Guiscard's love I give 
The small remaining time I have to live ; 
And if beyond this life desire can be, 40 ° 

Not fate itself shall set my passion free. 
This first avow'd ; nor folly warp'd my mind, 
Nor the frail texture of the female kind 
Betray 'd my virtue : for, too well I knew 
What honour was, and honour had his due : 405 
Before the holy priest my vows were tied, 
So came I not a strumpet, but a bride. 
This for my fame, and for the public voice : 
Yet more, his merits justified my choice : 
Which had they not, the first election thine, 410 
That bond dissolved, the next is freely mine ; 
Or grant I err'd, (which yet I must deny) 
Had parents power even second vows to tie, 
Thy little care to mend my widow'd nights, 
Has forced me to recourse of marriage rites, 415 
To fill an empty side, and follow known delights. 
What have I done in this, deserving blame 1 
State-laws may alter: nature's are the same; 
Those are usurp'd on helpless woman-kind, 
Made without our consent, and wanting power to 

bind. ' 42 ° 

Thou, Tancred, better shoulcht have understood, 
That as thy father gave thee flesh and blood, 
So gavest thou me : not from the quarry hev/d, 
But of a softer mould, with sense endued ; 
Even softer than thy own, of suppler kind, 433 
More exquisite of taste, and more than man refined. 
Nor need'st thou by thj 7 daughter to be told, 
Though now thy sprightly blood with age be cold. 
Thou hast been young : and canst remember 

still, 
That when thou hadst the power, thou hadst the 

will ; «° 

And from the past experience of thy fires, 
Canst tell with what a tide our strong desires 
Come rushing on in youth, and what their rage 

requires. 
And grant thy youth was exercised in arms, 
When love no leisure found for softer charms, 43s 
My tender age in luxui-y was train'd, 
With idle ease and pageants entertain'd ; 
My hours my own, my pleasures unrcstrain'd. 
So bred, no wonder if I took the bent 
That seem'd even warranted by thy consent, 440 
For, when the father is too fondly kind, 
Such seed he sows, such harvest shall he find. 
Blame then thyself, as reason's law requires, 
(Since nature gave, and thou foment' st my fires ;) 



If still those appetites continue strong, 4I5 

Thou may'st consider I am yet but young : 

Consider too that, having been a wife, 

I must have tasted of a better life, 

And am not to be blamed, if I renew 

By lawful means the joys which then I knew. ^ 

Where was the crime, if pleasure I procured, 

Young, and a woman, and to bliss inured ! 

That was my case, and this is my defence : 

I pleased myself, I shunn'd incontinence, 4M 

And, urged by strong desires, indulged my sense. 

Left to myself, I must avow, I strove, 
From public shame to screen my secret love, 
And, well acquainted with thy native pride, 
Endeavour'd, what I could not help, to hide ; 
For which a woman's wit an easy way supplied. 46 ° 
How this, so well contrived, so closely laid, 
Was known to thee, or by what chance betray'd, 
Is not my care ; to please thy pride alone, 
I could have wish'd it had been still unknown. 

Nor took I Guiscard by blind fancy led, 465 
Or hasty choice, as many women wed ; 
But with deliberate care, and ripen'd thought, 
At leisure first design'd, before I wrought : 
On him I rested, after long debate, 
And not without considering, fix'd my fate : 4 "° 
His flame was equal, though by mine inspired ; 
(For so the difference of our birth required ;) 
Had he been born like me, like me his love 
Had first begun, what mine was forced to move : 
But thus beginning, thus we persevere ; 4 ' 5 

Our passions yet continue what they were, 
Nor length of trial makes our joys the less sincere. 
At this my choice, though not by thine allow'd, 
(Thy judgment herding with the common crowd) 
Thou takest unjust offence ; and, led by them, m 
Dost less the merit, than the man esteem. 
Too sharply, Tancred, by thy pride betray'd, 
Hast thou against the laws of kind inveigh'd : 
For all the offence is in opinion placed, 
Which deems high birth by lowly choice de- 
based. 485 
This thought alone with fury fires thy breast, 
(For holy marriage justifies the rest) 
That I have sunk the glories of the state, 
And mix'd my blood with a plebeian mate ; 
In which I wonder thou shouldst oversee 49 ° 
Superior causes, or impute to me 
The fault of fortune, or the fates' decree. 
Or call it Heaven's imperial power alone, 
Which moves on springs of justice, though un- 
known. 
Yet this we see, though order'd for the best, 495 
The bad exalted, and the good oppress'd ; 
Permitted laurels grace the lawless brow, 
The unworthy raised, the worthy cast below. 

But leaving that : search we the secret springs, 
And backward trace the principles of things ; 
There shall we find, that when the world began, 
One common mass composed the mould of man ; 
One paste of flesh on all degrees bestow'd, 
And kneaded up alike with moist'ning blood. 
The same almighty power inspired the frame 505 
With kindled life, and form'd the souls the same : 
The faculties of intellect and will 
Dispensed with equal hand, disposed with equal 

skill, 
Like liberty indulged, with choice of good or ill ; 
Thus born alike, from virtue first began 51 o 

The difference that distinguish'd man from man : 



Ho elairn'd no title from descent of blood, 
But that, which made him noble, made him good: 
Warm'd with more particles of heavenly flame, 
He wing'd his upward (light, and soar'd to 

fame; 5IS 

The rest remain'd below, a tribe without a name. 
This law, though custom now diverts the course, 
As nature's institute, is yet in force ; 
Uncancell'd, though disused ; and he, whose mind 
Is virtuous, is alone of noble kind : K0 

Though poor in fortune, of celestial race ; 
And he commits the crime who calls him base. 
Now lay the line ; and measure all thy court 
By inward virtue, not external port ; 
And find whom justly to prefer above 525 

The man on whom my judgment placed my love : 
So shalt thou see his parts and person shine ; 
And thus compared, the rest abasedegenerateliuo. 
Nor took I, when I first survey'd thy court, 
His valour, or his virtues, on report ; 530 

But trusted what I ought to trust alone, 
Relying on thy eyes, and not my own ; 
Thy praise (and thine was then the public voice) 
First recommended Guiscard to my choice : 
Directed thus by thee, I look'd, and found S3S 
A man I thought deserving to be crown'd; 
First by my father pointed to my sight, 
Nor less conspicuous by his native light ; 
His mind, his mien, the features of his face, 
Kxcclling all the rest of human race : 5I ° 

These were thy thoughts, and thou could'st judge 

aright, 
Till interest made a jaundice in thy sight; 
Or should I grant thou didst not lightly see, 
Then thou wert first deceived, and I deceived by 

thee. 
But if thou shalt allege, through pride of mind, 545 
Thy blood with one of base condition join'd, 
'Tis false ; for 'tis not baseness to be poor; 
His poverty augments thy crime the more ; 
Upbraids thy justice with the scant regard 
Of worth; whom princes praise, they should 

reward. 6i0 

Are these the kings entrusted by the crowd 
With wealth, to be dispensed for common good ? 
The people sweat not for their king's delight, 
To enrich a pimp, or raise a parasite ; 65 '' 

Theirs is the toil ; and ho, who well has served 
His country, has his country's wealth deserved. 
Ev'n mighty monarchs oft are meanly born, 
And kings by birth to lowest rank return ; 
All subject to the power of giddy chance, 
For fortune can depress, or can advance : 5<!0 

But true nobility is of the mind, 
Not given by chance, and not to chance resign'd. 
For the remaining doubt of thy decree, 
What to resolve, and how dispose of me, 
Be warn'd to cast that useless care aside, 5IS 

Myself alone will for myself provide. 
If in thy doting and decrepit ago, 
Thy soul, a stranger in thy youth to rage, 
Begins in cruel deeds to take delight, 
Gorge with my blood thy barbarous appetite ; 57u 
For I so little am disposed to pray 
For life, I would not cast a wish away. 
Such as it is, the oircncc is all my own ; 
And what to Guiscard is already done, 
Or to bo done, is doom'd by thy decree, 6 ' 5 

That, if not executed first by thee, 
Shall on my person be porform'd by mo. 



Away, with women weep, and leave me here, 
Fix'd, like a man, to die without a tear ; 
Or save, or slay us both this pic cut hour ; 5S0 
"Tis all that fate has left within bhj power. 

iSlie said; nor did her father fail to find, 
In all she spoke, the greatness of her mind ; 
Yet thought she was not obstinate to die, 
Nor doem'd the death she promised was so 

nigh : 
Secure in this belief, ho left the dame. 
Resolved to spare her life', and save her shame; 
But that detested object to remove, 
To wreak his vengeance, and to cure her love. 

Intent on this, a secret order sign'd i,9 ° 

The death of Guiscard to his guards enjoin'd; 
Strangling was chosen, and the night the time, 
A mute revenge, and blind as was the crime : 
His faithful heart, a bloody sacrifice, 
Torn from his breast, to glut the tyrant's ej 
Closed the severe command : fori lavi to pay) 
What kings decree, the soldier must obey : 
Waged against foes ; and when the wars arc o'er, 
Fit only to maintain despotic power : 
Dangerous to freedom, and desired alone 
By kings who seek an arbitrary throne. 
Such were these guards ; as ready to have slain 
The prince himself, allured with greater gain ; 
So was the charge perform'd with better will, 
By men inured to blood, and exercised in ill. ■* 

Now, though the sullen sire had eased his mind. 
The pomp of- his revenge was yet behind, 
A pomp prepared to grace the present he design 'd. 
A goblet rich with gems, and rough with gold, 
Of depth, and breadth, the precious pledge to 
hold; 6iu 

With cruel care he chose : the hollow part 
Enclosed, the lid conceal'd, the lover's heart : 
Then of his trusted mischiefs one he sent, 
And bade him with these words the gift present : 
Thy father sends thee this to cheer thy breast, mi 
And glad thy sight with what thou lov'st the 

best; 
As thou hast pleased his eyes, and joyM his mind, 
With what he loveel the most of human kind. 

Ere this the royal dame, wdio well had weigh 'd 
The consequence of what her sire had said, GJU 
Fix'd on her fate, against the expected hour, 
Procured the means to have it in her power; 
For this, she had distill'd with early care 
The juice of simples frientlly to despair, 
A magazine of death, and thus prepared, K ' 

Secure to die, the fatal message heard : 
Then smiled severe : nor with a troubled look, 
Or trembling hand the funeral present took : 
Ev'n kept her countenance, when the lid removed 
Disclosed the heart, unfortunately loved; 
She needed not be told, within whose breast 
It lodged ; the message had explain'd the rest. 
Or not amazed, or hiding her surprise, 
She sternly on the bearer fix'd her eyes : 
Then thus : Tell Tancred, on his daughter's part. •* 
The gold, though precious, equals not the heart : 
But lie diil well to give his best ; and I, 
Who wish'd a worthier urn, forgive his poverty. 

At this she eurb'd a groan, that else had come, 
And, pausing, view'd the present in the tomb 
Then to the heart adored devoutly glued 
Her lips, and raising it. her speech ivncw'd : 

Ev'n from my day of birth, to this, the hound 
of my unhapp; beit I have found 



274 



SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 



My father's care and tenderness express'd ; Ms 
But this last act of love excels the rest : 
For this so dear a present, bear him back 
The best return that I can live to make. 

The messenger despatched, again she view'd 
The loved remains, and sighing thus pursued : 650 
Source of my life, and lord of my desires, 
In whom I lived, with whom my soul expires, 
Poor heart, no more the spring of vital heat, 
Cursed be the hands that tore thee from thy seat ! 
The course is finish'd which thy fates decreed, 655 
And thou from thy corporeal prison freed : 
Soon hast thou reach'd the goal with mended pace, 
A world of woes despatch'd in little space. 
Forced by thy worth, thy foe, in death become 
Thy friend, has lodged thee in a costly tomb. 6M 
There yet remain'd thy funeral exequies, 
The weeping tribute of thy widow's eyes, 
And those, indulgent Heaven has found the way 
That I, before my death, have leave to pay. 
My father ev'n in cruelty is kind, 665 

Or Heaven has turu'd the malice of his mind 
To better uses than his hate design'd ; 
And made th' insult, which in his gift appears, 
The means to mourn thee with my pious tears ; 
Which I will pay thee down, before I go, 67 ° 

And save myself the pains to weep below, 
If souls can weep. Though once I meant to meet 
My fate with face unmoved, and eyes unwet, 
Yet since I have thee here in narrow room, 
My tears shall set thee first afloat within thy 
tomb : 675 

Then (as I know thy spirit hovers nigh) 
Under thy friendly conduct will I fly 
To regions unexplored, secure to share 
Thy state ; nor hell shall punishment appear ; 
And heaven is double heaven, if thou art there. 

She said : her brimful eyes, that ready stood, 681 
And only wanted will to keep a flood, 
Released their watery store, and pour'd amain, 
Like clouds low hung, a sober shower of rain ; 
Mute solemn sorrow, free from female noise, 6S5 
Such as the majesty of grief destroys ; 
For, bending o'er the cup, the tears she shed 
Seeru'd by the posture to discharge her head, 
O'er-fill'd before ; and (oft her mouth applied 
To the cold heart,) she kiss'd at once, and cried. 
Her maids, who stood amazed, nor knew the 
cause 691 

Of her complaining, nor whose heart it was ; 
Yet all due measures of her mourning kept, 
Did office at the dirge, and by infection wept; 
And oft enquired the occasion of her grief, M5 
(Unanswer'd but by sighs) and offer'd vain relief. 
At length, her stock of tears already shed, 
She wiped her eyes, she raised her drooping head, 
And thus pursued : Oh ever faithful heart, 
I have perform'd the ceremonial part, 7m 



The decencies of grief; it rests behind, 

That, as our bodies were, our souls be join'd; 

To thy whate'er abode my shade convey, 

And as an elder ghost, direct the way. 

She said ; and bade the vial to be brought, 705 

Where she before had brew'd the deadly draught : 

First pouring out the med'cinable bane, 

The heart, her tears had rinsed, she bathed again ; 

Then down her throat the death securely throws, 

And quaffs a long oblivion of her woes. 7i0 

This done, she mounts the genial bed, and there 
(Her body first composed with honest care) 
Attends the welcome rest ; her hands yet hold 
Close to her heart the monumental gold ; 
Nor farther word she spoke, but closed her sight, 
And quiet sought the covert of the night. 7W 

The damsels, who the while in silence mourn'd, 
Not knowing, nor suspecting death suborn' d, 
Yet, as their duty was, to Tancred sent : 
Who, conscious of the occasion, fear'd the event. 
Alarm'd, and with presaging heart, he came, ' 21 
And drew the curtains, and exposed the dame 
To loathsome light : then with a late relief 
Made vain efforts to mitigate her grief. 
She, what she could, excluding day, her eyes 7 ' 26 
Kept firmly seal'd, and sternly thus replies : 
Tancred, restrain thy tears, unsought by me, 
And sorrow unavailing now to thee : 
Did ever man before afflict his mind 
To see the effect of what himself design'd 1 7S0 
Yet, if thou hast remaining in thy heart 
Some sense of love, some unextinguish'd part 
Of former kindness, largely once profess'd, 
Let me by that adjure thy harden'd breast 
Not to deny thy daughter's last request : ?35 

The secret love which I so long enjoy'd, 
And still conceal'd to gratify thy pride, 
Thou hast disjoin'd; but, with my dying breath, 
Seek not, I beg thee, to disjoin our death ; 
Where'er his corpse by thy command is laid, 740 
Thither let mine in public be convey'd ; 
Exposed in open view, and side by side, 
Acknowledged as a bridegroom and a bride. 

The prince's anguish hinder'd his reply : 
And she, who felt her fate approaching nigh, 7is 
Seized the cold heart, and heaving to her breast, 
Here, precious pledge, she said, securely rest : 
These accents were her last; the creeping death 
Benumb'd her senses first, then stopp'd her 
breath. 

Thus she for disobedience justly died : 7m 

The sire was justly punish'd for his pride : 
The youth, least guilty, suffer'd for the offence 
Of duty violated to his prince ; 
Who, late repenting of his cruel deed, 
One common sepulchre for both decreed ; 755 

Intomb'd the wretched pair in royal state, 
And on their monument inscribed their fate. 



THEOUOHK AND HONORIA. 



275 



THEODORE AND HONORIA. 



Op all the cities in Romanian lands, 
The chief, and most renown'd, Ravenna stands, 
Adorn'd in ancient times with arms and arts, 
And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts. 
But Theodore the brave, above the rest, 5 

With gifts of fortune and of nature bless' d, 
The foremost place for wealth and honour held, 
And all in feats of chivalry excell'd. 

This noble youth to madness loved a dame, 
Of high degree, Honoria was her name ; 10 

Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind, 
And fiercer than became so soft a kind ; 
Proud of her birth ; (for equal she had none ;) 
The rest she scorn'd ; but hated him alone ; 
His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gain'd ; 15 
For she, the more he loved, the more disdain'd. 
He lived with all the pomp he could devise, 
At tilts and tournaments obtain'd the prize ; 
But found no favour in his lady's eyes : 
Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid 20 

Turn'd all to poison that he did or said : 
Nor prayers, nor tears, nor offer'd vows, could 

move ; 
The work went backward ; and, the more he strove 
To advance his suit, the farther from her love. 

Wearied at length, and wanting remedy, M 

He doubted oft, and oft resolved to die. 
But pride stood ready to prevent the blow, 
For who would die to gratify a foe ? 
His generous mind disdain'd so mean a fate ; 
That pass'd, his next endeavour was to hate. ^ 
But vainer that relief than all the rest, 
The less he hoped, with more desire possess'd; 
Love stood the siege, and would not yield his 

breast. 
Change was the next, but change deceived his 

care ; 
He sought a fairer, but found none so fair. x 

He would have worn her out by slow degrees, 
As men by fasting starve the untamed disease : 
But present love required a present ease. 
Looking he feeds alone his famish'd eyes, 
Feeds lingering death, but looking not he dies. m 
Yet still he chose the longest way to fate, 
Wasting at once his life and his estate. 

His friends beheld, and pitied him in vain, 
For what advice can ease a lover's pain ! 
Absence, the best expedient they could find, 45 
Might save the fortune, if not cure the mind : 
This means they long proposed, but little gain'd, 
Yet after much pursuit, at length obtain'd. 

Hard you may think it was to give consent, 
But struggling with his own desires he went, 50 

* A drama, entitled Theodore and Honoria, whs acted in 

ood of Chiassi, a word corrupted and altered from 

Classis, the naval station, which, with the intermediate 

road or suburb, constituted the triple city of Ravenna. 

Dr. J. Wartox 



With largo expense, and with a pompous train, 

Provided as to visit France and Spain, 

Or for some distant voyage o'er the main. 

But love had elipp'd his wings, and cut him short, 

Confined within the purlieus of the court. i5 

Three miles he went, nor fejether could retreat; 

His travels ended at his country-seat : 

To Chassis' pleasing plains he took his way, 

There pitch'd his tents, and there resolved to 

stay. 
The spring was in the prime ; the neighbouring 

grove "> 

Supplied with birds, the choristers of love, 
Music unbought, that niinister'd delight 
To morning walks, and lull'd his cares by night ; 
There he discharged his friends ; but not the 

expense 
Of frequent treats, and proud magnificence. K 
He lived as kings retire, though more at large 
From public business, yet with equal charge ; 
With house and heart still open to receive ; 
As well content as love would give him leave : 
He would have lived more free ; but many a 

guest, 70 

Who could forsake the friend, pursued the feast. 

It happ'd one morning, as his fancy led, 
Before his usual hour he left his bed, 
To walk within a lonely lawn, that stood 
On every side surrounded by a wood : ' 5 

Alone he walk'd, to please his pensive mind, 
And sought the deepest solitude to find ; 
'Twas in a grove of spreading pines he stray'd ; 
The winds within the quivering branches play'd. 
And dancing trees a mournful music made. s" 
The place itself was suiting to his care, 
Uncouth and savage, as the cruel fair. 
He wander'd on, unknowing where he went, 
Lost in the wood, and all on love intent : 
The day already half his race had run, 
And summon'd him to due repast at noon ; 
But love could feci no hunger but his own. 

Whilst listening to the murmuring leaves he 

stood, 
More than a mile immersed within the wood, 



Ver. 88. Whilst listening] The next fifteen lines, which 
so strongly paint the sensations of a man upon the sudden 
approach of some strange, mysterious, and supernatural 
danger, may bo produced, among many others, asaspei 
of the high poetical improvements cur anthor lia^ given t<> 
the original story; for the passage that furnished thlsani- 
mati l picture is only this in Boccacio, lit. rally translated : 
" In this forest Theodore, walking on soli) iry, and n 
all alone, had now wandered a mile's distance from hi 
and company, entered into agroveofpine-i irding 

the time of the repast thai was prepared for him, or any 
thinf; else but the unkind requital of his love. Suddenly 
he heard the voice of a woman • make most 

mournful complaints, whioh breaking off his silent tnedil i- 
ti.ins, made him lift up hi >ve» tli'- mason •( 

this noise." Boecacto. Nor.8, Fii -i Daj Dr J. W irtum. 



276 



THEODORE AND HONORIA. 



At once the wind was laid ; the whispering sound 90 
Was dumb ; a rising earthquake rock'd the 

ground ; 
AVith deeper brown the grove was overspread ; 
A sudden horror seized his giddy head, 
And his ears tinkled, and his colour fled ; 
Nature was in alarm ; some danger nigh ' 9o 

Seem'd threaten'd, though unseen to mortal eye. 
Unused to fear, he summon'd all his soul, 
And stood collected in himself, and whole ; 
Not long : for soon a whirlwind rose around, 
And from afar he heard a screaming sound, 10 ° 
As of a dame distress'd, who cried for aid, 
And fill'd with loud laments the secret shade. 

A thicket close beside the grove there stood, 
With briers and brambles choked, and dwarfish 

wood ; 
From thence the noise, which now approaching 

near, ,Uo 

With more distinguish'd notes invades his ear ; 
He raised his head, and saw a beauteous maid, 
With hair dishevell'd, issuing through the shade ; 
Stripp'd of her clothes, and e'en those parts 

reveal'd, 
Which modest nature keeps from sight con- 

ceal'd. 110 

Her face, her hands, her naked limbs were torn, 
With passing through the brakes and prickly 

thorn ; 
Two mastiffs gaunt and grim her flight pursued, 
And oft their fasten'd fangs in blood imbrued ; 
Oft they came up, and pinch'd her tender side, Ils 
Mercy, mercy, Heaven ! she ran, and cried ; 
When Heaven was named, they loosed their hold 

again, 
Then sprung she forth, they follow'd her amain. 

Not far behind, a knight of swarthy face, 
High on a coal-black steed pursued the chase ; 120 
With flashing flames his ardent eyes were fill'd, 
And in his hand a naked sword he held : 
He cheer'd the dogs to follow her who fled, 
And vow'd revenge on her devoted head. 

As Theodore was born of noble kind, 12 - r ' 

The brutal action roused his manly mind; 
Moved with unworthy usage of the maid, 
He, though unarm'd, resolved to give her aid. 
A sapling pine he wrench'd from out the ground, 
The readiest weapon that his fury found. 13 ° 

Thus fumish'd for offence, he cross'd the way 
Betwixt the graceless villain and his prey. 

The knight came thundering on, but, from afar, 
Thus in imperious toue forbade the war : 
Cease, Theodore, to proffer vain relief, ,35 

Nor stop the vengeance of so just a grief; 
But give me leave to seize my destined prey, 
And let eternal justice take the way : 
I but revenge my fate, disdain'd, betray'd, 
And suffering death for this ungrateful maid. uo 

He said, at once dismounting from the steed; 
For now the hell-hounds, with superior speed, 
Had reach'd the dame, and fastening on her side, 
The ground with issuing streams of purple died. 
Stood Theodore surprised in deadly fright, us 
With chattering teeth, and bristling hair upright ; 
Yet arm'd with inborn worth, Whate'er, said he, 
Thou art, who know'st me better than I thee ; 
Or prove thy rightful cause, or be defied. 
The..spectre, fiercely staring, thus replied : Ii0 

Know, Theodore, thy ancestry I claim, 
And Guido Cavalcanti was my name. 



One common sire our fathers did beget, 
My name and story some remember yet : 
Thee, then a boy, within my arms I laid, 135 

When for my sins I loved this haughty maid ; 
Not less adored in life,nor served by me, 
Than proud Honoria now is loved by thee. 
What did I not her stubborn heart to gain 1 
But all my vows were answer'd with disdain : ,r, ° 
She scorn'd my sorrows, and despised my pain. 
Long time I dragg'd my days in fruitless care ; 
Then loathing life, and plunged in deep despair, 
To finish my unhappy life, I fell 1M 

On this sharp sword, and now am damn'd in hell. 

Short was her joy ; for soon the insulting maid 
By Heaven's decree in the cold grave was laid. 
And, as in unrepented sin she died, 
Doom'd to the same bad place, is punish'd for her 

pride ; 
Because she deem'd I well deserved to die, 17 ° 
And made a merit of her cruelty. 
There, then, we met ; both tried, and both were 

cast, 
And this irrevocable sentence pass'd : 
That she, whom I so long pursued in vain, 
Should suffer from my hands a lingering pain : 175 
Renew' d to life that she might daily die, 
I daily doom'd to follow, she to fly ; 
No more a lover, but a mortal foe, 
I seek her life (for love is none below) : 
As often as my dogs with better speed lso 

Arrest her flight, is she to death decreed : 
Then with this fatal sword, on which I died, 
I pierce her open back, or tender side, 
And tear that harden'd heart from out her 

breast, 
Which, with her entrails, makes my hungry 
hounds a feast. 18S 

Nor lies she long, but as her fates ordain, 
Springs up to life, and fresh to second pain, 
Is saved to-day, to-morrow to be slain. 

This, versed in death, the infernal knight 
relates, 
And then for proof fulfill'd the common fates ; ]9 ° 
Her heart and bowels through her back he drew, 
And fed the hounds that help'd him to pursue. 
Stern look'd the fiend, as frustrate of his will, 
Not half sufficed, and greedy yet to kill. 
And now the soul, expiring through the wound, 
Had left the body breathless on the ground, 196 
When thus the grisly spectre spoke again : 
Behold the fruit of ill-rewarded pain : 
As many months as I sustain'd her hate, 
So many years is she condemn'd by fate 20 ° 

To daily death ; and every several place 
Conscious of her disdain, and my disgrace, 
Must witness her just punishment ; and be 
A scene of triumph and revenge to me. 
As in this grove I took my last farewell, M5 

As on this very spot of earth I fell, 
As Friday saw me die, so she my prey 
Becomes ev'n here, on this revolving day. 

Thus while he spoke, the virgin from the 
ground 
Upstarted fresh, already closed the wound, 2I ° 
And, unconcern'd for all she felt before, 
Precipitates her flight along the shore : 
The hell-hounds, as ungorged with flesh and blood, 
Pursue their prey, and seek their wonted food : 
The fiend remounts his courser, mends his pace, 
And all the vision vanish'd from the place. 216 



THEODORE AND HONORIA. 



277 



Long stood the noble youth oppress'd with awe, 
And stupid at the wondrous things he saw, 
Surpassing common faith, transgressing nature's 

law : "» 

He would have been asleep, and wish'd to wake ; 
But dreams, he knew, no long impression make, 
Though strong at first ; if vision, to what end, 
But such as must his future state portend ? 
His love the damsel, and himself the fiend. 
But yet reflecting that it could not be ■* 

From Heaven, which cannot impious acts decree, 
Resolved within himself to shun the snare, 
Which hell for his destruction did prepare ; 
And as his better genius should direct, 
From an ill cause to draw a good effect. 230 

Inspired from Heaven, he homeward took his 

way, 
Nor pall'd his new design with long delay : 
But of his tram a trusty servant sent, 
To call his friends together at his tent. 
They came, and usual salutations paid, 
With words premeditated thus he said : 
What you have often counsell'd, to remove 
My vain pursuit of unregarded love, 
By thrift my sinking fortune to repair, 
Though late, yet is at last become my care : 24u 
My heart shall be my own ; my vast expense 
Reduced to bounds, by timely providence ; 
This only I require ; invite for me 
Honoria, with her father's family, -'•' 

Her friends, and mine ; the cause I shall display, 
On Friday next ; for that 's the appointed day. 
Well pleased were all his friends ; the task was 

light; 
The father, .mother, daughter, they invite ; 
Hardly the dame was drawn to this repast ; 
But yet resolved, because it was the last. sso 

The day was come, the guests invited came, 
And, with the rest, the inexorable dame : 
A feast prepared with riotous expense, 
Much cost, more care, and most magnificence. 
The place ordain'd was in that haunted grove, - M 
Where the revenging ghost pursued his love : 
The tables in a proud pavilion spread, 
With flowers below, and tissue overhead : 
The rest in rank, Honoria chief in place, 
Was artfully contrived to set her face 26 ° 

To front the thicket, and behold the chase. 
The feast was served, the time so well forecast, 
That just when the dessert and fruits were 

placed, 
The fiend's alarm began ; the hollow sound 
Sung in the leaves, the forest shook around, 2(B 
Aii blackeu'd, roll'd the thunder, groan'd the 

ground. 
Nor long before the loud laments arise 
Of one distress'd, and mastiffs' mingled cries ; 
And first the dame came rushing through the 

wood, 
And next the famish'd hounds that sought their 

food, 2 <" u 

And griped her flanks, and oft essay'd their jaws 

in blood. 
Last came the felon, on his sable steed, 
Arni'd with his naked sword, and urged his dogs 

to speed. 
She ran, ami cried, her flight directly bent, 

icst unbidden) to the fatal tent, -''•"' 

The scene of death, and place ordain'd for 

punishment. 



Loud was the noise, aghast was every guest, 
The women shriek'd, the men forsook the feast; 
The hounds at nearer distance hoarsely bay'd ; 
The hunter close pursued the visionary maid; ■"' 
She rent the heaven with loud laments, im- 
ploring aid. 
The gallants, to protect the lady's right, 
Their fauchions brandish'd at the grisly spright ; 
High on his stirrups he provoked the fight. 
Then on the crowd he cast a furious look, ^ 

And wither'd all their strength before he strook : 
Back, on your lives, let be, said lie, my prey, 
And let my vengeance take the destined way : 
Vain arc your arms, and vainer your defence, 
Against the eternal doom of Providence : 20 ° 

Mine is the ungrateful maid by Heaven design'd : 
Mercy she would not give, nor mercy shall she find. 
At this the former tale again ho told 
With thundering tone, and dreadful to behold ; 
Sunk were their hearts with horror of the crime, 
Nor needed to bo warn'd a second time, 296 

But bore each other back : some know the face, 
And all had heard the much-lamented case 
Of him who fell for love, and this the fatal 

place. 
And now the infernal minister advanced, 30 ° 
Seized the due victim, and with fury lanced 
Her back, and piercing through her inmost heart, 
Drew backward as before the offending part. 
The reeking entrails next he tore away, 
And to his meagre mastiffs made a prey. 3ai 

The pale assistants on each other stared, 
With gaping mouths for issuing words prepared; 
The still-born sounds upon the palate hung, 
And died imperfect on the faltering tongue. 
The fright was general ; but the female band 3I ° 
(A helpless train) in more confusion stand : 
With horror shuddering, on a heap they run, 
Sick at the sight of hateful justice done ; 
For conscience rung the alarm, and made the 

case their own. 
So spread upon a lake, with upward eye, 3I5 
A plump of fowl behold their foe on high ; 
They close their trembling troop ; and all attend 
On whom the sousing eagle will descend. 
But most the proud Honoria fear'd the 

event, 
And thought to her alone the vision sent. **■ 

Her guilt presents to her distracted mind 
Heaven's justice, Theodore's revengeful kind, 
And the same fate to the same sin assign'd; 
Already sees herself the monster's prey, 
And feels her heart and entrails torn away. 3 -' 
'Twas a mute scene of sorrow, mix'd with fear; 
Still on the table lay the unfinish'd cheer: 
The knight and hungry mastiffs stood around, 
The mangled dame lay breathless on the 

ground: 
When on a sudden, re inspired with breath, 33u 
Again she rose, again to suffer death : 
Nor staid the hell-hounds, nor the hunter staid, 
But follow'd, as before, the flying maid : 
The avenger took from earth the avenging 

sword, 
And mounting light as air his sable steed ho 

spurr'd : 3ai 

The clouds dispell'd, the sky resumed her light. 
An. I Nature stood recovered of her fright. 
But fear, the last of ills, remain'd behind, 
And horror heavy sat on every mind. 



278 



CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 



Nor Theodore encouraged more the feast, 34 ° 

But sternly look'd, as hatching in his breast 
Some deep designs ; which when Honoria view'd, 
The fresh impulse her former fright renew'd : 
She thought herself the trembling dame who 

fled, 
And him the grisly ghost that spurr'd the infer- 
nal steed : 345 
The more dismay'd, for when the guests withdrew, 
Their courteous host saluting all the crew, 
Eegardless pass'd her o'er, nor graced with kind 

adieu. 
That sting infix' d within her haughty mind, 
The downfal of her empire she divined ; 350 

And her proud heart with secret sorrow pined. 
Home as they went, the sad discourse renew'd, 
Of the relentless dame to death pursued, 
And of the sight obscene so lately view'd. 354 

None durst arraign the righteous doom she bore; 
Ev'n they who pitied most, yet blamed her more : 
The parallel they needed not to name, 
But in the dead they damn'd the living dame. 

At every little noise she look'd behind, 
For still the knight was present to her mind : 3B0 
And anxious oft she started on the way, 
And thought the horseman-ghost came thunder- 
ing for his prey. 
Return'd she took her bed with little rest, 
But in short slumbers dreamt the funeral feast : 
Awaked, she turn'd her side, and slept again ; 365 
The same black vapours mounted in her brain, 
And the same dreams return'd with double pain. 

Now forced to wake, because afraid to sleep, 
Her blood all fever' d, with a furious leap 
She sprung from bed, distracted in her mind, 3 '° 
And fear'd, at every step, a twitching sp right behind. 
Darkling and desperate, with a staggering pace, 
Of death afraid, and conscious of disgrace ; 
Fear, pride, remorse, at once her heart assail'd, 
Pride put remorse to flight, but fear prevail'd. 375 
Friday, the fatal day, when next it came, 
Her soul forethought the fiend would change his 

game, 
And her pursue, or Theodore be slain, 
And two ghosts join their packs to hunt her o'er 

the plain. 
This dreadful image so possess'd her mind, 3S0 
That desperate any succour else to find, 



She ceased all farther hope ; and now began 
To make reflection on the unhappy man. 
Rich, brave, and young, who past expression loved, 
Proof to disdain, and not to be removed : 3S5 

Of all the men respected and admired, 
Of all the dames, except herself, desired : 
Why not of her 1 preferr'd above the rest 
By him with knightly deeds, and open love pro- 
fess'd'? asg 

So had another been, where he his vows address'd. 
This quell'd her pride, yet other doubts remain'd, 
That once disdaining, she might be disdain'd. 
The fear was just, but greater fear prevail'd, 
Fear of her life by hellish hounds assail'd : 
He took a lowering leave ; but who can tell 305 
What outward hate might inward love conceal 1 
Her sex's arts she knew, and why not, then, 
Might deep dissembling have a place in men ? 
Here hope began to dawn ; resolved to try, 
She fix'd on this her utmost remedy ; 4U0 

Death was behind, but hard it was to die. 
'Twas time enough at last on death to call, 
The precipice in sight : a shrub was all 
That kindly stood betwixt to break the fatal fall. 

One maid she had beloved above the rest ; 4U5 
Secure of her, the secret she confess'd ; 
And now the cheerful light her fears dispell'd, 
She with no winding turns the truth conceal'd, 
But put the woman off, and stood reveal'd : 
With faults confess'd commission'd her to go, 410 
If pity yet had place, and reconcile her foe ; 
The welcome message made, was soon received; 
'Twas to be wish'd, and hoped, but scarce believed; 
Fate seem'd a fair occasion to present, 
He knew the sex, and fear'd she might repent, 415 
Should he delay the moment of consent. 
There yet remain'd to gain her friends (a care 
The modesty of maidens well might spare) ; 
But she with such a zeal the cause embraced, 
(As women, where they will, are all in haste,) m 
The father, mother, and the kin beside, 
Were overborne by fury of the tide ; 
With full consent of all, she changed her state ; 
Resistless in her love, as in her hate. 
By her example warn'd, the rest beware ; 42S 

More easy, less imperious, were the fair ; 
And that one hunting, which the devil design'd 
For one fair female, lost him half the kind. 



CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 



POETA LOQUITUR. 

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, 

The power of beauty I remember yet, 

Which once inflamed my soul, and still inspires 

my wit. 
If love be folly, the severe divine 
Has felt that folly, though he censures mine ; 5 
Pollutes the pleasures of a chaste embrace, 
Acts what I write, and propagates in grace, 
With riotous excess, a priestly race. 



Suppose him free, and that I forge the offence, 

He show'd the way, perverting first my sense : 10 

In malice witty, and with venom fraught, 

He makes me speak the things I never thought. 

Compute the gains of his ungovern'd zeal ; 

111 suits his cloth the praise of railing well. 

The world will think that what we loosely write, K 

Though now arraign'd, he read with some delight; 

Because he seems to chew the cud again, 

When his broad comment makes the text too plain ; 



CYMON AND IhTIJGENlA. 



279 



And teaches more in one explaining page, 
Than all the douhle meanings of the stage. 

What needs he paraphrase on what we mean ! 
We were at worst but wanton ; he 's obscene. 
I, nor my fellows, nor myself excuse ; 
But love 's the subject of the comic muse : 
Nor can we write without it, nor would you * 
A tale of only dry instruction view. 
Nor love is always of a vicious kind, 
But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind, 
Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul, 
And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool. '■*' 
Love, studious how to please, improves our parts 
With polish 'd manners, and adorns with arts. 
Love first invented verse, and form'd the rhyme, 
The motion measured, harmonised the chime ; 
To liberal acts enlarged the narrow-soul'd, :a 

Soften'd the fierce, and made the coward bold : 
The world, when waste, he peopled with increase, 
And warring nations reconciled in peace. 
Ormond, the first, and all the fair may find, 
In this one legend, to their fame design'd, 40 

When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the 
miud. 



In that sweet isle where Venus keeps her court, 

And every grace, and all the loves, resort; 

Where either sex is form'd of softer earth, 

And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth ; a 

There lived a Cyprian lord, above the rest 

Wise, wealthy, with a numerous issue bless'd ; 

But, as no gift of fortune is sincere, 

Was only wanting in a worthy heir : 

His eldest 'born, a goodly youth to view, 50 

Excell'd the rest in shape and outward show, 

Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion join'd, 

But of a heavy, dull, degenerate mind. 

His soul belied the features of his face ; 

Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace. M 

A clownish mien, a voice with rustic sound, 

And stupid eyes that ever loved the ground. 

He look'd like nature's error, as the mind 

And body were not of a piece design'd, 

But made for two, and by mistake in one were join'd. 

The ruling rod, the father's forming care, 01 
Were exercised in vain on wit's despair; 
The more iuform'd, the less he understood, 
And deeper sunk by floundering in the mud. 
Now scorn'd of all, and grown the public shame, K 
The people from Galesus changed his name, 
And Cymon call'd, which signifies a brute ; 
So well his name did with his nature suit. 

His father, when he found his labour lost, 
And care employ 'd, that answer'd not the cost, 7 " 
Chose an ungrateful object to remove, 
And loathed to see what nature made him love ; 
So to his country farm the fool confined; 
Rude work well suited with a rustic mind. 
Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, 7i 

A squire among the swains, and pleased with 
banishment. 



Vcr. 41. Where either sex is form'd of soft, r earth,] 
"E meliore Into flnxit prtecordia Titan." 

.Ioiin- Wakton. 

Vcr. 57. And stupid eyes that ever loved the (iron ml. | 
" With leaden eye that loves the ground." Milton. 
John WiRTON. 



His corn and cattle were his only care, 
And his supreme delight, a country fair. 

It happen'd on a Bummer's holiday, 
That to the green-wood shade he took his 

way ; ~» 

For Cymon shunn'd the church, and used not 

much to pray. 
His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake, 
Hung hall' before, and half behind his back. 
He trudged along, unknowing what he sought, 
And whistled as lie went, for want of thought. ■ 
By chance Conducted, or by thirst constraiu'd, 
The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd; 
Where in a plain defended by the wood, 
Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood, 
By which an alabaster fountain stood : '■" 

And on the margin of the fount was laid 
(Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid. 
Like Diau and her nymphs, when, tired with 

sport, 
To rest by cool Eurotas they resort : 
The dame herself the goddess well express'd, '■'' 
Not more distinguish'd by her purple vest, 
Than by the charming features of her face, 
And, ev'u in slumber, a superior grace : 
Her comely limbs composed with decent care, 
Her body shaded with a slight cymar ; ""' 

Her bosom to the view was only bare : 
Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied, 
For yet their places were but signified : 
The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, 
To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ; '"■' 

The fanning wind, and purling streams, continue 

her repose. 
The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, 
And gaping mouth, that testified surprise, 
Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight, 
New as he was to love, and novice to delight : "° 
Long mute he stood, and leaning on his stall', 
His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh ; 
Then would have spoke, but by Ins glimmering 

sense 
First found his want of words, and fear'd offence : 
Doubted for what he was lie should be known, "' 
By his clown accent, and his country tone, 
Through the rude chaos thus the running light 
Shot the first ray that pierced the native night : 
Then day and darkness in the mass were mi\'d. 
Till gathcr'd in a globe the beams were lix'd : '-'" 
Last shone the sun. who. radiant in his sphere, 
Illumined heaven and earth, and roll'd around the 

year. 
So reason in this brutal soul began : 
Love made him first suspect he was a man ; 
Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound ; 
By love his want of winds, and wit. he found ; '- r ' 
That sense of want prepared the future way 
To knowledge, and disclosed the promise of a 

day. 
What, not his lather's care, nor tutor's art. 
Could plant with pains in his unpolish'd heart, , ' 10 
The best instructor. I, me, at once inspired, 
As barren grounds to fruitfulncss are fired: 

Ver.182. A mdstoJruHfu I ! An 

allusion to Virgil's Georgics, 

" Ssepe ctiam Bteriles incenden profuit agroa 
Aique levera Btipulam cropltnntlbua uxors Bammta: 
give Inde occultas vin-s ol pingnla terra 
Paimia conciplont" Virg.Goorg. Joas w 



280 



CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 



Love taught him shame, and shame, with love at 

strife, 
Soon taught the sweet civilities of life ; 
His gross material soul at once could find lM 

Somewhat in her excelling all her kind ; 
Exciting a desire till then unknown, 
Somewhat unfound, or found in her alone. 
This made the first impression on his mind, 
Above, but just above, the brutal kind. I40 

For beasts can like, but not distinguish too, 
Nor their own liking by reflection know ; 
Nor why they hke or this or t'other face, 
Or judge of this or that peculiar grace ; 
But love in gross, and stupidly admire : 145 

As flies, allured by light, approach the fire. 
Thus our man-beast, advancing by degrees, 
First likes the whole, then separates what he 

sees; 
On several parts a several praise bestows, 
The ruby lips, the well-proportion'd nose, ,5 ° 

The snowy skin, and raven-glossy hair, 
The dimpled cheek, and forehead rising fair, 
And ev'n in sleep itself, a smiling air. 
From thence his eyes descending view'd the rest, 
Her plump round arms, white hands, and heaving 

breast. i55 

Long on the last he dwelt, though every part 
A pointed arrow sped to pierce his heart. 

Thus in a trice a judge of beauty grown, 
(A judge erected from a country clown) 
He long'd to see her eyes, in slumber hid, 16t) 

And wish'd his own could pierce within the 

lid: 
He would have waked her, but restrain'd his 

thought, 
And love new-born the first good manners taught. 
An awful fear his ardent wish withstood, 
Nor durst disturb the goddess of the wood. 165 
For such she seem'd by her celestial face, 
Excelling all the rest of human race : 
And things divine, by common sense he knew, 
Must be devoutly seen, at distant view ; 
So checking his desire, with trembling heart 17 ° 
Gazing he stood, nor would noi could depart ; 
Fix'd as a pilgrim wilder'd in his way, 
Who dares not stir by night, for fear to stray, 
But stands with awful eyes to watch the dawn of 

day. 
At length awaking, Iphigene the fair, I75 

(So was the beauty call'd, who caused his care,) 
Unclosed her eyes, and double day reveal'd, 
While those of all her slaves in sleep were seal'd. 
The slavering cudden, propp'd upon his staff, 
Stood ready gaping with a grinning laugh, 18 ° 

To welcome her awake, nor durst begin 
To speak, but wisely kept the fool within. 
Then she : What make you, Cymon, here alone ? 
(For Cymon's name was round the country 

known, 
Because descended of a noble race, 1S5 

And for a soul ill sorted with his face.) 

But still the sot stood silent with surprise, 
AVith fix'd regard on her new-open'd eyes, 
And in his breast received the envenom'd dart, 
A tickling pain that pleased amid the smart. 19 ° 
But conscious of her form, with quick distrust 
She saw his sparkling eyes, and fear'd his brutal 

lust. 
This to prevent, she waked her sleepy crew, 
And rising hasty, took a short adieu. 



Then Cymon first his rustic voice essay 'd, ,95 
With proffer' d service to the parting maid 
To see her safe ; his hand she long denied, 
But took at length, ashamed of such a guide. 
So Cymon led her home, and leaving there, 
No more would to his country clowns repair, ^ 
But sought his father's house, with better mind, 
Refusing in the farm to be confined. 

The father wonder'd at the son's return, 
And knew not whether to rejoice or mourn ; 
But doubtfully received, expecting still 205 

To learn the secret causes of his alter'd will. 
Nor was he long delay'd : the first request 
He made, was like his brothers to be dress'd, 
And, as his birth required, above the rest. 

With ease his suit was granted by his sire, 21 ° 
Distinguishing his heir by rich attire ; 
His body thus adorn'd, he next design'd 
With liberal arts to cultivate his mind : 
He sought a tutor of his own accord, 
And studied lessons he before abhorr'd. 21a 

Thus the man-child advanced, and leam'd so fast, 
That in short time his equals he surpass'd : 
His brutal manners from his breast exiled, 
His mien he fashion' d, and his tongue he filed ; 
In every exercise of all admired, 2S0 

He seem'd, nor only seem'd, but was inspired ; 
Inspired by love, whose business is to please ; 
He rode, he fenced, he moved with graceful ease, 
More famed for sense, for courtly carriage more, 
Than for his brutal folly known before. 225 

What then of alter'd Cymon shall we say, 
But that the fire which choked in ashes lay, 
A load too heavy for his soul to move, 
Was upward blown below, and brush'd away by 
love. m 

Love made an active progress through his mind, 
The dusky parts he clear'd, the gross refined, 
The drowsy waked ; and, as he went, impress'd 
The Maker's image on the human breast. 
Thus was the man amended by desire, 
And though he loved perhaps with too much fire, 
His father all his faults with reason scann'd, 236 
And liked an error of the better hand ; 
Excused the excess of passion in his mind, 
By flames too fierce, perhaps too much refined : 
So Cymon, since his sire indulged his will, 24 ° 
Impetuous loved, and would be Cymon still ; 
Galesus he disown' d, and chose to bear 
The name of fool, confirm'd, and bishop'd by the 
fair. 

To Cipseus by his friends his suit he moved, 
Cipseus the father of the fair he loved : ' 1AA 

But he was pre-engaged by former ties, 
While Cymon was endeavouring to be wise : 
And Iphigene, obliged by former vows, 
Had given her faith to wed a foreign spouse : 
Her sire and she to Rhodian Pasimond, 25 ° 

Though both repenting, were by promise bound, 
Nor could retract ; and thus, as fate decreed, 
Though better loved, he spoke too late to speed. 

The doom was past, the ship already sent 
Did all his tardy diligence prevent : S55 

Sigh'd to herself the fair unhappy maid, 
While stormy Cymon thus in secret said : 
The time is come for Iphigene to find 
The miracle she wrought upon my mind : 
Her charms have made me man, her ravish'd 
love 26n 

In rank shall place me with the bless'd above. 



CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 



281 



For mine by love, by force she shall be mine, 
Or death, if force should fail, shall finish my 

design. 
Resolved he said ; and rigg'd with speedy care 
A vessel strong, and well equipp'd for war. - 05 
The secret ship with chosen friends he stored ; 
And bent to die, or conquer, went aboard. 
Ambush'd he lay behind the Cyprian shore, 
Waiting the sail that all his wishes bore ; 
Nor long expected, for the following tide ~ 7U 

Sent out the hostile ship and beauteous bride. 

To Rhodes the rival bark directly steer'd, 
When Cymon sudden at her back appear'd, 
And stopp'd her flight : then standing on his 

prow, 
In haughty terms he thus defied the foe : " 5 

Or strike your sails at summons, or prepare 
To prove the last extremities of war. 
Tims warn'd, the Rhodians for the fight pi'ovide; 
Already were the vessels side by side, 
These obstinate to save, and those to seize the 

bride. 2m 

But Cymon soon his crooked grapples cast, 
Which with tenacious hold his foes embraced, 
And, arm'd with sword and shield, amid the 

press he pass'd. 
Fierce was the fight, but hastening to his prey, 
By force the furious lover freed his way : s8f 

Himself alone dispersed the Rhodian crew, 
The weak disdaiu'd, the valiant overthrew ; 
Cheap conquest for his following friends remain'd, 
He reap'd the field, and they but only glean'd. 

His victory confess'd, the foes retreat, 29 ° 

And cast their weapons at the victor's feet. 
Whom thus he cheer'd : Rhodian youth, I 

fought 
For love alone, nor other booty sought : 
Your lives are safe ; your' vessel I resign, 
Yours be your own, restoring what is mine : 295 
In Iphigene I claim my rightful due, 
Robb'd by my rival, and detain'd by you : 
Your Pasimond a lawless bargain drove ; 
The parent could not sell the daughter's love ; 
Or if he could, my love disdains the laws, 30U 

And like a king by conquest gains his cause : 
Where arms take place, all other pleas are vain ; 
Love taught me force, and force shall love main- 
tain. 
You, what by strength you could not keep, release, 
And at an easy ransom buy your peace. 3I15 

Fear on the conquer'd side soon sign'd the 

accord, 
And Iphigene to Cymon was restored : 
While to his arms the blusliing bride he took, 
To seeming sadness she composed her look ; 
As if by force subjected to his will, 310 

Though pleased, dissembling, and a woman still. 
And, for she wept, he wiped her falling tears, 
And pray'd her to dismiss her empty fears; 
For yours I am, he said, and have deserved 
Your love much better whom so long I served, 315 
Than he to whom your formal father tied 
Your vows, and sold a slave, not sent a bride. 
Thus while he spoke, he seized the willing prey, 
As Paris bore the Spartan spouse away. 319 

Faintly she scream'd, and cv'n her eyes confess'd 
She rather would be thought, than was distress'd. 
Who now exults but Cymon in his mind i 

Vain hopes ami 1'injity jo\ s of Inn i kind. 

Proud of the present, to the future blind ! 



Secure of fate, while Cymon ploughs the sea, • ; -'' 
And steers to Candy with his conquer'd prey, 
Scarce the third glass of measured hours was run, 
When like a fiery meteor sunk the sun ; 
The promise of a storm ; the shifting gales 
Forsake, by fits, and fill, the flagging sails ; 33 ° 
Hoarse murmurs of the main from far were heard, 
And night came on, not by degrees prepared, 
But all at once ; at once the winds arise, 
The thunders roll, the forky lightning flies. 
In vain the master issues out commands, ^ 

In vain the trembling sailors ply their hands ; 
The tempest unforeseen prevents their care, 
And from the first they labour in despair. 
The giddy ship betwixt the winds and tides, 
Forced back and forwards, in a circle rides, 34 ° 
Stunu'd with the different blows ; then shoots 

amain, 
Till counterbuff'd, she stops, and sleeps again. 
Not more aghast the proud archangel fell, 
Plunged from the height of heaven to deepest 

hell, 
Than stood the lover of his love posscss'd, 3IS 

Now cursed the more, tho more he had been 

bless'd ; 
More anxious for her danger, than his own, 
Death he defies ; but would be lost alone. 

Sad Iphigene to womanish complaints 
Adds pious prayers, and wearies all the saints; 3S0 
Ev'n, if she could, her love she would repent, 
But since she cannot, dreads the punishment : 
Her forfeit faith, and Pasimond betray'd, 
Are ever present, and her crime upbraid. 
She blames herself, nor blames her lover less, 355 
Augments her anger, as her fears increase : 
From her own back the burden would remove, 
And lays the load on his ungovern'd love, 
Which interposing durst, in Heaven's despite, 
Invade and violate another's right : 3C0 

The Powers incensed a while deferr'd his pain, 
And made him master of his vows in vain ; 
But soon they punish'd his presumptuous pride ; 
That for his daring enterprise she died ; 
AVlio rather not resisted than complied. 

Then impotent of mind, with alter'd sense, 
She hugg'd the offender, and forgave the offence, 
Sex to the last. Meantime with sails declined 
The wandering vessel drove before the wind ; 
Toss'd and retoss'd, aloft, and then alow, 
Nor port they seek, nor certain course they know, 
But every moment wait the coming blow. 
Thus blindly driven, by breaking day they view'd 
The land before them, and their fears renew'd ; 
The land was welcome, but the tempest bore m 
The threaten'd ship against a rocky shore. 

A winding bay was near ; to this they bent, 
And just escaped ; their force already spent : 
Secure from storms, and panting from the sea, 
The land unknown at leisure they survey : :WI 

And saw (but soon their sickly sight withdrew | 
The rising towers of Rhodes at distant view ; 
And cursed the hostile shore of Pasimond, 
Saved from the seas, and shipwreck'd on the 

ground. 
The frighted sailors tried their strength in vain, 
To turn the stern, and tempt the stormy main ; sal 
But the still' wind withstood the labouring ear. 
And forced them forward on the i 

The crooked keel now bites the Rhodian strand, 
And the ship moor'd constrs « to laud 



282 



CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 



Yet still they might be safe, because unknown ; 391 
But as ill fortune seldom comes alone, 
The vessel they dismiss'd was driven before, 
Already shelter'd on their native shore ; 
Known each, they know ; but each with change 
of cheer ; 3M 

The vanquish'd side exults ; the victors fear ; 
Not them but theirs, made prisoners ere they fight, 
Despairing conquest, and deprived of flight. 

The country rings around with loud alarms, 
And raw in fields the rude militia swarms ; m 
Mouths without hands ; maintain'd at vast ex- 
pense, 
In peace a charge, in war a weak defence : 
Stout once a month they march, a blustering 

band, 
And ever, but in times of need, at hand ; 
This was the morn, when, issuing on the guard, 405 
Drawn up in rank and file they stood prepared 
Of seeming arms to make a short essay, 
Then hasten to be drunk, the- business of the 
day. 

The cowards would have fled, but that they knew 
Themselves so many, and their foes so few ; 410 
But crowding on, the last the first impel ; 
Till overborne with weight the Cyprians fell. 
Cymon enslaved, who first the war begun, 
And Iphigene once more is lost and won. 

Deep in a dungeon was the captive cast, 4I5 

Deprived of day, and held in fetters fast : 
His life was only spared at their request, 
Whom taken he so nobly had released : 
But Iphigenia was the ladies' care, 
Each in their turn address'd to treat the fair ; 420 
While Pasimond and his the nuptial feast prepare. 

Her secret soul to Cymon was inclined, . 
But she must suffer what her fates assign'd ; 
So passive is the church of womankind. 
What worse to Cymon could his fortune deal, 425 
Roll'd to the lowest spoke of all her wheel ? 
It rested to dismiss the downward weight, 
Or raise him upward to his former height ', 
The' latter pleased ; and love (concern'd the most) 
Prepared the amends, for what by love he lost. 43u 

The sire of Pasimond had left a son, 
Though younger, yet for courage early known, 
Ormisda call'd, to whom, by promise tied, 
A Rhodian beauty was the destined bride ; 
Cassandra was her name, above the rest 435 

Renown'd for birth, with fortune amply bless'd. 
Lysimachus, who ruled the Rhodian state, 
Was then by choice their annual magistrate : 
He loved Cassandra too with equal fire, 
But fortune had not favour'd his desire ; 440 

Cross'd by her friends, by her not disapproved, 
Nor yet preferr'd, or like Ormisda loved : 
So stood the affair : some little hope remain'd, 
That should his rival chance to lose, he gain'd. 

Meantime young Pasimond his marriage 
press'd, **5 

Ordain'd the nuptial day, prepared the feast ; 
And frugally resolved (the charge to shun, 
Which would be double should he wed alone) 
To join his brother's bridal with his own. 

Lysimachus, oppress'd with mortal grief, 45 ° 
Received the news, and studied quick relief : 
The fatal day approaeh'd ; if force were used, 
The magistrate his public trust abused ; 
To justice liable, as law required ; 
For when his office ceased, his power expired : 455 



While power remain'd, the means were in his 

hand 
By force to seize, and then forsake the land : 
Betwixt extremes he knew not how to move, 
A slave to fame, but more a slave to love : 
Restraining others, yet himself not free, m 

Made impotent by power, debased by dignity. 
Both sides he weigh'd : but after much debate, 
The man prevail'd above the magistrate. 

Love never fails to master what he finds, 
But works a different way in different minds, 465 
The fool enlightens, and the wise he blinds. 
This youth proposing to possess and 'scape, 
Began in murder, to conclude in rape : 
Unpraised by me, though Heaven sometimes may 

bless 
An impious act with undeserved success : 47 ° 

The great, it seems, are privileged alone 
To punish all injustice but their own. 
But here I stop, not daring to proceed, 
Yet blush to flatter an unrighteous deed : 
For crimes are but permitted, not decreed. 475 

Resolved on force, his wit the prastor bent 
To find the means that might secure the event ; 
Nor long he labour' d, for his lucky thought 
In captive Cymon found the friend he sought. 
The example pleased : the cause and crime the 

same ; 
An injured lover, and a ravish'd dame. 
How much he durst he knew by what he dared, 
The less he had to lose, the less he cared 
To manage loathsome life when love was the 

reward. 
This ponder'd well, and fix'd on his intent, 4S5 
In depth of night he for the prisoner sent ; 
In secret sent the public view to shun, 
Then with a sober smile he thus begun : 
The Powers above, who bounteously bestow 
Their gifts and graces on mankind below, 
Yet prove our merit first, nor blindly give 
To such as are not worthy to receive : 
For valour and for virtue they provide 
Their due reward, but first they must be tried : 
These fruitful seeds within your mind they 

sow'd; 495 

'Twas yours to improve the talent they bestow'd ; 
They gave you to be born of noble kind, 
They gave you love to lighten up your mind, 
And purge the grosser parts ; they gave you care 
To please, and courage to deserve the fair. 50 ° 

Thus far they tried you, and by proof they 

found 
The grain entrusted in a grateful ground : 
But still the great experiment remain'd, 
They suffer'd you to lose the prize you gain'd ; 
That you might learn the gift was theirs alone : 505 
And when restored, to them the blessing own. 
Restored it soon will be ; the means prepared, 
The difficulty smooth' d, the danger shared : 
Be but yourself, the care to me resign, 
Then Iphigene is yours, Cassandra mine. 510 

Your rival Pasimond pursues your life, 
Impatient to revenge his ravish'd wife, 
But yet not his ; to-morrow is behind, 
And love our fortunes in one band has join'd : 
Two brothers are our foes, Ormisda mine, 5IS 

As much declared as Pasimond is thine : 
To-morrow must their common vows be tied : 
With love to friend, and fortune for our guide, 
Let both resolve to die, or each redeem a bride. 



CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 



283 



Right I have none, nor hast thou much to 
plead ; 5 -° 

'Tis force, when done, must justify the deed : 
Our task perform'd, we next prepare for flight : 
And let the losers talk in vain of right : 
We with the fair will sail before the wind, 
If they are grieved, I leave the laws behind. 5i5 
Speak thy resolves : if now thy courage droop, 
Despair in prison, and abandon hope ; 
But if thou dar'st in arms thy love regain, 
(For liberty without thy love were vain ;) 
Then second my design to seize the prey, 5:l0 

Or lead to second rape, for well thou know'st 
the way. 

Said Cymon overjoy'd, Do thou propose 
The means to fight, and only show the foes : 
For from the first, when love had fired my 

mind, 
Resolved I left the care of life behind. 5K 

To this the bold Lysimachus replied, 
Let Heaven be neuter, and the sword decide ; 
The spousals are prepared, already play 
The minstrels, and provoke the tiuxly day : 
By this the brides are waked, their grooms are 
dress'd ; bm 

All Rhodes is summon'd to the nuptial feast, 
All but myself, the sole unbidden guest. 
Unbidden though I am, I will be there, 
And, join'd by thee, intend to joy the fair. 

Now hear the rest ; when day resigns the 
light, 5 « 

And cheerful torches gild the jolly night, 
Be ready at my call ; my chosen few 
With arms administer'd shall aid thy crew. 
Then entering unexpected will we seize 
Our destined prey, from men dissolved in ease; 55 ° 
By wine disabled, unprepared for fight : 
And hastening to the seas, suborn our flight : 
The seas arc ours, for I command the fort, 
A ship well mann'd expects us in the port : 
If they, or if their friends, the prize contest, 55 ° 
Death shall attend the man who dares resist. 

It pleased : the prisoner to his hold retired, 
His troop with equal emulation fired, 
All fix'd to fight, and all their wonted work 
required. H " 

The sun arose; the streets were throng'd around, 
The palace open'd, and the posts were crown'd. 
The double bridegroom at the door attends 
The expected spouse, and entertains the friends ; 
They meet, they lead to church, the priests in- 
voke 
The Powers, and feed the flames with fragrant 
smoke. 5(i5 

This done, they feast, and at the close of night 
By kindled torches vary their delight, 
These lead the lively dance, and those the 
brimming bowls invito. 
Now, at the appointed place and hour assign'd, 
With souls resolved the ravishcrs were join'd : ! "" 
Three bands are form'd ; the first is sent before 
To favour the retreat, and guard the shore ; 
The second at the palace-gate is placed, 
And up the lofty stairs ascend the last : 
A peacoful troop they seem with shining vests/ 1 ' 5 
But coats of mail beneath secure their breasts. 
Dauntless they enter, Cymon at their head, 
And find the feast ronew'd, the table spread : 



Sweet voices, mix'd with instrumental sounds, 
Ascend the vaulted roof, the vaulted roof re- 
bounds. ' 
When, like the harpies, rushing through the hall 
The sudden troop appears, the tallies fall, 
Their smoking load is on the pavement thrown ; 
Each ravisher prepares to seize his own : 
The brides, invaded with a rude embrace, ^ 
Shriek out for aid, confusion fills the place. 
Quick to redeem the prey their plighted lords 
Advance, the palace gleams with shining swords. 

But late is all defence, and succour vain ; 
The rape is made, the ravishcrs remain : sao 

Two sturdy slaves were only sent before 
To bear the purchased prize in safety to the shore. 
The troop retires, the lovers close the real-, 
With forward faces not c< qfessing fear : 
Backward they move, but ocorn their pace to 
mend ; 695 

Then seek the stairs, and with slow haste descend. 

Fierce Pasimond, their passage to prevent, 
Thrust full on Cymou's back in his descent, 
The blade return'd unbathed, and to the handle 

bent. 
Stout Cymon soon remounts, and cleft in two m 
His rival's head with one descending blow : 
And as the next in rank Ormisda stood, 
He turu'd the point; the sword, inured to blood, 
Bored his unguarded breast, which pour'd a 

purple flood. 
With vow'd revenge the gathering crowd pur- 
sues, m* 
The ravishers turn head, the fight renews ; 
The hall is heap'd with corpse ; the sprinkled gore 
Besmears the walls, and floats the marble floor. 
Dispersed at length the drunken squadron flies 
The victors to their vessel bear the prize ; 01 ° 
And hear behind loud groans, and lamentable 

cries. 
The crew with merry shouts their anchors weigh, 
Then ply their oars, and brush the buxom sea 
While troops of gather' d Rhodians crowd the quay 
What should the people do when left alone i G ' 5 
The governor and government are gone. 
The public wealth to foreign parts convey 'd ; 
Some troops disbanded, and the rest unpaid. 
Rhodes is the sovereign of the sea no more ; 
Their ships unrigg'd, and spent their naval store ; c -"° 
They neither could defend, nor can pursue, 
But grind their teeth, and cast a helpless view : 
In vain with darts a distant w;u - they try ; 
Short, and more short, the missive weapons fly. 
Meanwhile the ravishers their crimes enjoy, ^ 
And Hying sails and sweeping oars employ : 
The cliffs of Rhodes in little space are lost, 
Jove's isle they seek, nor Jove denies his coast. 

In safety landed on the Candian shore, 
With generous wines their spirits they restore : <!X 
There (Anion with his Rhodian friend resides; 
Both court, and wed at once the willing brides. 
A war ensues, the Cretans own their cause. 
Stiff to defend their hospitable laws : 
Both parties -lose by turns ; and neither win-. 
Till peace propounded by a truce begins. 
The kindred of the slain forgive the deed, 
But a short exile must for show precede : 
The term expired, from Candia they remove, 
And happy each, at borne, enjoys his love. 



284 DEDICATION. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM OYID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



TO THE EIGHT HONOURABLE LORD RADCLIFEE.* 



My Lord, 
These Miscellany Poems are by many titles yours. The first they claim from your acceptance of 
my promise to present them to you, before some of them were yet in being. The rest are derived 
from your own merit, the exactness of your judgment hi poetry, and the candour of your nature ; 
easy to forgive some trivial faults, when they come accompanied with countervailing beauties. But, 
after all, though these are your equitable claims to a dedication from other poets, yet I must acknow- 
ledge a bribe in the case, which is your particular liking of my verses. It is a vanity common to all 
writers to overvalue their own productions ; and it is better for me to own this faihng in myself, 
than the world to do it for me. For what other reason have I spent my life in so unprofitable a 
study 1 why am I grown old in seeking so barren a reward as fame 1 The same parts and application, 
which have made me a poet, might have raised me to any honours of the gown, which are often given 
to men of as little learning and less honesty than myself. No government has ever been, or ever can 
be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost. The persons are only changed, 
but the same jugglings in state, the same hypocrisy in religion, the same self-interest, and mis- 
management, will remain for ever. Blood and money will be lavished in all ages, only for the 
preferment of new faces, with old consciences. There is too often a jaundice in the eyes of great 
men ; they see not those whom they raise in the same colours with other men. All whom they 
affect, look golden to them, when the gilding is only in their own distempered sight. These 
considerations have given me a kind of contempt for those who have risen by unworthy ways. I am 
not ashamed to be little, when I see them so infamously great ; neither do I know why the name of 
poet should be dishonourable to me, if I am truly one, as I hope I am ; for I will never do any thing 
that shall dishonour it. The notions of morality are known to all men : none can pretend ignorance 
of those ideas which are in-born in mankind : and if I see one thing, and practise the contrary, 
I must be disingenuous, not to acknowledge a clear truth, and base, to act against the light of my 
own conscience. For the reputation of my honesty, no man can question it, who has any of his own : 
for that of my poetry, it shall either stand by its own merit, or fall for want of it. Ill writers are 
usually the sharpest censors ; for they (as the best poet and the best patron said) 

" When in the full perfection of decay, 
Turn vinegar, and come again in play." 

Thus the corruption of a poet is the generation of a critic : I mean of a critic in the general 
acceptation of this age ; for formerly they were quite another species of men. They were defenders 
of poets, and commentators on their works ; to illustrate obscure beauties ; to place some passages in 
a better light ; to redeem others from malicious interpretations ; to help out an author's modesty, 
who is not ostentatious of his wit ; and, in short, to shield him from the ill-nature of those fellows, 
who were then called Zoili and Momi, and now take upon themselves the venerable name of censors. 

* Prefixed to the Third Volume of Dryden's Miscellany Poems .printed in 1693. 



DEDICATION. 285 



But neither Zoilus, nor he who endeavoured to defame Virgil, were ever adopted into the name of 
critics by the ancients : what their reputation was then, we know ; and their successors in this age 
deserve no better. Are our auxiliary forces turned our enemies ? are they, who at best arc but wits 
of the second order, and whose only credit amongst readers is what they obtained by being sub- 
servient to the fame of writers, are these become rebels of slaves, and usurpers of subjects '! or, to 
speak in the most honourable terms of them, are they from our seconds become principals against 
us 1 Does the ivy undermine the oak, which supports its weakness ? What labour would it cost 
them to put in a better line, than the worst of those which they expunge in a true poet 1 Petroniu^, 
the greatest wit perhaps of all the Romans, yet when his envy prevailed upon his judgment to fall 
on Lucan, he fell himself in his attempt : he performed worse in his Essay of the Civil War, than the 
author of the Pharsalia; and avoiding his errors, has made greater of his own. Julius Scaligcr would 
needs turn down Homer, and abdicate him after the possession of three thousand years : has he 
succeeded in his attempt 1 He has indeed shown us some of those imperfections in him, which are 
incident to human kind; but who had not rather be that Homer than this Scnligcr] You sec the 
same hypercritic, when he endeavours to mend the beginning of Claudian (a faulty poet, and living 
in a barbarous age), yet how short he comes of him, and substitutes such verses of his own as deserve 
the ferula ! What a censure has he made of Lucan, that he rather seems to bark than sing ! Woidd 
any but a dog have made so snarling a comparison ? One would have thought he had learned Latin 
as late as they tell us he did Greek. Yet he came off, with a pace tud, by your good leave, Lucan ; 
he called him not by those outrageous names, of fool, booby, and blockhead : he had somewhat more 
of good manners than his successors, as he had much more knowledge. We have two sorts of those 
gentlemen in our nation : some of them proceeding with a seeming moderation and pretence of 
respect to the dramatic writers of the last age, only scorn and vilify the present poets, to set up their 
predecessors. But this is only in appearance ; for their real design is nothing less than to do honour 
to any man, besides themselves. Horace took notice of such men in his age : 

" Non ingeniis favet ille sepultis; 

Nostra sed impugnat ; nos nostraque lividua odit." 

It is not with an ultimate intention to pay reverence to the manes of Shakspeare, Fletcher, and 
Ben Jonson, that they commend their writings, but to throw dirt on the writers of this age : then 
declaration is one thing, and their practice is another. By a seeming veneration to our fathers, they 
would thrust out us their lawful issue, and govern us themselves, under a specious pretence of 
reformation. If they could compass their intent, what would wit and learning get by such a ahange ! 
If we are bad poets, they are worse ; and when any of their woful pieces come abroad, the difference 
is so great betwixt them and good writers, that there need no criticisms on our part to decide it. 
When they describe the writers of this age, they draw such monstrous figures of them, as resemble 
none of us : our pretended pictures are so unlike, that it is evident we never sat to them : they arc 
all grotesque ; the products of their wild imaginations, things out of nature, so fax- from being copied 
from us, that they resemble nothing that ever was, or ever can be. But there is another sort of 
insects, more venomous than the former. Those who manifestly aim at the destruction of our 
poetical Church and State, who allow nothing to their countrymen, cither of this or of the former 
age ; these attack the living by raking up the ashes of the dead ; well knowing that if they can subvert 
their original title to the stage, we who claim under them must fall cf course. Peace be to the 
venerable shades of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson : none of the living will presume to havo any com- 
petition with them: as they were our predecessors, so they were our masters. We trail our 
plays under them, but (as at the funerals of a Turkish emperor)' our ensigns arc furled or dragged 
upon the ground, in honour to the dead ; so we may lawfully advance our own, afterwards, to show 
that we succeed : if less in dignity, yet on the same foot and title, which we think too wo can 
maintain against the insolence of our own janizaries. If I am the man, as I have reason to believe, 
who am seemingly courted, and secretly undermined; I think I shall be able to defend myself, when 
I am openly attacked : and to show besides that the Grcok writers only gave us the rudiments of a 
stago which they never finished : that many of the tragedies in the former age amongst us wore 
without comparison beyond those of Sophocles and Euripides. But at present, I havo neither the 
leisure nor tho means for such an undertaking. It is ill going to law for an estate with him who is 



286 DEDICATION. 



in possession of it, and enjoys the present profits, to feed his cause. But the quantum mutatus may 
be remembered in due time. In the meanwhile, I leave the world to judge, who gave the provocation. 

This, my Lord, is, I confess, a long digression, from Miscellany Poems to modern tragedies ; but I have 
the ordinary excuse of an injured man, who will be telling his tale unseasonably to his betters ; though 
at the same time I am certain you are so good a friend as to take a concern in all things which belong 
to one who so truly honours you. And besides, being yourself a critic of the genuine sort, who have read 
the best authors in their own languages, who perfectly distinguish of their several merits, and in general 
prefer them to the moderns, yet, I know, you judge for the English tragedies, against the Greek and Latin, 
as well as against the French, Italian, and Spanish, of these latter ages. Indeed there is a vast difference 
betwixt arguing like Perrault in behalf of the French poets, against Homer and Virgil, and betwixt giving 
the English, poets their undoubted due of excelling iEschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles. For 
if we, or our greater fathers, have not yet brought the drama to an absolute perfection, yet at 
least we have carried it much farther than those ancient Greeks; who, beginning from a 
chorus, could never totally exclude it, as we have done;, who find it an unprofitable incum- 
brance, without any necessity of entertaining it amongst us; and without the possibility of 
establishing it here, unless it were supported by a public charge. Neither can we accept of those 
lay-bishops, as some call them, who, under pretence of reforming the stage, would intrude themselves 
upon us, as our superiors, being indeed incompetent judges of what is manners, what religion, and, 
least of all, what is poetry and good sense. I can tell them in behalf of all my fellows, that 
when they come to exercise a jurisdiction over us, they shall have the stage to themselves, as 
they have the laurel. As little can I grant that the French dramatic writers excel the English : our 
authors as far surpass them in genius, as our soldiers excel theirs in courage. It is true, in conduct 
they surpass us either way ; yet that proceeds not so much from their greater knowledge, as from 
the difference of tastes in the two nations. They content themselves with a thin design, without 
episodes, and managed by few persons. Our audience will not be pleased but with variety of 
accidents, an underplot, and many actors. They follow the ancients too servilely in the mechanic 
rules, and we assume too much license to ourselves in keeping them only in view, at too great a 
distance. But if our audience had their tastes, our poets could more easily comply with them, than 
the French writers could come up to the sublimity of our thoughts, or to the difficult variety of our 
designs. However it be, I dare establish it for a rule of practice on the stage, that we are bound to 
please those whom we pretend to entertain ; and that at any price, religion and good manners only 
excepted ; and I care not much, if I give this handle to our bad illiterate poetasters, for the defence 
of their Scriptions, as they call them. There is a sort of merit in delighting the spectators ; which 
is a name more proper for them than that of auditors ; or else Horace is in the wrong, when he 
commends Lucilius for it. But these common-places I mean to treat at greater leisure : in the 
meantime, submitting that little I have said to your Lordship's approbation, or your censure, and 
choosing rather to entertain you this way, as you are a judge of writing, than to oppress your 
modesty with other commendations ; which, though they are your due, yet would not be equally 
received in this satirical and censorious age. That which cannot without injury be denied to you, is 
the easiness of your conversation, far from affectation or pride ; not denying even to enemies their 
just praises. And this, if I would dwell on any theme of this nature, is no vulgar commendation to 
your Lordship. Without flattery, my Lord, you have it in your nature to be a patron and encourager 
of good poets, but your fortune has not yet put into your hands the opportunity of expressing it. 
What you will be hereafter, may be more than guessed by what you are at present. You maintain 
the character of a nobleman, without that haughtiness which generally attends too many of the 
nobility ; and when you converse with gentlemen, you forget not that you have been of their order. 
You are married to the daughter of a king, who, amongst her other high perfections, has derived from 
him a charming behaviour, a winning goodness, and a majestic person. The Muses and the Graces 
are the ornaments of your family ; while the Muse sings, the Grace accompanies her voice : even the 
servants of the Muses have sometimes had the happiness to hear her, and to receive their 
inspirations from her. 

I will not give myself the liberty of going farther ; for it is so sweet to wander in a pleasing way, 
that I should never arrive at my journey's end. To keep myself from being belated in my letter, and 
tiring your attention, I must return to the place where I was setting out. I humbly dedicate to your 
Lordship my own labours in this Miscellany ; at the same time, not arrogating to myself the privilege 



DEDICATION. 287 



of inscribing to you the works of others who are joined with me in this undertaking, over which I can 
pretend no right. Your lady and you have done me the favour to hear me read my translations of 
Ovid, and you both seemed not to be displeased with them. Whether it be the partiality of an old 
man to his youngest child, I know not; but they appear to me the best of all my endeavours in this 
kind. Perhaps this poet is more easy to be translated than some others, whom I have lately 
attempted ; perhaps, too, he was more according to my genius. He is certainly more palatable to the 
reader than any of the Roman wits, though some of them are more lofty, some more instructive, and 
others more correct. He had learning enough to make him equal to the best. But as his verse 
came easily, he wanted the toil of application to amend it. He is often luxuriant both in his fancy 
and expressions, and as it has lately been observed, not always natural If wit be pleasantly, he 
has it to excess; but if it be propriety, Lucretius, Horace, and, above all, Virgil, are his superiors. 
I have said so much of him already in my preface to his Heroical Epistles, that there remains 
little to be added in this place. For my own part, I have endeavoured to copy his character what I 
could in this translation, even, perhaps, farther than I should have done ; to his very faults. 
Mr. Chapman, in his translation of Homer, professes to have done it somewhat paraphrastically, and 
that on set purpose ; his opinion being, that a good poet is to be translated in that manner. 
I remember not the reason which he gives for it ; but I suppose it is for fear of omitting any of his 
excellencies ; sure I am, that if it be a fault, it is much more pardonable than that of those who run 
into the other extreme of a literal and close translation, where the poet is confined so straitly to his 
author's words, that he wants elbow-room to express his elegancies. He leaves him obscure ; he 
leaves him prose, where he found him verse : and no better than thus has Ovid been served by the 
so much admired Sandys. This is at least the idea which I have remaining of his translation ; for I 
never read him since I was a boy. They who take him upon content, from the praises which their 
fathers gave him, may inform their judgment by reading him again, and see (if they understand the 
original) what is become of Ovid's poetry in his version ; whether it be not all, or the greatest part 
of it, evaporated. But this proceeded from the wrong judgment of the age in which he lived. They 
neither knew good verso nor loved it ; they were scholars, it is true, but they were pedants. And 
for a just reward of their pedantic pains, all their translations want to be translated into English. 

If I flatter not myself, or if my friends have not flattered me, I have given my author's sense, for the 
most part, truly : for to mistake sometimes is incident to all men, and not to follow the Dutch com- 
mentators always, may be forgiven to a man who thinks them, in the general, heavy, gross-witted 
fellows, fit only to gloss on their own dull poets. But I leave a farther satire on their wit, till I have 
a better opportunity to show how much I love and honour them. I have likewise attempted to 
restore Ovid to his native sweetness, easiness, and smoothness ; and to give my poetry a kind of 
cadence, and, as we call it, a run of verse, as like the original, as the English can come up to the Latin. 
As he seldom uses any Synalocphas, so I have endeavoured to avoid them, as often as I could : I have 
likewise given him his own turns, both on the words and on the thought, which I cannot say are 
inimitable, because I have copied them; and so may others, if they use the same diligence: but 
certainly they are wonderfully graceful in this poet. Since I have named the Synalcepha, which is the 
cutting off one vowel immediately before another, I will give an example of it from Chapman's Homer, 
which lies before me ; for the benefit of those who understand not the Latin Prosodia. It is in the 
first line of the argument to the first Iliad : 

" Apollo's priest to th' Argivc fleet doth bring," &c. 

There we see he makes it not the Argivc, but th' Argive, to shun the shock of the two vowels, imme- 
diately following each other ; but, in his second argument, in tho same page, he gives a bad example of 
the quite contrary kind : 

" Alpha the pray'r of Chryses sings : 
The army's plague, the strife of kings." 

In these words the army's, the ending with a vowel, and army's beginning with another vowel, without 
cutting off tho first, which by it had been th' army's, there remains a most horrible ill-sounding gap 
betwixt those words. I cannot say that I have everywhere observed the rule of the Synalcepha in my 
translation; but wheresoever I have not, it is a fault in sound : the French and the Italians have made 



288 DEDICATION. 



it an inviolable precept in their versification ; therein following the severe example of the Latin poets. 
Our countrymen have not yet reformed their poetry so far, but content themselves with following the 
licentious practice of the Greeks ; who, though they sometimes use Synalcephas, yet make no difficulty 
very often, to sound one vowel upon another ; as Homer does, in the very first line of Alpha. Mtytv 
&«5e 0ea, UrihrfidSfa 'Ax^vos. It is true, indeed, that in the second line, in these words fivp" 'Ax<«ois, 
and &Aye' edrjKe, the Synalcepha in revenge is twice observed. But it becomes us, for the sake of 
Euphony, rather Musas colereseveriores,vnth. the Romans, than to give into the looseness of the Gi'ecians. 

I have tired myself, and have been summoned by the press to send away this Dedication, otherwise 
I had exposed some other 'faults, which are daily committed by our English poets ; which, with care 
and observation, might be amended. For, after all, our language is both copious, significant, and 
majestical, and might be reduced into a more harmonious sound. But, for want of public encourage- 
ment, in this iron age, we are so far from making any progress in the improvement of our tongue, that 
in few years, we shall speak and write as barbarously as our neighbours. 

Notwithstanding my haste, I cannot forbear to tell your Lordship, that there are two fragments of 
Homer translated in this Miscellany ; one by Mr. Congreve (whom I cannot mention without the honour 
which is due to his excellent parts, and that entire affection which I bear him) and the other by myself. 
Both the subjects are pathetical, and I am sure my friend has added to the tenderness which he found 
in the original, and, without flattery, surpassed his author. Yet I must needs say this in reference 
to Homer, that he is much more capable of exciting the manly passions than those of grief and 
pity. To cause admiration, is indeed the proper and adequate design of an epic poem : and in that 
he has excelled even Virgil ; yet, without presuming to arraign our master, I may venture to affirm, 
that he is somewhat too talkative, and more than somewhat too digressive. This is so manifest, 
that it cannot be denied, in that little parcel which I have translated, perhaps too literally : there 
Andromache, in the midst of her concernment and fright for Hector, runs off her bias, to tell him 
a story of her pedigree, and of the lamentable death of her father, her mother, and her seven 
brothers. The devil was in Hector if he knew not all this mattei-j as well as she who told it him ; 
for she had been his bedfellow for many years together : and if he knew it, then it must be confessed, 
that Homer, in this long digression, has rather given us his own character, than that of the fair lady 
whom he paints. His dear friends, the commentators, who never fail him at a pinch, will needs 
excuse him, by making the present sorrow of Andromache to occasion the remembrance of all the 
past ; but others think that she had enough to do with that grief which now oppressed her, without 
running for assistance to her family. Virgil, I am confident, would have omitted such a work of 
supererogation. But Virgil had the gift of expressing much in little, and sometimes in silence : for 
though he yielded much to Homer in invention, he more excelled him in his admirable judgment. 
He drew the passion of Dido for iEneas in the most lively and most natural colours imaginable. 
Homer was ambitious enough of moving pity; for he has attempted twice on the same subject of 
Hector's death : first, when Priam and Hecuba beheld his corpse, which was dragged after the chariot 
of Achilles ; and then in the lamentation which was made over him, when his body was redeemed 
by Priam ; and the same persons again bewail his death, with a chorus of others to help the cry. 
But if this last excite compassion in you, as I doubt not but it will, you are more obliged to the 
translator than the poet : for Homer, as I observed before, can move rage better than he can pity : 
he stirs up the irascible appetite, as our philosophers call it; he provokes to murther, and the 
destruction of God's images ; he forms and equips those ungodly man-killers, whom we poets, when 
we flatter them, call heroes ; a race of men who can never enjoy quiet in themselves till they have 
taken it from all the world. This is Homer's commendation, and such as it is, the lovers of peace, 
or at least of more moderate heroism, will never envy him. But let Homer and Virgil contend for 
the prize of honour betwixt themselves, I am satisfied they will never have a third concurrent. I 
wish Mr. Congreve had the leisure to translate him, and the world the good nature and justice to 
encourage him in that noble design, of which he is more capable than any man I know. The Earl of 
Mulgrave and Mr. Waller, two of the best judges of our age, have assured me, that they could never 
read over the translation of Chapman without incredible pleasure and extreme transport. This 
admiration of theirs must needs proceed from the author himself : for the translator has thrown him 
down as low as harsh numbers, improper English, and a monstrous length of verse could carry him. 
AVhat, then, would he appear in the harmonious version of one of the best writers, living in a much 
better age than was the last 1 I mean for versification, and the art of numbers : for in the drama we 



THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



289 



have not arrived to the pitch of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson. But here, my Lord, I am forced to 
break off abruptly, without endeavouring at a compliment in the close. This Miscellany is, without 
dispute, one of the best of the kind, which has hitherto been •extant in our tongue. At least 
Samuel Tuke has said before me, a modest man may praise what is not his own. My fellows fa 
need of any protection, but I humbly recommend my part of it, as much as it deserves, to your 
patronage and acceptance, and all the rest to your forgiveness. 



I am, my Lord, your Lordship's most obedient Servant, 

JOHN DRYDEN. 



THE FIRST BOOK OF 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



Op bodies changed to various forms I sing : 

Ye gods, from whence these miracles did spring, 

Inspire my numbers with celestial heat ; 

Till I my long laborious work complete ; 

And add perpetual tenor to my rhymes, 5 

Deduced from nature's birth to Csesar's times. 

Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball, 
And heaven's high canopy, that covers all, 
One was the face of nature, if a face ; 
Rather a rude and indigested mass : 10 

A lifeless lump, unfashion'd, and unframed, 
Of jarring seeds, and justly Chaos named. 
No sun was lighted up the world to view ; 
No moon did yet her blunted horns renew : 
Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky ; ,5 

Nor, poised, did on her own foundations lie : 
Nor seas about the shores their arms had thrown ; 
But earth, and ah', and water, were in one. 
Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable, 
And water's dark abyss unnavigable. M 

No certain form on any was impress'd ; 
All were confused, and each disturb'd the rest. 
For hot and cold were in one body fix'd, 
And soft with hard, and light w'ith heavy mix'd. 

But God, or Nature, while they thus contend, a 
To these intestine discords put an end. 
Then earth from air, and seas from earth were 

driven, 
And grosser air sunk from ethereal heaven. 
Thus disembroil'd, they take their proper place ; 
The next of kin contiguously embrace ; 3U 

And foes are sunder'd by a larger space. 
The force of fire ascended first on high, 
And took its dwelling in the vaulted sky. 
Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire ; 
Whose atoms from unactive earth retire. K 

Earth sinks beneath, and draws a numerous throng 
Of ponderous, thick, unwieldy seeds along. 
About her coasts unruly waters roar, 
And, rising on a ridge, insult the shore. 
Tims when the God, whatever God was he, •"> 

Sad form'd the whole, and made the parts agree, 



That no unequal portions might be found, 
He moulded earth into a spacious round : 
Then, with a breath, he gave the winds to blow ; 
And bade the congregated waters flow. -& 

He adds the running springs, and standing lakes 
And bounding banks for winding rivers makes 
Some part in earth are swallow'd up, the most 
In ample oceans, disembogued, are lost. 
He shades the woods, the valleys he restrains ^ 
With rocky mountains, and extends the plains. 
And as five zones the ethereal regions bind, 
Five, correspondent, are to earth assign'd : 
The sun, with rays directly darting down , 
Fires all beneath, and fries the middle zone : M 
The two beneath the distant poles complain 
Of endless winter, and perpetual rain. 
Betwixt the extremes, two happier climates hold 
The temper that partakes of hot and cold. 
The fields of liquid air, enclosing all, 
Surround the compass of this earthly ball : 
The lighter parts lie next the fires above ; 
The grosser near the watery surface move : 
Thick clouds are spread, and storms engender 

there, 
And thunder's voice, which wretched mortals 

fear, K 

And winds that on their wings cold winter bear. 
Nor were those blustering brethren left at large, 
On seas and shores their fury to discharge : 
Bound as they are, and circumscribed in pla 
They rend the world, resistless, where they 

pass ; "" 

And mighty marks of mischief leave behind ; 
Such is the rage of their tempestuous kind. 
First Euros to the rising morn is sent. 
(.The regions of the balmy eontiu> 
And eastern realms, where early Persians run. r "' 
To greet the blest appearance of the sun. 
Westward the wanton Zephyr wings his flight, 
Pleased with the remnants of departing light : 
Fierce Boreas with his offspring issues forth, 
To invade the frozen waggon of the North; 
v 



290 



THE FIRST BOOK OP 



While frowning Auster seeks the southern sphere, 
And rots, with endless rain, the unwholesome year. 

High o'er the clouds, and empty realms of wind, 
The God a clearer space for heaven design'd ; 
Where fields of light, and liquid ether flow, a 
Purged from the ponderous dregs of earth below. 

Scarce had the Power distinguish'd these, when 
straight 
The stars; no longer overlaid with weight, 
Exert their heads from underneath the mass, 
And upward shoot, and kindle as they pass, 90 
And with diffusive light adorn the heavenly place. 
Then, every void of nature to supply, 
With forms of gods he fills the vacant sky : 
New herds of beasts he sends, the plains to share; 
New colonies of birds, to people air ; 95 

And to their oozy beds the finny fish repair. 
A creature of a more exalted kind 
Was wanting yet, and then was Man design'd : 
Conscious of thought, of more capacious breast, 
For empire form'd, and fit to rule the rest : 10 ° 
Whether with particles of heavenly fire 
The God of nature did his soul insph'e ; 
Or earth, but new divided from the sky, 
And pliant still, retain'd the etherial energy: 
Which wise Prometheus teinper'd into paste, 105 
And, mix'd with living streams, the godlike image 

cast. 
Thus, while the mute creation downward bend 
Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend, 
Man looks aloft, and with erected eyes 
Beholds his own hereditary skies. 110 

From such rude principles our form began, 
And earth was metamorphosed into man. 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 



The golden age was first ; when man, yet new, 
No rule but uncorrupted reason knew ; 
And, with a native bent, did good pursue. 115 

Unforced by punishment, unaw'd by fear, 
His words were simple, and his soul sincere : 
Needless was written law, where none oppress'd ; 
The law of man was written in his breast : 
No suppliant crowds before the judge appear'd ; 12 ° 
No court erected yet, nor cause was heard ; 
But all was safe, for conscience was their guard. 
The mountain trees in distant prospect please, 
Ere yet the pine descended to the seas ; 
Ere sails were spread, new oceans to explore ; 125 
And happy mortals, unconcern'd for more, 
Confined their wishes to their native shore. 
No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor 

mound; 
Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound : 
Nor swords were forged ; but, void of care and 

crime, 13n 

The soft creation slept away their time. 
The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough, 
And unprovoked, did fruitful stores allow : 
Content with food, which nature freely bred, 
On wildings and on strawberries they fed ; 1S5 

Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest, 
And falling acorns furnish'd out a feast. 
The flowers, unsown, in fields and meadows 

reign'd ; 
And western winds immortal spring maintain'd. 



In following years the bearded corn ensued l * 
From earth unask'd, nor was that earth renew'd. 
From veins of valleys milk and nectar broke, 
And honey sweating through the pores of oak. 



THE SILVER AGE. 



But when good Saturn, banish'd from above, 
Was driven to hell, the world was under Jove. 145 
Succeeding times a silver age behold, 
Excelling brass, but more excell'd by gold. 
Then Summer, Autumn, Winter did appear, 
And Spring was but a season of the year. 
The sun his annual course obliquely made, m 
Good days contracted, and enlarged the bad. 
Then air with sultry heats began to glow, 
The wings of winds were clogg'd with ice and snow ; 
And shivering mortals, into houses driven, 
Sought shelter from the inclemency of heaven. I55 
Those houses, then, were caves, or homely sheds, 
With twining osiers fenced, and moss their beds. 
Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke, 
And oxen labour'd first beneath the yoke. 



THE BRAZEN AGE. 
■♦ 

To this next came in course the brazen age : 
A warlike offspring prompt to bloody rage, 
Not impious yet 



THE IRON AGE. 



Hard steel succeeded then ; 



And stubborn as the metal were the men. 
Truth, Modesty, and Shame, the world forsook : 165 
Fraud, Avarice, and Force, their places took. 
Then sails were spread to every wind that blew ; 
Raw were the sailors, and the depths were new : 
Trees, rudely hollowed, did the waves sustain ; 
Ere ships in triumph plough'd the watery plain. I7 ° 

Then landmarks limited to each his right : 
For all before was common as the light. 
Nor was the ground alone required to bear 
Her annual income to the crooked share ; 
But greedy mortals, rummaging her store, 17 ° 

Digg'd from her entrails first the precious ore ; 
Which next to hell the prudent gods had laid; 
And that alluring ill to sight display'd ; 
Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold, 
Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold : 
And double death did wretched man invade, lsl 
By steel assaulted, and by gold betray'd. 
Now (brandish'd weapons glittering in their hands) 
Mankind is broken loose from moral bands ; 
No rights of hospitality remain : 
The guest, by him who harbour'd him, is slain : 
The son-in-law pursues the father's life ; 
The wife her husband murders, he the wife. 
The step-dame poison for the son prepares; 
The son inquires into his father's years. 
Faith flies, and Piety in exile mourns ; 
And Justice here oppress'd, to heaven returns. 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



291 



THE GIANTS' WAR. 



Nor were the gods themselves more safe above ; 
Against beleaguer'd heaven the giants move. 
Hills piled on hills, on mountains mountains lie, 196 
To make their mad approaches to the sky. 
Till Jove, no longer patient, took his time 
To avenge with thunder their audacious crime : 
Red lightning play'd along the firmament, 
And their demolish'd works to pieces rent. 20 ° 

Singed with the flames, and with the bolts trans- 

fix'd, 
With native earth their blood the monsters mix'd ; 
The blood, indued with animating heat, 
Did in the impregnate earth new sons beget : 
They, hike the seed from which they sprung, 
accursed, wi 

Against the gods immortal hatred nursed : 
An impious, arrogant, and cruel brood ; 
Expressing their original from blood. 
Which when the king of gods beheld from high 
(Withal revolving inhis memory, 2I0 

What he himself had found on earth of late, 
Lycaon's guilt, and his inhuman treat) 
He sigh'd, nor longer with his pity strove ; 
But kindled to a wrath becoming Jove ; 
Then call'd a general council of the gods ; 2 ' 5 

Who, summon'd, issue from their blest abodes, 
And fill the assembly with a shining train. 
A way there is in heaven's expanded plain, 
Which, when the skies are clear, is seen below, 
And mortals by the name of milky know. ~° 

The groundwork is of stars ; through which the road 
Lies open to the thunderer's abode. 
The gods of greater nations dwell around, 
And on the right and left the palace bound ; 
The commons where they can ; the nobler sort, 228 
With winding doors wide open, front the court. 
This place, as far as earth with heaven may vie, 
I dare to call the Louvre of the sky. 
When all were placed, in scats distinctly known, 
And he, their father, had assumed the throne, 23 ° 
Upon his ivory sceptre first he leant, 
Then shook his head, that shook the firmament : 
Air, earth, and seas, obey'd the almighty nod ; 
And, with a general fear, confess'd the god. 
At length, with indignation, thus he broke S3& 
His awful silence, and the powers bespoke. 

I was not more concern'd in that debate 
Of empire, when our universal state 
Was put to hazard, and the giant race 
Our captive skies were ready to embrace : 24<l 

For though the foe was fierce, the seeds of all 
Rebellion sprung from one original ; 
Now wheresoever ambient waters glide, 
All are corrupt, and all must be destroy'd. 
Let me this holy protestation make : 245 

By hell, and hell's inviolable lake, 
I tried whatever in the god-head lay ; 
But gangrened members must he lopp'd away, 
Before the nobler parts are tainted to decay. 
There dwells below a race of demigods, 26 " 

Of nymphs in waters, and of fauns in woods ; 
Who, though not worthy yet in heaven to live, 
Let 'em at least onjoy that earth we give. 

Ver. 248. But grnngi-onod ] Jupiter talks likp a surgeon 
Dr. J. Wahton. 



Can these be thought securely lodged below, 
When I myself, who no superior know, *• 

I, who have heaven and earth at my command, 
Have been attempted by Lycaon's hand 1 

At this a murmur through the synod went, 
And with one voice they vote his punishment. 
Thus, when conspiring traitors dared to doom 2C0 
The fall of Caesar, aud in him of Rome, 
The nations trembled with a pious fear, 
All anxious for their earthly thunderer; 
Nor was their care, Caesar, less esteem'd 
By thee, than that of heaven for Jove was deem'd : 
Who with his hand, and voico, did first restrain 2M 
Their murmurs, then resumed his speech again. 
The gods to silence were composed, and sate 
With reverence due to his superior state. 

Cancel your pious cares ; already he *° 

Has paid his debt to justice, and to me. 
Yet what his crimes, and what my judgments were, 
Remains for me thus briefly to declare. 
The clamours of this vile degenerate age, 
The cries of orphans, and the oppressor's rage, Zli 
Had reach'd the stars ; I will descend, said I, 
In hope to prove this loud complaint a lie. 
Disguised in human shape, I travell'd round 
The world, and more than what I heard, I found. 
O'er Mamalus I took my steepy way, 2S0 

By caverns infamous for beasts of prey. 
Then cross'd Cyllene, and the piny shade, 
More infamous by cursed Lycaon made : 
Dai'k night had cover'd heaven and earth, before 
I enter'd his unhospitable door. 285 

Just at my entrance, I display 'd the sign 
That somewhat was approaching of divine. 
The prostrate people pray ; the tyrant grins ; 
And, adding profanation to his sins, 
I '11 try, said he, and if a god appear, 2911 

To prove his deity shall cost him dear. 
'Twas late ; the graceless wretch my death pre- 
pares, 
When I should soundly sleep, oppress'd with cares : 
This dire experiment he chose, to prove 
If I were mortal, or undoubted Jove : 29i> 

But first he had resolved to taste my power : 
Not long before, but in a luckless hour, 
Some legates sent from the Molossian state, 
Were on a peaceful errand come to treat : 
Of these he murders one, he boils the flesh, 30 ° 
And lays the mangled morsels in a dish : 
Some part he roasts ; then serves it up so dress'd, 
And bids me welcome to this human feast. 
Moved with disdain, the table I o'erturn'd, 
And with avenging flames the palace buru'd. 30b 
The tyrant, in a fright, for shelter gains 
Thencighb'ring fields, and scours along the plains. 
Howling he fled, and fain he would have spoke, 
But human voice his brutal tongue forsook. 
About his lips the gather'd foam he churns, 31 " 
And breathing slaughter, still with rage he burns. 
But on the bleating flock his fury turns. 
His mantle, now his hide, with nigged hairs 
Cleaves to his back ; a famish'd face he beai-s ; 
His arms descend, his shoulders sink away, 3I ' 
To multiply his legs for chase of prey. 
He grows a wolf, his hoarincss remains, 
And the same rage in other members reigns. 
His eyes still sparkle in a narrower s|>: 
His jaws retain the grin, and violence <>!" his face. 

This was a single ruin, but not one 
Deserves so just a punishment alone. 

o a 



292 



THE FIRST BOOK OF 



Mankind 's a monster, and the ungodly times, 
Confederate into guilt, are sworn to crimes. 
All are alike involved in ill, and all les 

Must by the same relentless fury fall. 

Thus ended he ; the greater gods assent, 
By clamours urging his severe intent ; 
The less fill up the cry for punishment. 
Yet still with pity they remember man ; 330 

And mourn as much as heavenly spirits can. 
They ask, when those were lost of human birth, 
What he would do with all his waste of earth t 
If his dispeopled world he would resign' 
To beasts, a mute, and more ignoble line ? 335 

Neglected altars must no longer smoke, 
If none were left to worship and invoke. 
To whom the father of the gods replied : 
Lay that unnecessary fear aside : 
Mine be the care new people to provide. 340 

I will from wondrous principles ordain 
A race unlike the first, and try my skill again. 

Already had he toss'd the flaming brand, 
And roll'd the thunder in his spacious hand ; 
Preparing to discharge on seas and land : 3J5 

But stopp'd for fear, thus violently driven, 
The sparks should catch his axletree of heaven. 
Remembering, in the Fates, a time, when fire 
Should to the battlements of heaven aspire, 
And all his blazing worlds above should burn, 350 
And all the inferior globe to cinders turn. 
His dire artillery thus dismiss'd, he bent 
His thoughts to some securer punishment : 
Concludes to pour a watery deluge down ; 
And, what he durst not burn, resolves to drown. 

The Northern breath, that freezes floods, he 
binds ; 356 

With all the race of cloud-dispelling winds : 
The South he loosed, who night and horror brings ; 
And fogs are shaken from his flaggy wings. 
From his divided beard two streams he pours ; 30 ° 
His head and rheumy eyes distil in showers. 
With rain his robe and heavy mantle flow : 
And lazy mists are lowering on his brow. - 
Still as he swept along, with his clench'd fist, 
He squeezed the clouds; the imprison'd clouds 
resist : 365 

The skies, from pole to pole, with peals resound ; 
And showers enlarged come pouring on the 

ground. 
Then clad in colours of a various die, 
Junonian Iris breeds a new supply 
To feed the clouds : impetuous rain descends ; 37 ° 
The bearded corn beneath the burthen bends : 
Defrauded clowns deplore their perish'd grain ; 
And the long labours of the year are vain. 

Nor from his patrimonial heaven alone 
Is Jove content to pour his vengeance down : 375 
Aid from his brother of the seas he craves, 
To help him with auxiliary waves. 
The watery tyrant calls his brooks and floods, 
Who roll from mossy caves, their moist abodes ; 
And with perpetual urns his palace fill : 3S0 

To whom, in brief, he thus imparts his will. 

Small exhortation needs ; your powers employ ; 
And this bad world (so Jove requires) destroy. 
Let loose the reins to all your watery store : 
Bear down the dams, and open every door. 385 

The floods by nature enemies to land, 
And proudly swelling with their new command, 
Remove the living stones that stopp'd their way, 
And, gushing from their source, augment the sea. 



Then, with his mace, their monarch struck the 
ground : m 

With inward trembling earth received the wound ; 
And rising streams a ready passage found. 
The expanded waters gather on the plain, 
They float the fields, and overtop the grain ; 
Then rushing onwards, with a sweepy sway, 395 
Bear flocks, and folds, and labouring hinds 

away. 
Nor safe their dwellings were ; for, sapp'd by 

floods, 
Their houses fell upon their household gods. 
The solid piles, too strongly built to fall, 
High o'er their heads behold a watery wall. *° 
Now seas and earth were in confusion lost ; 
A world of waters, and without a coast. 

One climbs a cliff; one in his boat is borne, 
And ploughs above, where late he sow'd his 

corn. 
Others o'er chimney-tops and turrets row, ** 

And drop their anchors on the meads below : 
Or downward driven, they bruise the tender 

vine, 
Or toss'd aloft, are knock'd against a pine. 
And where of late the kids had cropp'd the 

grass, 
The monsters of the deep now take then- place. 410 
Insulting Nereids on the cities ride, 
And wondering dolphins o'er the palace glide. 
On leaves, and masts of mighty oaks they browse, 
And their broad fins entangle in the boughs. 
The frighted wolf now swims among the sheep ; 
The yellow lion wanders in the deep : 416 

His rapid force no longer helps the boar : 
The stag swims faster than he ran before. 
The fowls, long beating on their wings in vain, 
Despair of land, and drop into the main. 42 ° 

Now hills and vales no more distinction know, 
And levell'd nature lies oppress'd below. 
The most of mortals perish in the flood, 
The small remainder dies for want of food. 
A mountain of stupendous height there stands 4 ' 25 
Betwixt the Athenian and Boeotian lands, 
The bound of fruitful fields, while fields they 

were, 
But then a field of waters did appear : 
Parnassus is its name; whose forky rise 
Mounts through the clouds, and mates the lofty 
skies. «o 

High on the summit of this dubious cliff, 
Deucalion wafting moor'd his little skiff. 
He with his wife were only left behind 
Of perish'd man ; they two were human kind. 
The mountain-nymphs and Themis they adore, 435 
And from her oracles relief implore. 
The most upright of mortal men was he ; 
The most sincere and holy woman, she. 

When Jupiter, surveying earth from high, 
Beheld it in a lake of water lie, 44 ° 

That, whei-e so many millions lately lived, 
But two, the best of either sex, survived, 
He loosed the northern wind ; fierce Boreas flies 
To puff away the clouds, and purge the skies : 
Serenely, while he blows, the vapours driven 445 
Discover heaven to earth, and earth to heaven. 
The billows fall, while Neptune lays his mace 
On the rough sea, and smooths its furrow'd face. 
Already Triton, at his call, appears 
Above the waves ; a Tyrian robe he wears ; 450 
And in his hand a crooked trumpet bears. 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



293 



The sovereign bids him peaceful sounds inspire, 
And give the waves the signal to retire. 
His writhon shell he takes, whose narrow vent 
Grows by degrees into a large extent ; 465 

Then gives it breath ; the blast, with doubling 

sound, 
Runs the wide circuit of the world around. 
The sun first heard it, in his early East, 
And met the rattling echoes in the West. 
The waters, listening to the trumpet's roar, 4G0 
Obey the summons, and forsake the shore. 

A thin circumference of land appears ; 
And Earth, but not at once, her visage rears, 
And peeps upon the seas from upper grounds : 
The streams, but just contain'd within their 
bounds, 4G5 

By slow degrees into their channels crawl ; 
And earth increases as the waters fall. 
In longer time the tops of trees appear, 
Which mud on their dishonour'd branches bear. 

At length the world was all restored to view, 470 
But desolate, and of a sickly hue : 
Nature beheld herself, and stood aghast, 
A dismal desert, and a silent waste. 

Which when Deucalion, with a piteous look, 
Beheld, he wept, and thus to Pyrrha spoke : 475 
Oh, wife, oh sister, oh of all thy kind 
The best and only creature left behind, 
By kindred, love, and now by dangers join'd ; 
Of multitudes, who breathed the common ah-, 
We two remain ; a species in a pair ; 4S0 

The rest the seas have swallow'd ; nor have we 
E'en of this- wretched life a certainty. 
The clouds are still above ; and, while I speak, 
A second deluge o'er our heads may break. 
Should I be snatch'd from hence, and thou re- 
main, 435 
Without relief, or partner of thy pain, 
How could'st thou such a wretched life sustain'! 
Should I be left, and thou be lost, the sea, 
That buried her I loved, should bury me. 
Oh, could our father his old arts inspire, 49 ° 
And make me heir of his informing fire, 
That so I might abolish'd man retrieve, 
And pcrish'd people in new souls might live ! 
But Heaven is pleased, nor ought we to complain, 
That wo, the examples of mankind, remain. 495 
He said : the careful couple join their tears, 
And then invoke the gods, with pious prayers. 
Thus in devotion having cased their grief, 
From sacred oracles they seek relief: 
And to Ccphisus' brook their way pursue : 5U0 
The stream was troubled, but the ford they 

know. 
With living waters in the fountain bred, 
They sprinkle first their garments, and their head, 
Then took the way which to the temple led. 
The roofs were all defiled with moss and mire, S05 
The desert altars void of solemn firo. 
Before the gradual prostrate they adored, 
The pavement kiss'd ; and thus the saint im- 
plored. 
righteous Themis, if the powers above 
By prayers arc bent to pity, and to love ; 51 ° 

If human mseries can move their mind ; 
If yet they can forgive, and yet bo kind ; 
Tell how we may restore, by second birth, 
Mankind, and people desolated earth. 
Then thus the gracious goddess, nodding, said : M,i 
Depart, and with your vestments veil your head : 



And stooping lowly down, with loosen'd zones, 
Throw each behind your backs your mighty 

mother's bones. 
Amazod the pair, and mute with wonder, stand, 
Till Pyrrha first refused the dire command. 6 - u 
Forbid it Heaven, said she, that I should bear 
Those holy relics from the sepuchrc. 
They ponder'd the mysterious words again, 
For some new sense ; and long they sought in 

vain. 
At length Deucalion clcar'd his cloudy brow, 525 
And said : The dark enigma will allow 
A meaning, which, if well I understand, 
From sacrilege will free the god's command : 
This earth our mighty mother is, the stones 
In her capacious body are her bones : 63 ° 

These wo must cast behind. With hope, and fear, 
The woman did the new sorption hear : 
The man diffides in his own augury, 
And doubts the gods ; yet both resolve to tiy. 
Descending from the mount, they first unbind ■''■'■' 
Their vests, and, veil'd, they cast the stones 

behind : 
The stones (a miracle to mortal view, 
But long tradition makes it pass for time) 
Did first the rigour of then- kind expel, 
And suppled into softness as they fell ; 5 *° 

Then swell'd, and, swelling, by degrees grew 

warm ; 
And took the rudiments of human form ; 
Imperfect shapes, in marble such are seen, 
When the rude chisel does the man begin ; 
While yet the roughness of the stone remains, ^^ 
Without the rising muscles, and the veins. 
The sappy parts, and next resembling juice, 
Wore turn'd to moisture, for the body's use : 
Supplying humours, blood, and nourishment : 
The rest, too solid to receive a bent, 
Converts to bones ; and what was once a vein, 
Its former name and nature did retain. 
By help of power divine, in little space, 
What the man threw assumed a manly face ; 
And what tho wife, renew'd the femalo race. 
Hence we derive our nature, born to bear, 
Laborious life, and harden'd into care. 

The rest of animals from teeming earth, 
Produced in various forms, received their birth. 
The native moisture, in its close retreat, MU 

Digested by the sun's ethereal heat, 
As in a kindly womb, began to breed : 
Then swell'd, and quicken'd by the vital seed. 
And some in less, and some in longer space, 5G4 
Were ripen'd into form, and took a several face. 
Thus when the Nile from Pharian Gelds is fled, 
And seeks, with ebbing tides, his ancient bed, 
The fat manure with heavenly lire is warm'd, 
And crusted creatures, as in wombs, are form'd : 
Theso, when they turn tho glebe, the pc> 

find : '<» 

Some rude, and yet unfuiish'd in their kind : 
Short of their limbs, a lame imperfect birth ; 
Ono half alive, and one of lifeless earth. 

For heat and moisture, when in bodies join'd, 
The temper that results from either kind, 
Conception makes; and lighting, till they mix. 
Their mingled atoms in each other fix. 
Thus nature's hand tho genial bed prepares 
With friendly discord, and with fruitful warn 

From hence the surface of the ground wil 
And slime besmeaFd (the (a ces of the flood) Ml 



294 



THE FIRST BOOK OF 



Received the rays of heaven ; and sucking in 
The seeds of heat, new creatures did begin : 
Some were of several sorts produced before ; 
But of new monsters earth created more. 585 

Unwillingly, but yet she brought to light 
Thee, Python, too, the wondering world to fright, 
And the new nations, with so dire a sight. 
So monstrous was his bulk, so large a space 
Did his vast body and long train embrace : 690 
Whom Phoebus basking on a bank espied, 
Ere now the god his arrows had not tried 
But on the trembling deer, or mountain-goat ; 
At this new quarry he prepares to shoot. 
Though every shaft took place, he spent the 

store Md 

Of his full quiver ; and 'twas long before 
The exphing serpent wallow'd in his gore. 
Then to preserve the fame of such a deed, 
For Python slain, he Pythian games decreed, 
Where noble youths for mastership should 

strive, 
To quoit, to run, and steeds and chariots drive. 6M 
The prize was fame, in witness of renown, 
An oaken garland did the victor crown. 
The laurel was not yet for triumphs borne, 
But every green alike by Phcebus worn 605 

Did, with promiscuous grace, his flowing locks 

adorn. 



THE TRANSFORMATION OF DAPHNE 
INTO A LAUREL. 



The first and fairest of his loves was she, 
Whom not blind fortune, but the dire decree 
Of angry Cupid forced him to desire : 
Daphne her name, and Peneus was her sire. 610 
Swell'd with the pride that new success attends, 
He sees the stripling, while his bow he be'nds, 
And thus insults him : Thou lascivious boy, 
Are arms like these for children to employ ? 
Know, such achievements are my proper claim; 615 
Due to my vigour and unerring aim : 
Resistless are my shafts, and Python late, 
In such a feather'd death, has found his fate. 
Take up thy torch, and lay my weapons by ; 
With that the feeble souls of lovers fry. 62 ° 

To whom the son of Venus thus replied : 
Phoebus, thy shafts are sure on all beside ; 
But mine on Phcebus : mine the fame shall be 
Of all thy conquests, when I conquer thee. 

He said, and soaring swiftly wing'd his flight ; 625 
Nor stopp'd but on Parnassus' airy height. 
Two different shafts he from his quiver draws ; 
One to repel desire, and one to cause. 



Ver. 610. Daphne her name,'] I shall not disturb and 
disgust the reader, in these notes, by a series of mythological 
tales, and histories of the heathen gods, but in humble 
imitation of Addison in his remarks subjoined to his trans- 
lations of Ovid, from time to time endeavour to point out 
his beauties and blemishes, especially the mixture of false 
■wit and false brilliancy so conspicuous in this hasty and 
fertile writer. And though we may frequently praise him, 
cannot possibly assent to an outrageous parados advanced 
by Dryden, "that Ovid excels Virgil in the pathetic, and 
particularly in describing the effects of the passion of love." 
Dr, J "Warton. 



One shaft is pointed with refulgent gold, 

To bribe the love, and make the lover bold : 630 

One blunt, and tipp'd with lead, whose base allay 

Provokes disdain, and drives desire away. 

The blunted bolt against the nymph he dress' d, 

But with the sharp transfix' d Apollo's breast. 

The enamour'd deity pursues the chase ; 635 
The scornful damsel shuns his loathed embrace ; 
In hunting beasts of prey her youth employs ; 
And Phoebe rivals in her rural joys. 
With naked neck she goes, and shoulders bare, 
And with a fillet binds her flowing hair. 64 ° 

By many suitors sought, she mocks their pains, 
And still her vow'd virginity maintains. 
Impatient of a yoke, the name of bride 
She shuns, and hates the joys she never tried. 
On wilds and wood she fixes her desire : "* 

Nor knows what youth and kindly love inspire. 
Her father chides her oft : Thou ow'st, says he, 
A husband to thyself, a son to me. 
She, like a crime, abhors the nuptial bed : 
She glows with blushes, and she hangs her head. 
Then, casting round his neck her tender arms, M1 
Soothes him with blandishments, and filial charms : 
Give me, my lord, she said, to live and die 
A spotless maid, without the marriage-tie. 
'Tis but a small request ; I beg no more 655 

Than what Diana's father gave before. 
The good old sire was soften'd to consent ; 
But said her wish would prove her punishment : 
For so much youth, and so much beauty join' d, 
Opposed the state which her desires design'd. 66 ° 

The god of light, aspiring to her bed, 
Hopes what he seeks, with flattering fancies fed ; 
And is by his own oracles misled. 
And as in empty fields the stubble burns, 
Or nightly travellers, when day returns, 66S 

Their useless torches on dry hedges throw, 
That catch the flames, and kindle all the row ; 
So burns the god, consuming in desire, 
And feeding in his breast the fruitless fire : 
Her well-turn'd neck he view'd (her neck was 
bare) ■ W> 

And on her shoulders her dishevell'd hair : 
Oh, were it comb'd, said he, with what a grace 
Would every waving curl become her face ! 
He view'd her eyes, like heavenly lamps that shone ; 
He view'd her lips, too sweet to view alone, c?6 
Her taper fingers, and her panting breast ; 
He praises all he sees, and for the rest, 
Believes the beauties yet unseen are best. 
Swift as the wind, the damsel fled away, 
Nor did for these alluring speeches stay : 
Stay, nymph, he cried, I follow, not a foe : 
Thus from the lion trips the trembling doe ; 
Thus from the wolf the frighten'd lamb removes, 
And from pursuing falcons fearful doves ; 
Thou shunn'st a god, and shunn'st a god that loves. 
Ah, lest some thorn should pierce thy tender foot, 
Or thou should'st fall in flying my pursuit ! 
To sharp uneven ways thy steps decline ; 
Abate thy speed, and I will bate of mine. 
Yet think from whom thou dost so rashly fly ; mo 
Nor basely born, nor shepherd's swain am I. 
Perhaps thou know'st not my superior state ; 
And from that ignorance proceeds thy hate. 
Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos obey ; 
These hands the Patareian sceptre sway. 
The king of gods begot me : what shall be, 
Or is, or ever was, in fate, I see. 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



295 



Mine is tho invention of the charming lyre ; 
Sweet notes, and heavenly numbers I inspire. 
Sure is my bow, unerring is my dart ; 7<w 

But, ah, more deadly his, who pierced my heart ! 
Med'cine is mine ; what herbs and simples grow 
In fields and forests, all their powers I know ; 
And am the great physician call'd below. 
Alas, that fields and forests can afford 705 

No remedies to heal their love-sick lord ! 
To cure the pains of love, no plant avails ; 
And his own physic the physician fails. 

She heard not half, so furiously she flies, 
And on her ear the imperfect accent dies. 71 ° 

Fear gave her wings ; and as she fled, the wind 
Increasing spread her flowing hair behind ; 
And left her legs and thighs exposed to view ; 
Which made the god more eager to pursue. 
Tho god was young, and was too hotly bent 7 ' 5 
To lose his time in empty compliment : 
But led by love, and fired by such a sight, 
Impetuously pursued his near delight. 

As when the impatient greyhound, slipt from 
far, 
Bounds o'er the glebe, to course the fearful 
hare, ? 20 

She in her speed does all her safety lay ; 
And he with double speed pursues tho prey ; 
O'erruns her at the fitting turn, and licks 
His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix : 
She 'scapes, and for the neighb'ring covert strives, 
And gaining shelter, doubts if yet she lives : 7 - 6 
If little things with great we may compare, 
Such was the god, and such the flying fail 1 : 
She, urged by fear, her feet did swiftly move, 
But he more swiftly, who was urged by love. 73 ° 
He gathers ground upon her in the chase ; 
Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace ; 
And just is fastening on the wish'd embrace. 
The nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright, 
Spent with the labour of so long a flight ; T 35 

And now despairing, east a mournful look 
Upon the streams of her paternal brook : 
Oh, help, she cried, in this extremest need, 
If water-gods are deities indeed : 
Gape, Earth, and this unhappy wretch entomb : 7 ''° 
Or change my form whence all my sorrows come ! 
Scarce had she finish'd, when her feet she found 
Bcnumb'd with cold, and fasten'd to the ground : 
A filmy rind about her body grows, 
Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs : 7ii 
The nymph is all into a laurel gone, 
The smoothness of her skin remains alone. 
Yet Phoebus loves her still, and casting round 
Her bole his arms, some little warmth he found. 
The tree still panted in the unfinish'd part, 75 ° 
Not wholly vegetive, and heaved her heart. 
He fix'd bis lips upon the trembling rind ; 
It swerved aside, and his embrace declined. 
To whom the god : Because thou canst not be 
My mistress, I espouse thee for my tree : 7M 

Be thou the prize of honour and renown ; 
The dcatldcss poet, and tho poem, crown. 
Thou shaft the Roman festivals adorn, 
And, after poets, bo by victors worn. 
Thou shaft returning Caosar's triumph grace ; 76 ° 
When pomps shall in a long procession pass : 
A\ reathed on tho post before his palace wait; 
And be the sacred guardian of the gate : 
Secure from thunder, and unharm'd by Jove, 
Unfading as tho immortal powers above : 7C5 



And as the locks of Phoebus are unshorn, 
So shall perpetual green thy boughs adorn. 
The grateful tree was pleased with what he said, 
And shook the shady honours of her head 



THE TRANSFORMATION OF 10 INTO 
AN HEIFER. 



An ancient forest in Tlicssalia grows, 77u 

Which Tempo's pleasant valley does enclose : 
Through this the rapid Peneus takes his course, 
From Pindus rolling with impetuous force : 
Mists from the river's mighty fall arise, 
And deadly damps enclose the cloudy skies : "• 
Perpetual fogs are hanging o'er the wood, 
And sounds of waters deaf the neighbourhood. 
Deep in a rocky cave he makes abode ; 
A mansion proper for a mourning god. 
Here ho gives audience ; issuing out decrees ' SJ 
To rivers, his dependent deities. 
On this occasion hither they resort, 
To pay their homage, and to make their court ; 
All doubtful, whether to congratulate 
His daughter's honour, or lament her fate. ' '•• 
Sperchreus, crown'd with poplar, first appeal's; 
Then old Apidanus came, crown'd with years : 
Enipeus turbulent, Amphrysos tame ; 
And ^Eas last, with lagging waters, came. 
Then of his kindred brooks a numerous throng 
Condole his loss, and bring their urns along. ' 91 
Not one was wanting of the watery train, 
That fill'd his flood, or mingled with the main, 
But Inachus, who, in his cave alone, 
Wept not another's losses, but his own ; 79S 

For his dear Io, whether stray'd, or dead, 
To him uncertain, doubtful tears he shed. 
He sought her through the world, but sought in 

vain; 
And, nowhere finding, rather fear'd her slain. 

Her just returning from her father's brook, 800 
Jove had beheld, with a desiring look ; 
And, Oh, fair daughter of the flood, he said, 
Worthy alone of Jove's imperial bed, 
Happy, whoever shall those charms possess ! 
The king of gods (nor is thy lover less) 80i 

Invites thee to yon cooler shades, to shun 
The scorching rays of the meridian sun. 
Nor shalt thou tempt the dangers of the grove 
Alone without a guide ; thy guide is Jove. 
No puny power, but he, whose high command sl ° 
Is unconfined, who rules the seas and laud, 
And tempers thunder in his awful hand. 
Oh, fly not; for she fled from bis embrace 
O'er Lcrna's pastures : lie pursued the chase 
Along tho shades of the Lyrcioan plain. 815 

At length the god, who never asks in vain, 
Involved with vapours, imitating night, 
Both air and earth ; and then supprees'd her 

flight, 
And, mingling force with love, enjoy 'd the full 

delight. 
Meantime tlic jealous Juno, from on high, 
Survey 'd the fruitful fields of \ir.idy; 
And wonder'd that the mist should overrun 
The face of daylight, and obscure the sun. 



296 



THE FIRST BOOK OP 



No natural cause she found, from brooks or bogs, 

Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs : 825 

Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter, 

Her faithless husband ; but no Jove was there. 

Suspecting now the worst, Or I, she said, 

Am much mistaken, or am much betray'd. 

With fury she precipitates her flight, m 

Dispels the shadows of dissembled night, 

And to the day restores his native light. 

The almighty lecher, careful to prevent 

The consequence, foreseeing her descent, 

Transforms his mistress in a trice ; and now 835 

In Io's place appears a lovely cow. 

So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make, 

E'en Juno did unwilling pleasure take 

To see so fair a rival of her love ; 

And what she was, and whence, inquired of 

Jove ; m 

Of what fair herd, and from what pedigree 1 
The god, half-caught, was forced upon a lie ; 
And said she sprung from earth. She took the 

word, 
And begg'd the beauteous heifer of her lord. 
What should he do ? 'twas equal shame to Jove 
Or to relinquish, or betray his love : S46 

Yet to refuse so slight a gift, would be 
But more to increase his consort's jealousy : 
Thus fear, and love, by turns his heart assail'd ; 
And stronger love had sure at length prevail'd, S3 ° 
But some faint hope remain'd, his jealous queen 
Had not the mistress through the heifer seen. 
The cautious goddess, of her gift possess'd, 
Yet harbour'd anxious thoughts within her 

breast ; 
As she who knew the falsehood of her Jove, 855 
And justly fear'd some new relapse of love : 
Which to prevent, and to secure her care, 
To trusty Argus she commits the fair. 

The head of Argus (as with stars the skies) 
Was compass'd round, and wore an hunched 

eyes. 86 ° 

But two by turns their lids in slumber steep ; 
The rest on duty still their station keep ; 
Nor could the total constellation sleep. 
Thus, ever present to his eyes and mind, 
His charge was still before him, though behind. 865 
In fields he suffer'd her to feed by day ; 
But, when the setting sun to night gave way, 
The captive cow he summon'd with a call, 
And drove her back, and tied her to the stall. 
On leaves of trees and bitter herbs she fed, ^ 
Heaven was her canopy, bare earth her bed; 
So hardly lodged : and to digest her food, 
She drank from troubled streams, defiled with 

mud. 
Her woful story fain she would have told, 
With hands upheld, but had no hands to hold. 875 
Her head to her ungentle keeper bow'd, 
She strove to speak ; she spoke not, but she low'd. 
Affrighted with the noise, she look'd around, 
And seem'd to inquire the author of the sound. 
Once on the banks where often she had 

play'd, m 

(Her father's banks) she came, and there survey'd 
Her alter'd visage, and her branching head ; 
And, starting, from herself she would have fled. 
Her fellow-nymphs, familiar to her eyes, 
Beheld, but knew her not in this disguise. sss 

EVn Inachus himself was ignorant ; 
And in his daughter did his daughter want. 



She follow* d where her fellows went, as she 
Were still a partner of the company : 
They stroke her neck; the gentle heifer stands, S9 ° 
And her neck offers to their stroking hands. 
Her father gave her grass ; the grass she took ; 
And lick'd his palms, and cast a piteous look ; 
And in the language of her eyes she spoke. 
She would have told her name, and ask'd relief, S95 
But, wanting words, in tears she tells her grief : 
Which with her foot she makes him understand ; 
And prints the name of Io in the sand. 
Ah, wretched me ! her mournful father cried ; 
She, with a sigh, to wretched me replied : 9U0 

About her milk-white neck his arms he threw, 
And wept, and then these tender words ensue. 
And art thou she, whom I have sought around 
The world, and have at length so sadly found ? 
So found, is worse than lost : with mutual 

words 905 

Thou answer'st not, no voice thy tongue affords : 
But sighs are deeply drawn from out thy 

breast ; 
And speech denied by lowing is express'd. 
Unknowing, I prepared thy bridal bed ; 
With empty hopes of happy issue fed. 91u 

But now the husband of a herd must be 
Thy mate, and bellowing sons thy progeny. 
Oh, were I mortal, death might bring relief ! 
But now my godhead but extends my grief; 
Prolongs my woes, of which no end I see, 915 

And makes me curse my immortality. 
More had he said, but fearful of her stay, 
The starry guardian drove his charge away, 
To some fresh pasture ; on a hilly height 
He sat himself, and kept her still in sight. xo 



THE EYES OF ARGUS TRANSFORMED 
INTO A PEACOCK'S TRAIN. 



Now Jove no longer could her sufferings bear : 
But call'd in haste his airy messenger, 
The son of Maia, with severe decree 
To kill the keeper, and to set her free. 
With all his harness soon the god was sped ; 925 
His flying hat was fasten'd on his head ; 
Wings on his heels were hung, and in his hand 
He holds the virtue of the snaky wand. 
The liquid air his moving pinions wound, 
And, in the moment, shoot him on the ground. 
Before he came in sight, the crafty god 931 

His wings dismiss'd, but still retain'd his rod : 
That sleep-procuring wand wise Hermes took, 
But made it seem to sight a shepherd's hook. 
With this he did a herd of goats control ; 935 

Which by the way he met, and slily stole. 
Clad like a country swain, he piped, and sung ; 
And, playing, drove his jolly troop along. 

With pleasure Argus the musician heeds ; 
But wonders much at those new vocal reeds. 94 ° 
And, Whosoe'er thou art, my friend, said he, 
Up hither drive thy goats, and play by me : 
This hill has browse for them, and shade for thee. 
The god, who was with ease induced to climb, 
Began discourse to pass away the time ; *■* 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



207 



And still, betwixt, his tuneful pipe ho plies ; 

.And watch'd his hour, to close the keeper's eyes. 

With much ado, he partly kept awake ; 

Not suffering all his eyes repose to take : 

And ask'd the stranger, who did reeds invent, 950 

And whence began so rare an instrument. 



THE TRANSFORMATION OF SYRINX 
INTO REEDS. 

Then Hermes thus : A nymph of late there was, 
Whose heavenly form her fellows did surpass. 
The pride and joy of fair Arcadia's plains; 
Beloved by deities, adored by swains : ^ 

Syrinx her name, by Sylvans oft pursued, 
As oft she did the lustful gods delude : 
The rural and the woodland powers disdain'd ; 
With Cynthia hunted, and her rites maintain'd ; 
Like Phcebe clad, e'en Phoebe's self she seems, 96 ° 
So tall, so straight, such well-proportiou'd limbs : 
The nicest eye did no distinction know, 
But that the goddess bore a golden bow : 
Distinguish'd thus, the sight she cheated too. 
Descending from Ly casus, Pan admires 96s 

The matchless nymph, and burns with new de- 
sires. 
A crown of pine upon his head he wore ; 
And thus began her pity to implore. 
But ere he thus began, she took her flight 
So swift, she was already out of sight : 9 '° 

Nor stay'd to hear the courtship of the god ; 
But bent her course to Ladon's gentle flood : 
There by the river stopp'd, and, tired before, 
Relief from water-nymphs her prayers implore. 

Now while the lustful god, with speedy pace, 975 
Just thought to strain her in a strict embrace, 
He fills his arms with reeds, new rising on the 

place. 
And while he sighs his ill success to find, 
The tender canes were shaken by the wind ; 
And breathed a mournful air, unheard before ; 98 ° 
That, much surprising Pan, yet pleased him 

more. 
Admiring this new music, Thou, he said, 
Who canst not be the partner of my bed, 
At least shalt be the consort of my mind ; 
And often, often, to my lips be join'd. 9S5 

He form'd the reeds, proportion'd as they are : 
Unequal in their length, and wax'd with care, 
They still retain the name of his ungrateful fair. 
While Hermes piped, and sung, and told his 
tale, 
The keeper's winking eyes began to fail, "° 

And drowsy slumber on the lids to creep ; 
Till all the watchman was at length asleep. 
Thou soon the god his voice and song suppress'd; 
And with his powerful rod confirm'd his rest : 
Without delay his crooked fauchion drew, " 5 
And at ono fatal stroke the keeper slew. 
Down from the rock fell tho dissever'd head, 
Opening its eyes in death, and falling bled ; 
And mark'd tho passage with a crimson trail : 
Thus Argus lies in pieces, cold and pale; 100 ° 

And all his hundred eyes, with all their light, 
Are closed at onco in ono perpetual night. 



These Juno takes, that they no more may fail, 
And spreads them in her peacock's gaudy tail. 

Impatient to revenge her injured bed, 10U5 

She wreaks her anger on her rival's head ; 
With furies frights her from her native: home, 
And drives her gadding round the world to roam: 
Nor ceased her madness and her flight, b 
She touch'd the limits of the Pharian shore. lol ° 
At length, arriving on the banks of Nile, 
Wearied with length of ways, and worn with toil, 
She laid her down : and, leaning on her knees, 
Invoked the cause of all her miseries: 
And cast her languishing regards above, lm 

For help from heaven, and her ungrateful Jove. 
She sigh'd, she wept, she low'd; 'twas all she 

could ; 
And with unkindness seem'd to tax the god. 
Last, with an humble prayer; she begg'd repose, 
Or death at least to finish all her woes. ltr -'° 

Jove heard her vows, and with a flattering look, 
In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke. 
He cast his arms about her neck, and said : 
Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed 
This nymph shall violate ; by Styx I swear, 10i ' 
And every oath that binds tho Thunderer. 
The goddess was appeased ; and at the word 
Was Io to her former shape restored. 
Tho nigged hair began to fall away ; 
The sweetness of her eyes did only stay, IM0 

Though not so large ; her crooked horns de- 
crease ; 
The widencss of her jaws and nostrils cease : 
Her hoofs to hands return, in little space ; 
The five long taper fingers take their place ; 
And nothing of the heifer now is seen, 10S5 

Beside the native whiteness of her skin. 
Erected on her feet she walks again, 
And two the duty of the four sustain. 
She tries her tongue, her silence softly breaks, 
And fears her former lowiugs when she speaks : 
A goddess now through all the Egyptian state ; 
And served by priests, who in white linen wait 

Her son was Epaphus, at length believed 
The son of Jove, and as a god received. 
With sacrifice adored, and public prayers, lW5 
He common temples with his mother shares. 
Equal in years, and rival in renown 
With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton 
Like honour claims, and boasts his sire the Sun. 
His haughty looks, and his assuming air, 
The son of Isis could no longer bear : 
Thou tak'st thy mother's word too far, said ho, 
And hast usurp'd thy boasted pedigree. 
Go, base pretender to a borrow'd name ! 
Thus tax'd, he blush'd with anger, and with 

shame ; 
But shame repress'd his rage: the daunted youth 
Soon seeks his mother, and inquires the truth : 
Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown 
By Epaphus on you, and me your son. 
He spoke in public, told it to my face : 
Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace : 
Ev'n I, the bold, the sensible of wrong. 
Restrain'd by shame, was forced to hold my 

tongue. 
To hear an open Blander, is a curse ; 
But not to find an answer, is a worse. 

Ver. 1024. Dump, rest] A vulgar form Indeed, unnvrttiy 
of the god. Dr. J. W.wuox. 



298 



MELEAGER AND ATALANTA. 



If I am heaven-begot, assert your son 

By some sure sign ; and make my father 

known; 
To right my honour, and redeem your own. 
He said, and saying cast his arms about 
Her neck, and begg'd her to resolve the dovibt. 

'Tis hard to judge if Clymene were moved l071 
More by his prayer, whom she so dearly loved, 
Or more with fury fired, to find her name 
Traduced, and made the sport of common fame. 
She stretch'd her arms to heaven, and fix'd her 
eyes 10 ' 5 

On that fair planet that adorns the skies ; 
Now by those beams, said she, whose holy fires 
Consume my breast, and kindle my desires ; 
By him who sees us both, and cheers our sight, 
By him, the public minister of light, lm 

I swear that Sun begot thee : if I lie, 
Let him his cheerful influence deny : 
Let him no more this perjured creature see, 
And shine on all the world but only me. 
If still you doubt your mother's innocence, I085 
His eastern mansion is not far from hence; 
AVith little pains you to his levee go, 
And from himself your parentage may know. 
With joy the ambitious youth his mother heard, 
And eager for the journey soon prepared. lm 

He longs the world beneath him to survey ; 
To guide the chariot, and to give the day : 
From Meroe's burning sands he bends his course, 
Nor less in India feels his father's force ; 
His travel urging, till he came in sight, I095 

And saw the palace by the purple light. 



MELEAGER AND ATALANTA. 

OUT OF THE EIGHTH BOOK OP 

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. ' 

Connection to the former Story. 



Ovid, having told how Theseus had freed Athens from the 
tribute of children, which was imposed on them hy Minos, 
king of Creta, hy killing the Minotaur, here makes a 
digression to the story of Meleager and Atalanta, which 
is one of the most inartificial connections in all the 
Metamorphoses : for he only says, that Theseus obtained 
such honour from that combat, that all Greece had re- 
course to him in their necessities ; and, amongst others, 
Calydon, though the hero of that country, prince Meleager, 
was then living. 

Fbom him the Calydonians sought relief; 

Though valiant Meleagrus was their chief. 

The cause, a boar, who ravaged far and near, 

Of Cynthia's wrath the avenging minister. 

For GSneus, with autumnal plenty bless'd, 5 

By gifts to heaven his gratitude express'd : 

Cull'd sheafs, to Ceres ; to Lyeeus, wine ; 

To Pan, and Pales, offer'd sheep and kine ; 

And fat of olives to Minerva's shrine. 

Beginning from the rural gods, his hand I0 

Was liberal to the powers of high command : 

Each deity in every kind was bless'd, 

Till at Diana's fane the invidious honour ceased. 

Wrath touches ev'n the gods ; the queen of night 

Fired with disdain, and jealous of her right, 15 



Unhonour'd though I am, at least, said she, 
Not unrevenged that impious act shall be. 
Swift as the word, she sped the boar away, 
With charge on those devoted fields to prey. 
No larger bulls the ^Egyptian pastures feed, M 
And none so large Sicilian meadows breed : 
His eye-balls glare with fire, suffused with blood ; 
His neck shoots up a thick-set thorny wood ; 
His bristled back a trench impaled appears, 
And stands erected, like a field of spears. 
Froth fills his chaps, he sends a grunting sound, 
And part he churns, and part befoams the ground. 
For tusks with Indian elephants he strove, 
And Jove's own thunder from his mouth he drove. 
He burns the leaves ; the scorching blast invades 
The tender corn, and shrivels up the blades : 31 
Or, suffering not their yellow beards to rear, 
He tramples down the spikes, and intercepts the 

year. 
In vain the barns expect their promised load, 
Nor barns at home, nor reeks are heap'd abroad : 
In vain the hinds the threshing-floor prepare, 36 
And exercise their flails in empty air. 
With olives ever green the ground is strow'd, 
And grapes ungather'd shed their generous blood. 
Amid the fold he rages, nor the sheep 40 

Their shepherds, nor the grooms their bulls can 

keep. 
From fields to walls the frighted rabble run, 
Nor think themselves secure within the town : 
Till Meleagrus, and his chosen crew, 
Contemn the danger, and the praise pursue. 45 
Fair Leda's twins, (in time to stars decreed) 
One fought on foot, one curb'd the fiery steed; 
Then issued forth famed Jason after these, 
Who mann'd the foremost ship that sail'd the 

seas; 
Then Theseus, join'd with bold Pirithous, came, 50 
A single concord, in a double name : 
The Thestian sons, Idas who swiftly ran, 
And Cseneus, once a woman, now a man. 
Lynceus, with eagle's eyes, and lion's heart ; 
Leucippus, with his never-erring dart ; 55 

Acastus, Phileus, Phcsnix, Telamon, 
Echion, Lelex, and Eurytion, 
Achilles' father, and great Phocus' son ; 
Dryas the fierce, and Hippasus the strong ; 
With twice old Iolas, and Nestor then but young. 
Laertes active, and Ancseus bold ; 61 

Mopsus the sage, who future things foretold ; 
And t' other seer yet by his wife unsold. 
A thousand others of immortal fame ; 
Among the rest fair Atalanta came, M 

Grace of the woods : a diamond buckle bound 
Her vest behind, that else had flow'd upon the 

ground, 
And shov/d her buskin'd legs ; her head was 

bare, 
But for her native ornament of hair; 
Which in a simple knot was tied above, 70 

Sweet negligence, unheeded bait of love ! 
Her sounding quiver on her shoulder tied, 
One hand a dart, and one a bow supplied. 
Such was her face, as in a nymph displayed 
A fair fierce boy, or in a boy betray" d 76 

The blushing beauties of a modest maid. 
The Calydonian chief at once the dame 
Beheld, at once his heart received the flame, 
With heavens averse. Oh happy youth, he cried; 
For whom thy fates reserve so fair a bride ! 80 



MELEAGER AND ATALANTA. 



299 



He sigh'd, and had no leisure more to say; 

His honour call'd his eyes another way, 

And forced him to pursue the now neglected 

prey. 
There stood a forest on the mountain's brow, 
Which overlook'd the shaded plains below. M 

No sounding axe presumed those trees to bite ; 
Coeval with the world, a venerable sight. 
The heroes there arrived, some spread around 
The toils, some search the footsteps on the ground, 
Some from the chains the faithful dogs unbound. 
Of action eager, and intent on thought, 91 

The chiefs their honourable danger sought : 
A valley stood below ; the common drain 
Of waters from above, and falling rain : 
The bottom was a moist and marshy ground, 95 
Whose edges were with bending osiers crown'd ; 
The knotty bulrush next in order stood, 
And all within of reeds a trembling wood. 

From hence the boar was roused, and sprung 
amain, 
Like lightning sudden, on the warrior-train ; 10 ° 
Beats down the trees before him, shakes the 

ground, 
The forest echoes to the crackling sound ; 
Shout the fierce youth, and clamours ring around. 
All stood with their protended spears prepared, 
With broad steel heads the brandish'd weapons 

glared. 105 

The beast impetuous with his tusks aside 
Deals glancing wounds ; the fearful dogs divide : 
All spend their mouth aloft, but none abide. 
Echion threw the first, but miss'd his mark, 
And stuck his boar-spear on a maple's bark. no 
Then Jason ; and his javelin seem'd to take, 
But fail'd with over-force, and whizz'd above his 

back. 
Mopsus was next ; but, ere he threw, address'd 
To Phoebus thus : patron, help thy priest ; 
If I adore, and ever have adored 115 

Thy power divine, thy present aid afford ; 
That I may reach the beast. The god allow'd 
His prayer, and, smiling, gave him what he could : 
He reach'd the savage, but no blood he drew ; 
Dian unarm'd the javelin as it flew. 1 -° 

This chafed the boar ; his nostrils flames expire, 
And his red eyeballs roll with living fire. 
Whirl'd from a sling, or from an engine thrown, 
Amidst the foes, so flies a mighty stone, 
As flew the beast; the left wing put to flight, 12i 
The chiefs o'erborno, he rushes on the right. 
Empalamos and Pelagon he laid 
In dust, and next to death, but for their fellows' aid. 
Onesimus fared worse, prepared to fly ; 
The fatal fang drove deep within his thigh, 13 ° 
And cut the nerves; the nerves no more sustain 
Tho bulk; the bulk unpropp'd falls headlong on 

the plain. 
Nestor had fail'd the fall'of Troy to see, 
But, leaning on his lance, ho vaulted on a tree; 13 '' 
Then gathering up his feet, look'd down with fear, 
And thought his monstrous foo was still too near. 
Against a stump his tusk the monster grinds, 
And in tho sharpen'd edge new vigour finds; 
Then, trusting to his anus, young Othrys found, 
And ranuh'd his hips with one continued wound. 
Now Lcda's twins, the future stars, appear; '" 
White were their habits, whito their horses were; 
Conspicuous both, and both in act to throw, 
Their trembling lances brandish'd at the foe: 



Nor had they niiss'd ; but he to thickets fled, "•'■ 
Conceal'd from aiming spears, not pervious to the 

steed. 
But Telamon rush'd in, and happ'd to meet 
A rising root, that held his fasten'd feet; 
So down lie fell, whom, sprawling on the ground, 
His brother from tho wooden gyves unbound. 10 ° 
Meantime the virgin-huntress was not slow 
To expel the shaft from her contracted bow : 
Beneath his ear the fasten'd arrow stood, 
And from the wound appear'd the trickling blood. 
She blush'd for joy : but Meleagrus raised 155 

His voice with loud applause, and the fair archer 

praised. 
He was the first to see, and first to show 
His friends the marks of tho successful blow. 
Nor shall thy valour want the praises due, 
He said ; a virtuous envy M_i/.ed the clew. lw 

They shout; the shouting animates their hearts, 
And all at once employ their thronging darts; 
But out of order thrown, in air they join ; 
■ And multitude makes frustrate the design. 
AVith both his hands the proud Ancseus takes 16s 
And flourishes his double-biting axe : 
Then forward to his fate, ho took a stride 
Before the rest, and to his fellows cried, 
Give place, and mark the difference, if you can, 
Between a woman-warrior and a man ; 1 "° 

The boar is doom'd; nor, though Diana lend 
Her aid, Diana can her beast defend. 
Thus boasted he ; then strctch'd, on tiptoe stood, 
Secure to make his empty promise good. 
But the more wary beast prevents the blow, 17S 
And upward rips the groin of his audacious foe. 
Ancreus falls ; his bowels from the wound 
Rush out, and clotted blood distains the ground. 

Pirithous, no small portion of the war, 
Press'd on, and shook his lance ; to whom from far, 
Thus Theseus cried : stay, my better part, 131 
My more than mistress ; of my heart, the heart : 
The strong may fight aloof : Ancaeus tried 
His force too near, and by presuming died : 
He said, and, while he spake, his javelin threw; 
Hissing in air the unerring weapon flew ; 
But on an arm of oak, that stood betwixt 
The marksman and the mark, his lance he fix'd. 

Once more bold Jason threw, but fail'd to wound 
The boar, and slew an undeserving hound; 13U 
And through the dog the dart was nail'd to 
ground. 

Two spears from Melcagcr's hand were sent, 
AA r ith equal force, but various in the event : 
The first was fix'd in earth, the second stood 
On the boar's bristled back, and deeply drank his 
blood. m 

Now while the tortured salvago turns around, 
And flings about his foam, impatient of the wound ; 
The woimd's great author close at hand provokes 
His rage, and plies him with redoubled strokes; 
AA'heels as he wheels; and with his pointed dart 
Explores tho nearest passage to his heart. 
Quick and more quick he spins in giddy gyres, 
Then falls, and in much foam his soul expin 
This act with shouts heaven-high the friendly band 
Applaud, and strain in theirs the victor's hand. M 
Then all approach the slain with vast BUrpi 
Admire on what a breadth of earth ho 1 
And, scarce secure, reach out their spears afar, 
And blood their points, to prove their partner- 
ship of war. 



300 



MELEAGBR AND ATALANTA. 



But he, the conquering chief, his foot impress'd 210 
On the strong neck of that destructive beast ; 
And gazing on the nymph with ardent eyes, 
Accept, said he, fair Nonacrine, my prize ; 
And, though inferior, suffer me to join 
My labours, and my part of praise, with thine : 215 
At this presents her with the tusky head 
And chine, with rising bristles roughly spread. 
Glad, she received the gift ; and seem'd to take 
With double pleasure, for the giver's sake. 
The rest were seized with sullen discontent, 220 
And a deaf murmur through the squadron went : 
All envied ; but the Thestian brethren show'd 
The least respect, and thus they vent their spleen 

aloud : 
Lay down those honour'd spoils, nor think to 

share, 
Weak woman as thou art, the prize of war : 225 
Ours is the title, thine a foreign claim, 
Since Meleagrus from our lineage came. 
Trust not thy beauty ; but restore the prize, 
Which he, besotted on that face and eyes, 
Would rend from us. At this, inflamed with spite, 230 
From her they snatch the gift, from him the giver's 

right. 
But soon the impatient prince his fauchion drew, 
And cried, Ye robbers of another's due, 
Now leam the difference, at yotir proper cost, 
Betwixt true valour, and an empty boast. 235 

At this advanced, and, sudden as the word, 
In proud Plexippus' bosom plunged the sword : 
Toxeus amazed, and with amazement slow 
Or to revenge, or ward the coming blow, 
Stood doubting; and, while doubting thus he 

stood, ™> 

Received the steel bathed in his brother's blood. 
Pleased with the first, unknown the second news, 
Althfea to the temples pays their dues 
For her son's conquest ; when at length appear 
Her grisly brethren stretch'd upon the bier : 245 
Pale, at the sudden sight, she changed her cheer, 
And with her cheer her robes ; but healing tell 
The cause, the manner, and by whom they fell, 
'Twas grief no more, or grief and rage were one 
Within her soul; at last 'twas rage alone; 28 ° 

Which burning upwards in succession dries 
The tears that stood considering in her eyes. 

There lay a log unlighted on the earth : 
When she was labouring in the throes of birth 
For the unborn chief, the fatal sisters came, 255 
And raised it up, and toss'd it on the flame : 
Then on the rock a scanty measure place 
Of vital flax, and turn'd the wheel apace ; 
And turning sung, To this red brand and thee, 
O new-born babe, we give an equal destiny : 260 
So vanish'd out of view. The frighted dame 
Sprung hasty from her bed, and quench'd the flame : 
The log, in secret lock'd, she kept with care, 
And that, while thus preserved, preserved her heir. 
This brand she now produced; and first she 

strows 2C:i 

The hearth with heaps of chips, and after blows; 
Thrice heaved her hand, and heaved, she thrice 

repress'd : 
The sister and the mother long contest, 
Two doubtful titles in one tender breast ; 
And now her eyes and cheeks with fury glow, %" 
Now pale her cheeks, her eyes with pity flow ; 
Now lowering looks presage approaching storms, 
And now prevailing love her face reforms : 



Resolved, she doubts again ; the tears, she dried 

With blushing rage, are by new tears supplied ; Tti 

And as a ship, which winds and waves assail, 

Now with the current drives, now with the gale, 

Both opposite, and neither long prevail, 

She feels a double force, by turns obeys 

The imperious tempest, and the impetuous 

seas : 28U 

So fares Althtea's mind ; first she relents 
With pity, of that pity then repents : 
Sister and mother long the scales divide, 
But the beam nodded on the sister's side. 
Sometimes she softly sigh'd, then roar'd aloud ; 285 
But sighs were stifled in the cries of blood. 

The pious impious wretch at length decreed, 
To please her brother's ghosts, her son should 

bleed ; 
And when the funeral flames began to rise, 
Receive, she said, a sister's sacrifice : 29 ° 

A mother's bowels burn : high in her hand, 
Thus while she spoke, she held the fatal brand ; 
Then thrice before the kindled pile she bow'd, 
And the three Furies thrice invoked aloud : 
Come, come, revenging sisters, come and view 2 ' J5 
A sister paying her dead brothers' due ; 
A crime I punish, and a crime commit ; 
But blood for blood, and death for death is fit : 
Great crimes must be with greater crimes repaid, 
And second funerals on the former laid. 
Let the whole household in one ruin fall, 
And may Diana's curse o'ertake us all. 
Shall fate to happy QSneus still allow 
One son, while Thestius stands deprived of two 1 
Better three lost, than one unpunish'd go. 305 

Take then, dear ghosts, (while yet, admitted new 
In hell, you wait my duty) take your due ; 
A costly offering on your tomb is laid, 
When with my blood the price of yours is paid. 

Ah ! whither am I hunied? Ah ! forgive, ' m 
Ye shades, and let your sister's issue live ; 
A mother cannot give him death ; though he 
Deserves it, he deserves it not from me. 

Then shall the unpunish'd wretch insult the 

slain, 
Triumphant live 1 not only live, but reign 1 3,s 
While you, thin shades, the sport of winds are 

toss'd 
O'er dreary plains, or tread the burning coast. 
I cannot, cannot bear ; 'tis past, 'tis done ; 
Perish this impious, this detested son; 
Perish his sire, and perish I withal ; 32 ° 

And let the house's heir, and the hoped kingdom 

fall. 
Where is the mother fled, her pious love, 
And where the pains with which ten months I 

strove ! 
Ah ! hadst thou died, my son, in infant years, 
Thy little hearse had been bedew'd with tears. 32d 

Thou liv'st by me ; to me thy breath resign ; 
Mine is the merit, the demerit thine. 



Ver. 295. Come, come, revenging sisters,'] Ovid seems 
here to imitate Catullus : 

" Quare, facta virum multantes vindice poena 
Eumenides, quibus anguineo redimita capillo, 
Frons expirantis praeportat pectoris iras, 
Hue, hue adventate, meas audite querelas." 

John Warton. 

Ibid. Come come,] Here are six admirable lines. 

Dr. J. Warton. 



BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 



301 



Thy life by double title I require ; 

Once given at birth, and once preserved from 

fire : 
One murder pay, or add one murder more, 33 ° 
And me to them who fell by thee restore. 

I would, but cannot : my son's image stands 
Before my sight ; and now their angry hands 
My brothers hold, and vengeance these exact, 
This pleads compassion, and repents the fact. 3M 
He pleads in vain, and I pronounce his doom : 
My brothers, though unjustly, shall o'ercome. 
But having paid their injured ghosts their due, 
My son requires my death, and mine shall his 

pursue. 
At this for the last time she lifts her hand, **> 
Averts her eyes, and half unwilling drops the 

brand. 
The brand, amid the flaming fuel thrown, 
Or drew, or seem'd to draw, a dying groan ; 
The fires themselves but faintly lick'd their 

prey, 
Then loathed their impious food, and woidd have 

shrunk away. Mi 

Just then the hero cast a doleful cry, 
And in those absent flames- began to fry : 
The blind contagion raged within his veins ; 
But he with manly patience bore his pains ; 
He fear'd not fate, but only grieved to die 350 
Without an honest wound, and by a death so 

dry. 
Happy Ancarus, thrice aloud he cried, 
With what becoming fate in arms he died ! 
Then call'd his brothers, sisters, sire, around, 
And her to whom his nuptial vows were bound; 
Perhaps his mother ; a long sigh he drew, 35S 

And his voice failing, took his last adieu : 
For as the flames augment, and as they stay 
At their full height, then languish to decay, 
They rise, and sink by fits ; at last they soar 3C0 
In one bright blaze, and then descend no more : 
Just so his inward heats, at height, impair, 
Till the last burning breath shoots out the soul 

in air. 
Now lofty Calydon in ruins lies ; 
All ages, all degrees, unsluice their eyes ; 3m 

And heaven and earth resound with murmurs, 

groans, and cries. 
Matrons and maidens beat their breasts, and 

tear 
Their habits, and root up their scatter'd hair. 
The wretched father, father now no more, 
With sorrow sunk, lies prostrate on the floor, S!0 
Deforms his hoary locks with dust obscene, 
And curses age, and loathes a life prolong'd with 

pain. 
By steel her stubborn soul his mother freed, 
And punish'd on herself her impious deed. 
Had I a hundred tongues, a wit so large 375 

As could their hundred offices discharge ; 
Had Phoebus all his Helicon bestow'd, 
In all the streams inspiring all the god; 
Those tongues, that wit, those streams, that god 

in vain 
Would offer to describe his sisters' pain : 39 ° 

They boat their breasts with many a braising 

blow, 
Till they turn livid, and corrupt the snow. 
The corpse they cherish, while the corpse re- 
mains, 
And exorcise and rub with fruitless pains ; 



And when to funeral flames 'tis borne away, 
They kiss the bed on which the body lay: 
And when those funeral flames no longer burn, 

(The dust composed within a pious urn) 
Ev'n in that urn their brother they confess, 
And hug it in their arms, and to their bosoms 
press. :m 

His tomb is raised ; then, strctch'd along the 
ground, 
Those living monuments his tomb surround : 
Ev'n to his name, inscribed, their tears they 

pay, 

Till tears and kisses wear his name away. 

But Cynthia now had all her fury spent, ■* 
Not with less ruin, than a race, content : 
Excepting Gorge, perish'd all the seed, 
And her whom Heaven for Hercules decreed. 
Satiate at last, no longer she pursued 
The weeping sisters; but with wings indued, *" u 
And horny beaks, and sent to flit in air ; 
Who yearly round the tomb in feather'd flocks 
repair. 



BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 



OUT OF TOE EIGHTH DOOK OF 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



The author, pursuing the deeds of Theseus, relates how he, 
with his friend Pirithous, were invited by Achelous, tin 
river god, to stay with him, till his waters wire abated. 
Achelous entertains them with a relation of his own love 
to Perimele, who was changed into an island by Neptune, 
at his request. Pirithous, being an atheist, derides the 
legend, and denies the power of the gods to work that 
miracle. Lelex, another companion of Theseus, to con- 
firm the story of Achelous, relates another metamor- 
phosis of Baucis and Philemon into trees; of which he 
was partly an eye-witness. 

Thus Achelous ends: his audience hear 
With admiration, and, admiring, fear 
The powers of heaven ; except Ixion's son, 
AVho laugh'd at all the gods, believed in none ; 
He shook his impious head, and thus replies : 5 
Those legends are no more than pious lies : 
You attribute too much to heavenly sway, 
To think they give us forms, and take away. 

The rest, of better minds, their sense declared 
Against this doctrine, and with horror heard. i0 

Then Lelex rose, an old experienced man, 
And thus with sober gravity began : 
Heaven's power is infinite: earth, air, and sea, 
The manufacture mass, the making power obey : 
By proof to clear your doubt ; in Phrygian 

ground 
Two neighb'ring trees, with walls encompas-\l 

round, 
Stand on a moderate rise, with wonder shown, 
One a hard oak, a softer linden one : 
I saw the place and them, by Pitthens sent 
To Phrygian realms, my grandsire's govern 

ment. 
Not far from thence is seen a lake, the haunt 
Of coots, and of the (islihiL; cormorant : 
Here Jove with Hermes came : hut in disguise 
Of mortal men conceal'd their deities : 



302 



BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 



One laid aside his thunder, one his rod ; ffi 

And many toilsome steps together trod ; 

For harbour at'a thousand doors they knock'd, 

Not one of all the thousand but was lock'd. 

At last an hospitable house they found, 

An homely shed ; the roof, not far from ground, 

Was thatch'd with reeds and straw together 

bound. 3I 

There Baucis and Philemon lived, and there 
Had lived long married, and a happy pair : 
Now old in love ; though little was their store, 
Inured to want, their poverty they bore, 35 

Nor aim'd at wealth, professing to be poor. 
For master or for servant here to call, 
Was all alike, where only two were all. 
Command was none, where equal love was paid, 
Or rather both commanded, both obey'd. 40 

From lofty roofs the gods repulsed before, 
Now stooping, enter'd through the little door ; 
The man (their hearty welcome first express' d) 
A common settle drew for either guest, 
Inviting each his weary limbs to rest. * 

But ere they sat, officious Baucis lays 
Two cushions stuff 'd with straw, the seat to raise; 
Coarse, but the best she had ; then takes the 

load 
Of ashes from the hearth, and spreads abroad 
The living coals, and, lest they should expire, 50 
With leaves and barks she feeds her infant fire : 
It smokes, and then with trembling breath she 

blows, 
Till in a cheerful blaze the flames arose. 
With brushwood and with chips she strengthens 

these, 
And adds at last the boughs of rotten trees. 55 
The fire thus form'd, she sets the kettle on, 
(Like burnish'd gold the little seether shone) 
Next took the coleworts which her husband got 
From his own ground (a small well-water'd spot) ; 
She stripp'd the stalks of all their leaves ; the 

best m 

She cull'd, and then with handy care she dress'd. 
High o'er the hearth a chine of bacon hung ; 
Good old Philemon seized it with a prong, 
And from the sooty rafter drew it down, 
Then cut a slice, but scarce enough for one : 65 
Yet a large portion of a little store, 
Which for their sakes alone he wish'd were more. 
This in the pot he plunged without delay, 
To tame the flesh, and drain the salt away. 
The time between, before the fire they sat, 70 
And shorten'd the delay by pleasing chat. 

A beam there was, on which a beechen pail 
Hung by the handle, on a driven nail : 
This fill'd with water, gently warm'd, they set 
Before their guests ; in this they bathed their 

feet, ? 5 

And after with clean towels dried their sweat. 
This done, the host produced the genial bed ; 
Sallow the foot, the borders, and the stead, 
Which with no costly coverlet they spread ; 
But coai'se old garments, yet such robes as these 
They laid alone, at feasts, on holidays. 8 > 

The good old housewife, tucking up her gown, 
The table sets ; the invited gods lie down. 
The trivet-table of a foot was lame, 
A blot which prudent Baucis overcame, & 

Who thrust beneath the limping leg a sherd, 
So was the mended board exactly rear'd : 
Then rubb'd it o'er with newly gather'd mint ; 



A wholesome herb, that breathed a grateful scent. 
Pallas began the feast, where first was seen 90 

The party-colour'd olive, black and green : 
Autumnal cornels next in order served, 
In lees of wine well pickled and preserved : 
A garden salad was the third supply, 
Of endive, radishes, and succory : m 

Then curds and cream, the flower of country fare, 
And new-laid eggs, which Baucis' busy care 
Turn'd by a gentle fire, and roasted rare. 
All these in earthenware were served to board ; 
And, next in place, an earthen pitcher, stored 10 ° 
With liquor of the best the cottage could afford. 
This was the table's ornament and pride, 
With figures wrought : like pages at his side 
Stood beechen bowls; and these were shining clean, 
Vamish'd with wax without, and lined within. 105 
By this the boiling kettle had prepared, 
And to the table sent the smoking lard ; 
On which with eager appetite they dine, 
A savoury bit, that served to relish wine : 
The wine itself was suiting to the rest, ,,u 

Still working in the must, and lately press'd. 
The second course succeeds like that before ; 
Plums, apples, nuts, and, of their wintry store, 
Dry figs and grapes, and wrinkled dates were set 
In canisters, to enlarge the little treat : U5 

All these a milk-white honeycomb surround, 
Which in the midst the country banquet crown'd. 
But the kind hosts their entertainment grace 
With hearty welcome, and an open face ; 
In all they did, you might discern with ease 12 ° 
A willing mind, and a desire to please. 

Meantime the beechen bowls went round, and 
still, 
Though often emptied, were observed to fill, 
Fill'd without hands, and of their own accord 
Ran without feet, and danced about the board. 125 
Devotion seized the pair, to see the feast 
With wine, and of no common grape, increased ; 
And up they held their hands, and fell to prayer, 
Excusing, as they could, their country fare. 
One goose they had ('twas all they could allow) 13<l 
A wakeful sentry, and on duty now, 
Whom to the gods for sacrifice they vow : 
Her, with malicious zeal, the couple view'd ; 
She ran for life, and, limping, they pursued : 
Full well the fowl perceived their bad intent, I35 
And would not make her master's compliment ; 
But, persecuted, to the powers she flies, 
And close between the legs of Jove she lies. 
He, with a gracious ear, the suppliant heard, 139 
And saved her life ; then what he was declared, 
And own'd the god. The neighbourhood, said he, 
Shall justly perish for impiety : 
You stand alone exempted ; but obey 
With speed, and follow where we lead the way : 
Leave these accursed; and to the mountain's 
height 14 '' , 

Ascend ; nor once look backward in your flight. 

They haste, and what their tardy feet denied, 
The trusty staff (their better leg) supplied. 
An arrow's flight they wanted to the top, 
And there secure, but spent with travel, stop ; 15n 
Then turn their now no more forbidden eyes ; 
Lost in a lake the floated level lies : 
A watery desert covers all the plains, 
Their cot alone, as in an isle remains : 
Wondering with peeping eyes, while they deplore 
Their neighbours' fate, and country now no more, 



IPHIS AND IANTHE. 



303 



Their little shed, scarce large enough for two, 
Seems, from the ground increased, in height and 

bulk to grow. 
A stately temple shoots within the skies : 
The crotchets of their cot in columns rise : 1C0 
The pavement polish'd marble they behold, 
The gates with sculpture graced, the spires and 
tiles of gold. 

Then thus the sire of gods, with looks serene, 
Speak thy desire, thou only just of men ; 
And thou, woman, only worthy found lfi5 

To be with such a man in marriage bound. 

Awhile they whisper ; then, to Jove address'd, 
Philemon thus prefers their joint request : 
We crave to serve before your sacred shrine, 
And offer at your altars rites divine : 17 ° 

And since not any action of our life 
Has been polluted with domestic strife, 
We beg one hour of death ; that neither she 
With widow's tears may live to bury me, 
Nor weeping I, with wither'd arms, may bear 175 
My breathless Baucis to the sepulchre. 

The godheads sign their suit. They run their 
race 
In the same tenor all the appointed space ; 
Then, when their Lour was come, while they 

relate 
These past adventures at the temple-gate, lso 

Old Baucis is by old Philemon seen 
Sprouting with sudden leaves of sprightly green : 
Old Baucis look'd where old Philemon stood, 
And saw his lengthen'd arms a sprouting wood : 
New roots their fasten'd feet begin to bind, 185 
Their bodies stiffen in a rising rind : 
Then, ere the bark above their shoulders grew, 
They give and take at once their last adieu ; 
At once, Farewell, oh faithful spouse, they said ; 
At once the encroaching rinds their closing lips 
invade. 13u 

Ev'n yet, au ancient Tyansean shows 
A spreading oak, that near a linden grows ; 
The neighbourhood confirm the prodigy, 
Grave men, not vain of tongue, or like to lie. 
I saw myself the garlands on their boughs, I05 
And tablets hung for gifts of granted vows ; 
And offering fresher up, with pious prayer, 
The good, said I, are God's peculiar care, 
And such as honour Heaven shall heavenly honour 
sLare. 



FABLE OF IPIIIS AND IANTITE. 

FROM TnE NINTH BOOK OF 

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



The fame of this, perhaps, through Crete had 

flown ; 
But Crete had newer wonders of her own, 
In Iphis changed ; for near the Gnossian bounds, 
(As loud report the miracle resounds) 
At Phsestus dwelt a man of honest blood, 6 

But meanly born, and not so rich as good ; 
Esteem'd and loved by all the neighbourhood : 



Who to his wife, before the time assign'd 

For childbirth came, thus bluntly spoke his mind : 

If Heaven, said Lygdufl, will vouchsafe to hear, "' 

I have but two petitions to prefer ; 

Short pains for thee, for mo a son and heir. 

Girls cost as many throes in bringing forth ; 

Beside, when born, the tits are little worth ; 

Weak puling things, unable to sustain '■' 

Their share of labour, and their bread to gain. 

If, therefore, thou a creature shalt prod: 

Of so great charges, and so little use, 

(Bear witness, Heaven, with what reluctancy) 

Her hapless innocence I doom to die. 

He said, and tears the common grief display, 

Of him who bade, and her who must obey. 

Yet Tclethusa still persists, to find 
Fit arguments to move a father's mind ; 
To extend his wishes to a larger scope, ?" 

And in one vessel not confine his hope. 
Lygdus continues bard : her time drew near, 
And she her heavy load could scarcely bear ; 
AVhen slumbering, in the latter .shades of night, 
Before the approaches of returning light, 
She saw, or thought she saw, before her bed, 
A glorious train, and Isis at their Lead : 
Her moony horns were on her forehead placed, 
And yellow sheaves her shining temples graced : 
A mitre, for a crown, she wore on high ; 3i 

The dog and dappled bull were waiting by ; 
Osiris, sought along the banks of Nile ; 
The silent god ; the sacred crocodile ; 
And, last, a long procession moving on, 
With timbrels, tbat assist the labouring moon. 40 
Her slumbers seem'd dispell'd, and, broad awake, 
She heard a voice that thus distinctly spake : 
My votary, thy babe from death defend, 
Nor fear to save whate'er tlie gods will send. 
Delude witL art tLy husband's dire decree : 4i 
When danger calls, repose thy trust on me ; 
And know thou hast not served a thankless deity. 
This promise made, with night the goddess fled : 
With joy the woman wakes, and leaves her bed : 
Devoutly lifts her spotless hands on high, 
And prays the Powers their gift to ratify. 

Now grinding pains proceed to bearing throes, 
Till its own weight the burden did disclose. 
'Twas of the beauteous kind, and brought to light 
With secrecy, to shun the father's sigLt. 
The indulgent mother did her care employ, 
And pass'd it on her husband for a boy. 
The nurse was conscious of the fact alone : 
The father paid his vows as for a son ; 
And call'd him Iphis, by a common name, 
Which either sex with equal right may claim. 
Iphis his grandsire was : the wife was ph 
Of half the fraud by fortune's favour cased : 
The doubtful name was used without deceit, 
And truth was cover'd with a pious cheat. 
The habit- show'd a boy, the beauteous face 
WitL manly fierceness mingled female grace. 
Now thirteen years of age were swiftly run, 
When tlie fond father thought the time drew on 
( H'vtlliiiL' in the world his only son. 
Ianthe was Lis clioice ; so wondrous fair, 
Her form alone with Iphis could compare i 
A neighbour's daughter of his own degree, 
And not more bless'd with Fortune's goodsthanhe. 
They soon espoused : for they with ease wars 

join'd, 
Who were before contracted in the mind, 



304 



IPHIS AND IANTHE. 



Their age the same, their inclinations too ; 
And bred together in one school they grew. 
Thus, fatally disposed to mutual fires, 
They felt, before they knew, the same desires. 80 
Equal their flame, unequal was their care : 
One loved with hope, one languished in despair. 
The maid accused the lingering days alone : 
For whom she thought a man, she thought her 

own. 
But Iphis bends beneath a greater grief : m 

As fiercely burns, but hopes for no relief. 
E'en her despair adds fuel to her fire : 
A maid with madness does a maid desire. 
And, scarce refraining tears, Alas ! said she, 
What issue of my love remains for me ! 90 

How wild a passion works within my breast ! 
With what prodigious flames am I possess'd ! 
Could I the care of Providence deserve, 
Heaven must destroy me, if it would preserve. 
And that 's my fate, or sure it would have sent 95 
Some usual evil for my punishment : 
Not this unkindly curse ; to rage and burn, 
Where Nature shows no prospect of return. 
Nor cows for cows consume with fruitless fire : 
Nor mares, when hot, their fellow-mares desire : 
The father of the fold supplies his ewes ; 101 

The stag through secret woods his hind pursues ; 
And birds for mates the males of their own species 

choose. 
Her females nature guards from female flame, 
And joins two sexes to preserve the game : 105 
Would I were nothing, or not what I am ! 
Crete, famed for monsters, wanted of her store, 
Till my new love produced one monster more. 
The daughter of the Sun a bull desired, 
And yet e'en then a male a female fired : 110 

Her passion was extravagantly new : 
But mine is much the madder of the two. 
To things impossible she was not bent, 
But found the means to compass her intent. 
To cheat his eyes she took a different shape ; 115 
Yet still she gain'd a lover, and a leap. 
Should all the wit of all the world conspire, 
Should Dasdalus assist my wild desire, 
What art can make me able to enjoy, 
Or what can change Ianthe to a boy 1 120 

Extinguish then thy passion, hopeless maid, 
And re-collect thy reason for thy aid ; 
Know what thou art, and love as maidens 

ought, 
And drive these golden wishes from thy thought. 
Thou canst not hope thy fond desires to gain ; V2a 
Where hope is wanting, wishes are in vain. 
And yet no guards against our joys conspire ; 
No jealous husband hinders our desire : 
My parents are propitious to my wish, 
And she herself consenting to the bliss. 13 ° 

All things concur to prosper our design : 
All things to prosper any love but mine. 
And yet I never can enjoy the fair : 
'Tis past the power of Heaven to grant my 

prayer. 
Heaven has been kind, as far as Heaven can be ; 135 
Our parents with our own desires agree ; 
But Nature, stronger than the gods above, 
Refuses her assistance to my love ; 
She sets the bar that causes all my pain : 
One gift refused makes all their bounty vain. 14 ° 
And now the happy day is just at hand, 
To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band : 



Our hearts, but not our bodies : thus accursed, 

In midst of water I complain of thirst. 

Why com'st thou, Juno, to these barren rites, 145 

To bless a bed defrauded of delights? 

And why should Hymen lift his torch on high, 

To see two brides in cold embraces lie ? 

Thus love-sick Iphis her vain passion mourns : 
With equal ardour fair Ianthe bums, li0 

Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's power, 
To speed the work, and haste the happy hour. 

She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day,' 
And strives to interpose some new delay : 
Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright lm 

For this bad omen, or that boding sight. 
But having done whate'er she could devise, 
And emptied all her magazine of lies, 
The time approach'd; the next ensuing day 
The fatal secret must to light betray. m 

Then Telethusa had recourse to prayer, 
She and her daughter with dishevell'd hair ; 
Trembling with fear, great Isis they adored, 
Embraced her altar, and her aid implored : 

Fair queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile, 1M 
Who sway'st the sceptre of the Pharian isle, 
And sevenfold falls of disemboguing Nile ; 
Believe, in this our last distress, she said, 
A suppliant mother, and a mournful maid. 
Thou, goddess, thou wert present to my sight ; 17 ° 
Beveal'd I saw thee by thy own fair light : 
I saw thee in my dream, as now I see, 
With all thy marks of awful majesty : 
The glorious train that compass'd thee around ; 
And heard the hollow timbrel's holy sound. 17s 
Thy words I noted, which I still retain ; 
Let not thy sacred oracles be vain. 
That Iphis lives, that I myself am free 
From shame, and punishment, I owe to thee. 
On thy protection all our hopes depend : 18 ° 

Thy counsel saved us, let thy power defend. 

Her tears pursued her words, and while she 
spoke, 
The goddess nodded, and her altar shook : 
The temple doors, as with a blast of wind, 
Were heard to clap ; the lunar horns, that bind 
The brows of Isis, cast a blaze around ; 
The trembling timbrel made a murmuring sound. 

Some hopes these happy omens did impart; 
Forth went the mother with a beating heart, 
Not much in fear, nor fully satisfied ; 
But Iphis followed with a larger stride : 
The whiteness of her skin forsook her face : 
Her looks embolden'd with an awful grace : 
Her features and her strength together grew, 
And her long hair to curling locks withdrew. la5 
Her sparkling eyes with manly vigour shone ; 
Big was her voice, audacious was her tone. 
The latent parts, at length reveal' d, began 
To shoot, and spread, and burnish into man. 
The maid becomes a youth ; no more delay w0 
Your vows, but look, and confidently pay. 
Their gifts the parents to the temple bear : 
The votive tables this inscription wear : 
Iphis, the man, has to the goddess paid 
The vows that Iphis offer'd when a maid. 

Now when the star of day had shown his face, 
Venus and' Juno with their presence grace 
The nuptial rites, and Hymen from above 
Descended to complete their happy love ; 
The gods of marriage lend their mutual aid, 21 ° 
And the warm youth enjoys the lovely maid. 



PYGMALION AND THE STATUE. 



305 



PYGMALION AND THE STATUE. 



FROM THE TENTH BOOK Of 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



The Propeptides, for their impudent behaviour, being 
turned into stone by Venus, Pygmalion, prince of Cyprus, 
detested all women for their sake, and resolved never to 
marry. He falls in love with a statue of his own 
making, which is changed into a maid, whom he marries. 
One of his descendants is Cinyras, the father of My rrha : 
the daughter incestuously loves her own father, for 
which she is changed into a tree which hears her name. 
These two stories immediately follow each other, and are 
admirably well connected. 

Pygmalion loathing their lascivious life, 

Abhorr'd all womankind, but most a wife : 

So single chose to live, and shunn'd to wed, 

Well pleased to want a consort of his bed : 

Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill, 5 

In sculpture exercised his happy skill ; 

And carved in ivory such a maid, so fair, 

As nature could not with his art compare, 

Were she to work ; but in her own defence, 

Must take her pattern here, and copy hence. 10 

Pleased with his idol, he commends, admires, 

Adores ; and last, the thing adored desires. 

A very virgin in her face was seen, 

And, had she moved, a living maid had been : 

One would have thought she could have stirr'd ; 

but strove ls 

With modesty, and was ashamed to move. 
Art, hid with art, so well pcrform'd the cheat, 
It caught the carver with his own deceit : 
He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore, 
And still the more he knows it, loves the more : w 
The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, 
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft. 
Fired with this thought, at once he strain'd the 

breast, 
And on the lips a burning kiss impress'd. 
Tis true, the harden'd breast resists the gripe, M 
And the cold lips return a kiss unripe : 
But when, retiring back, he look'd again, 
To think it ivory was a thought too mean : 
So would believe she kiss'd, and courting more, 
Again embraced her naked body o'er ; 3° 

And straining hard the statue, was afraid 
His hands had made a dint, and hurt the maid : 
Explored her, limb by limb, and fear'd to find 
So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind : 
With flattery now he seeks her mind to move, M 
And now with gifts, the powerful bribes of love : 
He furnishes her closet first ; and fills 
The crowded shelves with rarities of shells : 
Adds orient pearls, which from the conchs he drew, 
And all the sparkling stones of various hue : 40 
And parrots, imitating human tongue, 
And singing-birds in silver cages hung ; 



And every fragrant flower, and odorous green, 
Were sorted well, with lumps of amber laid 

between : 
Rich, fashionable robes her person deck, 4i 

Pendents her ears, and pearls adorn her neck : 
Her taper'd fingers too with rings are graced, 
And an embroider'd zone surrounds her slender 

waist. 
Thus like a queen array'd, so richly dress'd, 
Beauteous she show'd,but naked show'd thebest. 60 
Then from the floor, he raised a royal bed, 
With coverings of Sidonian purple spread : 
The solemn rites pcrform'd, ho calls her bride, 
With blandishments invites her to his side, 
And as she were with vital sense possess'd, 65 

Her head did on a plumy pillow rest. 

The feast of Venus came, a solemn day, 
To which the Cypriots due devotion pay ; 
With gilded horns the milk-wnite heifers led, 
Slaughter'd before the sacred altars, bled : m 

Pygmalion offering, first approach'd the shrine, 
And then with prayers implored the powers divine : 
Almighty gods, if all we mortals want, 
If all we can require, be yours to grant ; 
Make this fair statue mine, he would have said, M 
But changed his words for shame, and only pray'd, 
Give me the likeness of my ivory maid. 

The golden goddess, present at the prayer, 
Well knew he meant the inanimated fair, 
And gave the sign of granting his desire ; '" 

For thrice in cheerful flames ascends the fire. 
The youth, returning to his mistress, hies, 
And, impudent in hope, with ardent eyes, 
And beating breast, by the dear statue lies. 
He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss, ^ 

And looks and thinks they redden at the kiss : 
He thought them warm before ; nor longer stays, 
But next his hand on her hard bosom lays : 
Hard as it was, beginning to relent, 
It seem'd the breast beneath his fingers bent ; m 
He felt again, his fingers made a print, 
'Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the 

dint. 
The pleasing task he fails not to renew : 
Soft, and more soft at every touch it grew : 
Like pliant wax, when chafing hands reduce ® 
The former mass to form, and frame to use. 
He would believe, but yet is still in pain, 
And tries his argument of sense again, 
Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein. 
Convinced, o'erjoy'd, his studied thanks and praiso, 
To her who made the miracle, he pays : 
Then lips to lips he join'd; now freed from fear, 
He found the favour of the kiss sincero : 
At this the waken'd image oped her eyes, 
And view'd at once the light and lover, with 

surprise. 
The goddess present at the match she made, 
So bless'd the bed, such fruitfulness convey'd, 
That ere ten moons had sharpen'd either horn, 
To crown their bliss, a lovely boy was born ; 
Paphos his name, who, grown to manhood, wall'd lnn 
The city Paphos, from the founder call'd. 



30(5 



CINYRAS AND MYRRHA. 



CINYRAS AND MYRRHA. 



ODT OF THE TENTH BOOK OF 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



There needs no connection of this story with the former; 
for the beginning of this immediately follows the end of 
the last: the reader is only to take notice, that Orpheus, 
who relates both, was by birth a Thracian; and his 
country far distant from Cyprus, where Myrrhawas born, 
and from Arabia, whither she fled. You will see the 
reason of this note, soon after the first lines of this fable. 

Nor him alone produced the fruitful queen ; 

But Cinyras, who like his sire had been 

A happy prince, had he not been a sire. 

Daughters and fathers from my song retire : 

I sing of horror ; and, could I prevail, 6 

You should not hear, or not believe my tale. 

Yet if the pleasure of my song be such, 

That you will hear, and credit me too much, 

Attentive listen to the last event, 

And with the sin believe the punishment : ln 

Since nature could behold so dire a crime, 

I gratulate at least my native clime, 

That such a land, which such a monster bore, 

So far is distant from our Thracian shore. 

Let Araby extol her happy coast, 15 

Her cinnamon and sweet amomum boast, 

Her fragrant flowers, her trees with precious tears, 

Her second harvest, and her double years ; 

How can the land be call'd so bless'd that Myrrha 

bears ? 
Not all her odorous tears can cleanse her crime, 
Her plant alone deforms the happy clime : 21 

Cupid denies to have inflamed thy heart, 
Disowns thy love, and vindicates his dart ; 
Some fury gave thee those infernal pains, 
And shot her venom'd vipers in thy veins. is 

To hate thy sire, had merited a curse : 
But such an impious love deserved a worse. 
The neighbouring monarchs, by thy beauty led, 
Contend in crowds, ambitious of thy bed : 
The world is at thy choice, except but one, ^ 

Except but him, thou canst not choose, alone. 
She knew it too, the miserable maid, 
Ere impious love her better thoughts betray'd, 
And thus within her secret soul she said : 
Ah, Myrrha ! whither would thy wishes tend ? M 
Ye gods, ye sacred laws, my soul defend 
From such a crime as all mankind detest, 
And never lodged before in human breast I 
But is it sin ? Or makes my mind alone 
The imagined sin 1 For nature makes it none. *" 
What tyrant then these envious laws began, 
Made not for any other beast but man ! 
The father-bull his daughter may bestride, 
The horse may make his mother-mare a bride ; 
What piety forbids the lusty ram, * 

Or more salacious goat, to rut their dam ? 
The hen is free to wed her chick she bore, 
And make a husband, whom she hatch'd before. 
All creatures else are of a happier kind, 
Whom nor ill-natured laws from pleasure bind, 50 
Nor thoughts of sin disturb their peace of mind. 
But man a slave of his own making lives : 
The fool denies himself what nature gives : 



Too busy senates, with an over-care 

To make us better than our kind can bear, S5 

Have dash'd a spice of envy in the laws, 

And, straining up too high, have spoil'd the 

cause. 
Yet some wise nations break their cruel chains, 
And own no laws, but those which love ordains ; 
Where happy daughters with their sires are join'd, 
And piety is doubly paid in kind. 61 

Oh that I had been born in such a clime, 
Not here, where 'tis the country makes the crime ! 
But whither would my impious fancy stray 1 
Hence hopes, and ye forbidden thoughts, away ! m 
His worth deserves to kindle my desires, 
But with the love that daughters bear to sires. 
Then had not Cinyras my father been, 
What hinder'd Myrrha's hopes to be his queen? 
But the perverseness of my fate is such, 70 

That he 's not mine, because he 's mine too much : 
Our kindred-blood debars a better tie : 
He might be nearer, were he not so nigh. 
Eyes and their objects never must unite, 
Some distance is required to help the sight : ^ 
Fain would I travel to some foreign shore, 
Never to see my native country more, 
So might I to myself myself restore ; 
So might my mind these impious thoughts remove, 
And ceasing to behold, might cease to love. M 
But stay I must, to feed my famish'd sight, 
To talk, to kiss ; and more, if more I might : 
More, impious maid ! What more canst thou 

design % 
To make a monstrous mixture in thy line, 
And break all statutes human and divine ? 
Canst thou be call'd (to save thy wretched life) 
Thy mother's rival, and thy father's wife ? 
Confound so many sacred names in one, 
Thy brother's mother ! sister to thy son ! 
And fear'st thou not to see the infernal bands, M 
Their heads with snakes, with torches arm'd their 

hands, 
Full at thy face the avenging brands to bear, 
And shake the serpents from their hissing hair ? 
But thou in time the increasing ill control, 
Nor first debauch the body by the soul ; 95 

Secure the sacred quiet of thy mind, 
And keep the sanctions nature has design'd. 
Suppose I should attempt, the attempt were vain ; 
No thoughts like mine his sinless soul profane : 
Observant of the right ; and oh, that he 10 ° 

Could cure my madness, or be mad like me ! 

Thus she ; but Cinyras, who daily sees 
A crowd of noble suitors at his knees, 
Among so many, knew not whom to choose, 
Irresolute to grant, or to refuse. m 

But having told their names, inquired of her, 
Who pleased her best, and whom she would 

prefer ? 
The blushing maid stood silent with surprise, 
And on her father fix'd her ardent eyes, 
And looking sigh'd ; and as she sigh'd, began 1I0 
Round tears to shed, that scalded as they ran. 
The tender sire, who saw her blush and cry, 
Ascribed it all to maiden modesty ; 
And dried the falling drops, and yet more kind, 
He stroked her cheeks, and holy kisses join'd : u5 
She felt a secret venom fire her blood, 
And found more pleasure than a daughter should ; 
And, ask'd again, what lover of the crew 
She liked the best ; she answer'd, One like you. 



CINYRAS AND MYRRHA. 



807 



Mistaking what she meant, her pious will 12 ° 

He praised, .and bade her so continue still : 
The word of Pious heard, she blush'd with shame 
Of secret guilt, and could not bear the name. 
'Twas now the mid of night, when slumbers 
close 
Our eyes, and soothe our cares with soft repose ; 
But no repose could wretched Myrrha find, 126 
Her body rolling, as she roll'd her mind : 
Mad with desire, she ruminates her sin, 
And wishes all her wishes o'er again : 
Now she despairs, and now resolves to try ; 130 
Would not, and would again, she knows not 

why; 
Stops, and returns, makes and retracts the vow ; 
Fain would begin, but understands not how : 
As when a pine is hewn upon the plains, 
And the last mortal stroke alone remains, I35 

Labouring in pangs of death, and' threatening all, 
This way and that she nods, considering where to 

fall: 
So Myrrha's mind, impell'd on either side, 
Takes every bent, but cannot long abide : 
Irresolute on which she should rely, I40 

At last unfix'd in all, is only fix'd to die : 
On that sad thought she rests ; resolved on death, 
She rises, and prepares to choke her breath : 
Then while about the beam her zone she ties, 
Dear Cinyras, farewell, she softly cries ; 14s 

For thee I die, and only wish to be 
Not hated, when thou know'st I die for thee : 
Pardon the crime, in pity to the cause : 
This said, about her neck the noose she draws. 
The nurse, who lay without, her faithful guard, ,50 
Though not the words,. the murmurs overheard, 
And sighs, and hollow sounds : surprised with 

fright, 
She starts, and leaves her bed, and springs a light: 
Unlocks the door, and entering out of breath, 
The dying saw, and instruments of death. 15S 

She sln-ieks, she cuts the zone with trembling 

haste, 
And in her arms her fainting charge embraced : 
Next (for she now had leisure for her tears) 
She weeping ask'd, in these her blooming years, 
What unforeseen misfortune caused her care, 16 ° 
To loathe her life, and languish in despair? 
The maid, with downcast eyes, and mute with 

grief, 
For death unfmish'd, and ill-timed relief, 
Stood sullen to her suit : the beldame press'd 
The more to know, and bared her wither'd breast ; 
Adjured her, by the kindly food she drew 16G 

From those dry founts, her secret ill to show. 
Sad Myrrha sigh'd, and turn'd her eyes aside : 
The nurse still urged, and would not be denied : 
Nor only promised secresy ; but pray'd l ?° 

She might have leave to give her offer'd aid. 
Good will, she said, my want of strength supplies, 
And diligence shall give what age denies : 
If strong desires thy mind to fury move, 
With charms and med'eines I can cure thy love : 
If envious eyes their hurtful rays have cast, 1?li 
More powerful verso shall free thee from the blast : 
If Heaven offended sends thee this disease, 
Offended Heaven with prayers we caiimppease. 
What then remains, that can these cares procure 1 
Thy house is flourishing, thy fortune sure : wl 
Thy careful mother yet in health survives, 
And, to thy comfort, thy kind father lives. 



The virgin started at her father's .. 
And sigh'd profoundly, conscious of the shame : 
Nor yet the nurse her impious love divined: 1M 
But yet surmised, that love disturbed her mind : 
Thus thinking, she pursued her point, and laid 
And lull'd within her lap the mourning maid ; 
Then softly .soothed her thus : I guess, your 
grief: »*> 

You love, my child ; your love shall find relief. 
My long experienced age shall be your guide ; 
Rely on that, and lay distrust aside : 
No breath of air shall on the secret blow, 
Nor shall (what most you fear) your father 

know. 
Struck once again, as with a thunder-clap, 196 

The guilty virgin bounded from her lap, 
And throw her body prostrate on the bed, 
And, to conceal her blushes, hid her head : 
There silent lay, and warn'd her with her hand 
To go : but she received not the command ; m 
Remaining still importunate to know : 
Then Myrrha thus : Or ask no more, or go : 
1 pr'ythee go, or staying spare my shame ; 
What thou would'st hear, is impious ev'n to 
name. "* 

At this, on high the beldame holds her hands, 
And trembling, both with age and terror, 

stands ; 
Adjures, and falling at her feet entreats, 
Soothes her with blandishments, and frights with 

threats, 
To tell the crime intended, or disclose -'" 

What part of it she knew, if she no farther 

knows : 
And last, if conscious to her counsel made, 
Confirms anew the promise of her aid. 

Now Myrrha raised her head ; but soon op- 
press'd 
With shame, reclined it on her nurse's breast ; - 15 
Bathed it with tears, and strove to have confess'd; 
Twice she began, and stopp'd; again she tried; 
The faltering tongue its office still denied : 
At last her veil before her face she spread, 
And drew a long preluding sigh, and said, ^ 

O happy mother, in thy marriage-bed ! 
Then groan'd, and ceased ; the good old woman 

shook, 
Stiff were her eyes, and ghastly was her look : 
Her hoary hair upright with horror stood, 
Made (to her grief) more knowing than she 
would : — ^ 

Much she reproach'd, and many things she said. 
To cure the madness of the unhappy maid : 
In vain : for Myrrha stood convict of ill ; 
Her reason vanquish'd, but unchanged her will : 
Perverse of mind, unable to reply, 
She stood resolved or to possess, or die. 
At length the fondness of a nurse prevail'd 
Against her better sense, and virtue 1'ail'd : 
Enjoy, my child, since such is thy desire, 
Thy love, she said ; she durst not say, thy sire. S3S 
Live, though unhappy, live on any terms: 
Then with a second oath her faith confirms. 
The solemn feast of Ceres now was near, 
When long white linen stoles tho matrons 

wear; 
Rank'd in procession walk the pious train, s<0 
Offering first fruits, and spikes of yellow grain : 
For nine long nights tho nuptial bed they shun. 
And, sanctifying harvest, lie alone. 



308 



CINYRAS AND MYRRHA. 



Mix'd -with the crowd, the queen forsook her 

lord, 
And Ceres' power with secret rites adored : ws 
The royal couch now vacant for a time, 
The crafty crone, officious in her crime, 
The cursed occasion took : the king she found 
Easy with wine, and deep in pleasure drowrfd, 
Prepared for love : the beldame blew the flame, 
Confess'd the passion, but conceal'd the name. 251 
Her form she praised ; the monarch ask'd her 

years, 
And she replied, the same that Myrrha bears. 
Wine and commended beauty fired his thought ; 
Impatient, he commands her to be brought. M5 
Pleased with her charge perform'd, she hies her 

home, 
And gratulates the nymph, the task was over- 
come. 
Myrrha was joy'd the welcome news to hear ; 
But, clogg'd with guilt, the joy was insincere : 
So various, so discordant is the mind, 26 ° 

That in our will, a different will we find. 
Ill she presaged, and yet pursued her lust ; 
For guilty pleasures give a double gust. 
'Twas depth of night : Arctophylax had driven 
His lazy wain half round the northern heaven, 265 
When Myrrha hasten'd to the crime desired ; 
The moon beheld her first, and first retired ; 
The stars amazed ran backward from the sight, 
And, shrunk within their sockets, lost their light. 
Icarius first withdraws his holy flame : 27 ° 

The Virgin sign, in heaven the second name, 
Slides down the belt, and from her station flies, 
And night with sable clouds involves the skies. 
Bold Myrrha still pursues her black intent : 
She stumbled thrice, (an omen of the event ;) ^ 
Thrice shriek'd the funeral owl, yet on she went, 
Secure of shame, because secure of sight ; 
EVn bashful sins are impudent by night. 
Link'd hand in hand, the accomplice and the 

dame, 
Their way exploring, to the chamber came : 2S0 
The door was ope, they blindly grope their way, 
Where dark in bed the expecting monarch lay : 
Thus far her courage held, but here forsakes; 
Her faint knees knock at every step she makes. 
The nearer to her crime, the more within 285 

She feels remorse, and horror of her sin : 
Repents too late her criminal desire, 
And wishes, that unknown she could retire. 
Her lingering thus, the nurse (who fear'd delay 
The fatal secret might at length betray) s 90 

Pull'd forward, to complete the work begun, 
And said to Cinyras, Receive thy own : 
Thus saying, she deliver'd kind to kind, 
Accursed, and their devoted bodies join'd. 
The sire, unknowing of the crime, admits M5 

His bowels, and profanes the hallow'd sheets. 
He found she trembled, but believed she strove, 
With maiden modesty, against her love ; 
And sought with flattering words vain fancies to 

remove. 
Perhaps he said, My daughter, cease thy fears, 300 
(Because the title suited with her years ;) 
And, Father, she might whisper him again, 
That names might not be wanting to the sin. 
Full of her sire, she left the incestuous bed, 
And carried in her womb the crime she bred : 305 
Another, and another night she came ; 
For frequent sin had left no sense of shame : 



Till Cinyras desired to see her face, 

Whose body he had held in close embrace, 

And brought a taper ; the reveal er, light, 3l " 

Exposed both crime and criminal to sight : 

Grief, rage, amazement, oould no speech afford, 

But from the sheath he drew the avenging sword; 

The guilty fled : the benefit of night, 

That favour'd first the sin, secured the flight. 315 

Long wandering through the spacious fields, she 

bent 
Her voyage to the Arabian continent ; 
Then pass'd the region which Panchsea join'd, 
And, flying, left the palmy plains behind 
Nine times the moon had mewd her horns ; at 

length a* 

With travel weary, unsupplied with strength, 
And with the burden of her womb oppress'd, 
Sabsean fields afford her needful rest : 
There, loathing life, and yet of death afraid, 
In anguish of her spirit, thus she prayd : 535 

Ye powers, if any so propitious are 
To accept my penitence, and hear my prayer, 
Your judgments, I confess, are justly sent ; 
Great sins deserve as great a punishment : 
Yet since my life the living will profane, 33 ° 

And since my death the happy dead will stain, 
A middle state your mercy may bestow, 
Betwixt the realms above, and those below : 
Some other form to wretched Myrrha give, 
Nor let her wholly die, nor wholly live. S35 

The prayers of penitents are never vain : 
At least, she did her last request obtain ; 
For, while she spoke, the ground began to rise, 
And gather'd round her feet, her legs, and thighs : 
Her toes in roots descend, and, spreading wide, 
A firm foundation for the trunk provide : M ' 

Her solid bones convert to solid wood, 
To pith her marrow, and to sap her blood : 
Her arms are boughs, her fingers change their 

kind, 
Her tender skin is harden'd into rind. S4i 

And now the rising tree her womb invests, 
Now, shooting upwards still, invades her breasts, 
And shades the neck ; and, weary with delay, 
She sunk her head within, and met it half the way. 
And though with outward shape she lost her 

sense, ®° 

With bitter tears she wept her last offence ; 
And still she weeps, nor sheds her tears in vain ; 
For still the precious drops her name retain. 
Meantime the misbegotten infant grows, 
And, ripe for birth, distends with deadly throes 
The swelling rind, with unavailing strife, 
To leave the wooden womb, and pushes into life. 
The mother-tree, as if oppressd with pain, 
Writhes here and there, to break the bark, in 

vain ; 
And, like a labouring woman, would have pray'd, 
But wants a voice to call Lucina's aid : 361 

The bending bole sends out a hollow sound, 
And trickling tears fall thicker on the ground. 
The mild Lucina came uncall'd, and stood 
Beside the struggling boughs, and heard the 

groaning wood : 866 

Then reachd her midwife-hand, to speed the 

throes, 
And spoke the powerful spells that babes to birth 

disclose. 
The bark divides, the living load to free, 
And safe delivers the convulsive tree. 



CEYX AND ALCYONE. 



309 



The ready nymphs receive the crying child, 37 ° 
And wash him in the tears the parent plant 

distill'd. 
They swathed him with their scarfs ; beneath him 

spread 
The ground with herbs ; with roses raised his 

head. 
The lovely babe was born with every grace : 
Ev'n envy must have praised so fair a face : ws 
Such was his form, as painters, when they show 
Their utmost art, on naked loves bestow : 
And that their amis no difference might betray, 
(live him a bow, or his from Cupid take away. 
Time glides along, with undiscover'd haste, 3S0 
The future but a length behind the past : 
So swift are years : the babe, whom just before 
His grandsire got, and whom bis sister bore ; 
The drop, the thing which late the tree inclosed, 
And late the yawning bark to life exposed ; 38S 
A babe, a boy, a beauteous youth appears ; 
And lovelier than himself at riper years. 
Now to the queen of love be gave desires, 
And, with her pains, revenged his mother's fires. 



CEYX AND ALCYONE. 



OUT OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



CONNECTION OF THIS FABLE WITH THE FOF.MEK. 

Ceyx, the son of Lucifer (the morning star) and king of 
Trachin, in Thessaly, was married to Alcyone, daughter 
to JEohis,god of the winds. Both the husband and the 
wife loved each other with an entire affection. Deedalion, 
the elder brother of Ceyx, whom he succeeded, having 
been turned intoa falconbyApollo,andChione,D8edalion\s 
daughter, slain by Diana, Ceyx prepares a ship to sail 
to Claros, there to consult the oracle of Apollo, and (as 
Ovid seems to intimate) to enquire how the anger of the 
gods might be atoned. t 

These prodigies affect the pious prince, 

But, more perplex'd with those that happen'd 

since, 
He purposes to seek the Clarian god, 
Avoiding Dclphos, his more fumed abode ; 
Since Phlegian robbers made unsafe the road. 5 
Yet could not he from her he loved so well, 
The fatal voyage, he resolved, conceal : 
Put when she saw her lord prepared to part, 
A deadly cold ran shivering to her heart : 
Her faded checks are changed to boxen hue, w 
And in her eyes the tears are ever new : 
She thrice essay'd to speak ; her accents hung, 
And faltering died unlinish'd on her tongue, 
Or vanish 'd into sighs : with long delay 
Her voice return'd ; and found the wonted way. ls 
Tell me, my lord, she said, what fault unknown 
Thy once beloved Alcyone has done ? 
Whither, ah, whither is thy kindness gone ! 
Can Ceyx then sustain to leavo his wife, 
Ami unconcern'd forsake the sweets of life? ^ 
What can thy mind to this long journey move, 
Or need'st thou absence to renew thy love 1 
Yet, if thou goest by land, though grief possess 
My soul ev'n then, my fears will bo the less. 
But ah ! bo warn'd to shun the watery way, M 
The face is frightful of the stormy sea. 



For late I saw adrift disjointed planks, 

And empty tornbs erected on the bonks. 

Nor let false hopes to trust betray thy mind, 

Because my sire in caves constrains the wind, " 

Can with a breath a clamorous rage appease, 

They fear his whistle, and forsake the seas; 

Not so, for, once indulged, they sweep the main, 

Deaf to the call, or, hearing, hear in vain ; 

But bent on mischief boai the waves before, M 

And not content with seas insult the shore ; 

When ocean, air, and earth, at once engage, 

And rooted forests fly before their rage : 

At once the clashing clouds to battle move, 

And lightnings run across the fields above : ** 

I know them well, and mark'd their rude comport, 

While yet a child, within my father's court : 

In times of tempest they command alone, 

And he but sits precarious on the throne: 

The more I know, the more i..y fears augment, u 

And fears are oft prophetic of the e\ ant 

But if not fears, or reasons will prevail, 

If fate has fix'd thee obstinate to sail, 

Go not without thy wife, but let me bear 

My part of danger with an equal share, 

And present suffer what I only fear : 

Then o'er the bounding billows shall we fly. 

Secure to live together, or to die. 

These reasons moved her starlike husband's heart. 

But still he held his purpose to depart : 

For as he loved her equal to his life, 

He would not to the seas expose his wife ; 

Nor could be wrought his voyage to refrain, 

But sought by arguments to soothe her pain ; 

Nor these avail'd ; at length he lights on one, 60 

AVith which so difficult a cause he won : 

My lovo, so short an absence cease to fear, 

For, by my father's holy flame, I swear, 

Before two moons their orb with light adorn, 

If Heaven allow me life, I will return. 

This promise of so short a stay prevails : 
He soon equips the ship, supplies the sails, 
And gives the word to launch ; she trembling 

views 
This pomp of death, and parting tears renews : 
Last, with a kiss, she took a long farewell, 
Sigh'd, with a sad presage, and swooning foil. 
While Ceyx seeks delays, the lusty crew, 
Raised on their banks, their oars in order drew 
To their broad breasts, the ship with fury flew. 

The queen, recover'd, rears her humid eyes, ' 5 
And first her husband on the poop BSpi 
Shaking his hand at distance on the main : 
She took the sign, and shook her hand again. 
Still as the ground recedes, retracts her view 
With sharpen'd sight, till she no longer knew w 

The much-loved t'n ce • thai c fori Lost supplies 

With less, and with the galley feeds her eyes ; 
The galley borne from view i>y rising gales, 

She follow'd with her sight the flying Bails: 
When ev'n the flying sails were seen no more, M 
Forsaken of all sight, she left the shore. 

Then OH her bridal bed her body throws, 
And Bought in sleep her weal ied 
Her husband's pillow, and the widow'd pari 

Which once he press'd, renew d the former 
smart. 
And now a breeze from Bhore began to blow, 

The sailors ship their 00X8, and Cease to row ; 
Then hoist their yards O-trip, and all then- 
Let fall, to court the wind, and catch the gales : 



310 



CEYX AND ALCYONE. 



By this the vessel half her course had run, 95 

And as much rested till the rising sun ; 

Both shores were lost to sight, when at the close 

Of day, a stiffer gale at east arose : 

The sea grew white, the rolling waves from far, 

Like heralds, first denounce the watery war. 10u 

This seen, the master soon began to cry, 
Strike, strike the top-sail ; let the mainsheet fly, 
And furl your sails. The winds repel the sound, 
And in the speakers mouth the speech is drown'd. 
Yet of their own accord, as danger taught, W5 

Each in his way, officiously they wrought ; 
Some stow their oars, or stop the leaky sides, 
Another bolder yet the yard bestrides, 
And folds the sails ; a fourth, with labour, laves 
The intruding seas, and waves ejects on waves. Ul) 

In this confusion while their work they ply, 
The winds augment the winter of the sky, 
And wage intestine wars ; the suffering seas 
Are toss'd, and mingled as their tyrants please. 
The master would command, but, in despair 115 
Of safety, stands amazed with stupid care, 
Nor what to bid, or what forbid, he knows, 
The ungovern'd tempest to such fury grows ; 
Vain ia his force, and vainer is his skill ; 
With such a concourse comes the flood of ill : 120 
The cries of men are mix'd with rattling shrouds; 
Seas dash on seas, and clouds encounter clouds : 
At once from east to west, from pole to pole, 
The forky lightnings flash, the roaring thunders roll. 

Now waves on waves ascending scale the skies, 
And, in the fires above, the water fries : 126 

When yellow sands are sifted from below, 
The glittering billows give a golden show : 
And when the fouler bottom spews the black, 
The Stygian dye the tainted waters take : 130 

Then frothy white appear the flatted seas, 
And change their colour, changing their disease. 
Like various fits the Trachin vessel finds, 
And now sublime she rides upon the winds ; 
As from a lofty summit looks from high, 135 

And from the clouds beholds the nether sky ; 
Now from the depth of hell they lift their sight, 
And at a distance see superior light : 
The lashing billows make a loud report, 
And beat her sides, as battering-rams a fort : 14 ° 
Or as a lion, bounding in his way, 
With force augmented bears against his prey, 
Sidelong to seize : or, unappall'd with fear, 
Springs on the toils, and rushes on the spear : 
So seas impell'd by winds with added power 145 
Assault the sides, and o'er the hatches tower. 

The planks, their pitchy coverings wash'd away, 
Now yield ; and now a yawning breach display : 
The roaring waters, with a hostile tide, 
Bush through the ruins of her gaping side. 15 ° 
Meantime in sheets of rain the sky descends, 
And ocean, swell'd with waters, upwards tends, 
One rising, falling one ; the heavens and sea 
Meet at their confines, in the middle way : 
The sails are drunk with sh owers, and drop with rain, 
Sweet waters mingle with the briny main. 156 

No star appears to lend his friendly light : 
Darkness and tempest make a double night. 
But flashing fires disclose the deep by turns, 
And while the lightnings blaze, the water burns. 

Now all the waves their scatter'd force unite, 161 
And as a soldier, foremost in the fight, 
Makes way for others,- and, an host alone, 
Still presses on, and urging gains the town ; 



So while the invading billows come a-breast, 16S 
The hero tenth, advanced before the rest, 
Sweeps all before him with impetuous sway, 
And from the walls descends upon the prey ; 
Bart following enter, part remain without, 
With envy hear their fellows' conquering shout, 
And mount on others' backs, in hope to share 1?1 
The city, thus become the seat of war. 

An universal cry resounds aloud, 
The sailors run in heaps, a helpless crowd; 
Art fails, and courage falls, no succour near ; 175 
As many waves, as many deaths appear. 

One weeps, and yet despairs of late relief; 
One cannot weep, his fears congeal his grief; 
But, stupid, with dry eyes expects his fate. 
One with loud shrieks laments his lost estate, 18 ° 
And calls those happy whom their funerals wait. 
This wretch with prayers and vows the gods im- 
plores, 
And ev'n the skies he cannot see adores. 
That other on his friends his thoughts bestows, 
His careful father, and his faithful spouse. 1S5 

The covetous worldling in his anxious mind 
Thinks only on the wealth he left behind. 

All Ceyx his Alcyone employs, 
For her he grieves, yet in her absence joys : 
His wife he wishes, and would still be near, VM 
Not her with him, but wishes him with her : 
Now with last looks he seeks his native shore, 
Which fate has destined him to see no more ; 
He sought, but in the dark tempestuous night 
He knew not whither to direct his sight. IM 

So whirl the seas, such darkness blinds the sky, 
That the black night receives a deeper dye. 

The giddy ship ran round ; the tempest tore 
Her mast, and over-board the rudder bore. 
One billow mounts ; and with a scornful brow, 2 " n 
Froud of her conquest gain'd, insults the waves 

below ; 
Nor lighter falls, than if some giant tore 
Findus and Athos with the freight they bore, 
And tossed on seas : press'd with the ponderous blow 
Down sinks the ship within the abyss below : 205 
Down with the vessel sink into the main 
The many, never more to rise again. 
Some few on scatter'd planks with fruitless care 
Lay hold, and swim, but, while they swim, despair. 

Ev'n he, who late a sceptre did command, 21 ° 
Now grasps a floating fragment in his hand, 
And while he struggles on the stormy main, 
Invokes his father, and his wife, in vain ; 
But yet his consort is his greater care ; 
Alcyone he names amidst his prayer, 2,i 

Names as a charm against the waves and wind; 
Most in his mouth, and ever in his mind : 
Tired with his toil, all hopes of safety past, 
From pi*ayers to wishes he descends at last ; 
That his dead body, wafted to the sands, 22 ° 

Might have its burial from her friendly hands. 
As oft as he can catch a gulp of air, 
And peep above the seas, he names the fair ; 
And ev'n when plunged beneath, on her he raves, 
Murmuring Alcyone below the waves : w 

At last a falling billow stops his breath, 
Breaks o'er his head, and whelms him underneath. 
Bright Lucifer unlike himself appears 
That night, his heavenly form obscured with 

tears; 
And since he was forbid to leave the skies, 23 ° 
He muffled with a cloud his mournful eyes. 



CEYX AND ALCYONE. 



311 



Meantime Alcyone (bis Kite unknown) 
Computes how many nights he had been gone ; 
Observes the waning moon with hourly view, 
Numbers her age, and wishes for a new ; S" 

Against the promised time provides with care, 
And hastens in the woof the robes he was to wear : 
And for herself employs another loom, 
New dress'd to meet her lord returning home, 
Flattering her heart with joys that never were to 
come : 2I ° 

She fumed the temples with an odorous flame, 
And oft before the sacred altars came, 
To pray for him, who was an empty name. 
All powers implored, but far above the rest, 
To Juno she her pious vows address' d, 24S 

Her much-loved lord from perils to protect, 
And safe o'er seas his voyage to direct : 
Then pray'd that she might still possess his heart, 
And no pretending rival share a part. 
This last petition heard of all her prayer, 25 ° 

The rest, dispersed by winds, were lost in air. 

But she, the goddess of the nuptial bed, 
Tired with her vain devotions for the dead, 
Resolved the tainted hand should be repell'd, 
Which incense offer'd, and her altar held : 255 

Then Iris thus bespoke : Thou faithful maid, 
By whom the queen's commands are well convey 'd, 
Haste to the house of Sleep, and bid the god, 
Who rules the night by visions with a nod, 
Prepare a dream, in figure and in form M0 

Resembling him who perish'd in the storm : 
This form before Alcyone present, 
To make her certain of the sad event. 

Indued with robes of various hue she flics, 2M 
And flying draws an arch, (a segment of the skies :) 
Then leaves her bending bow, and from the steep 
Descends to search the silent house of Sleep. 

Near the Cimmerians, in his dark abode, 
Deep in a cavern, dwells the drowsy god ; 
Whose gloomy mansion nor the rising sun, 27 ° 
Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon : 
But lazy vapours round the region fly, 
Perpetual twilight, and a doubtful sky;' 
No crowing cock does there his wings display, 
Nor with his horny bill provoke the day : W 

Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese, 
Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace : 
Nor beast of nature, nor the tame, are nigh, 
Nor trees with tempests rock'd, nor human cry ; 
But safe repose, without an air of breath, 2S0 

Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death. 

An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow, 
Arising upwards from the rock below, 
The palace moats, and o'er the pebbles creeps, 
And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps ; 
Around its entry nodding poppies grow, - s,; 

And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow; 
Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains, 
And passing sheds it on the silent plains : 
No door there was the unguarded house to keep, 
On creaking hinges turn'd, to break his sleep. -■" 

But in the gloomy court was raised a bed, 
StufFd with black plumes, and on an ebon stead : 
Black was the covering too, where lay the god, 
And slept supine, his limbs display 'd abroad : a95 
About his head fantastic visions fly, 
Which various images of things supply, 
And mock their forms ; the leaves on trees not more, 
Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the 
shore. 



The virgin entering bright indulged the day '■'"' 
To the brown cave, and brush'd the dreams away : 
The god, disturb'd with this new glare of light 
Cast sudden on his face, unseal'd his sight, 
And raised his tardy head, which sunk 
And sinking on his bosom knock'd his chin : **■' 
At length shook off himself; and ask'd the dame, 
(And asking yawn'd) for what intent she came? 

To whom the goddess thus : sacred Rest, 
Sweet pleasing Sleep, of all the Powers the best ! 
O peace of mind, repairer of decay, 
Whose balms renew the limbs to labour.sof the day, 
Care shuns thy soft approach, and sullen flies away! 
Adorn a dream, expressing human form, 
The shape of him who suffered in the storm, 
And send it flitting to the Trachin court, m 

The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report: 
Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand, 
Who begs a vain relief at Juao'a hand. 
She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep, 
Unable to support the fumes of sleep : 
But fled, returning by the way she went, 
And swerved along her bow with swift ascent. 

The god, uneasy till he slept again, 
Resolved at once to rid himself of pain ; 
And, though against his custom, call'd aloud, m 
Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd : 
Morpheus of all his numerous train express'd 
The shape of man, and imitated best; 
The walk, the words, the gesture could supply. 
The habit mimic, and the mien belie ; 
Plays well, but all his action is confined; 
Extending not beyond our human kind. 
Another birds, and beasts, and dragons apes, 
And dreadful images, and monster shapes : 
This daemon, Icelos, in heaven's high hall 3S ' 

The gods have named ; but men Phobeter call : 
A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll 
On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of soul ; 
Earth, fruits, and flowers, he represents in dreams 
And solid rocks unmoved, and running streams : ■' 
These three to kings and chiefs their scenes display, 
The rest before the ignoble commons play : 
Of these the chosen Morpheus is dispatch'd : 
Which done, the lazy monarch, overwatch'd, 
Down from his propping elbow drops his he 
Dissolved in sleep, and shrinks within his bed ■"' 

Darkling the daemon glides, for flight prepared, 
So soft that scarce his fanning wings are heard. 
To Trachin, swift as thought, the flitting shade 
Through air his momentary journey made : 3M 
Then lays aside the steerage of Ids win 
Forsakes his proper form, assumes the king's ; 
And pale as death, despoil'd of his array. 

Into the queen's apartment takes Ids way, 

And stands before the bed at dawn of day : SM 
Unmoved his eyes, and wet Ins heard appears; 
And shedding vain, hut seeming real tears; 
The briny water dropping from his hairs: 
Then staring on her, with a ghastly li»>k 
And hollow voice, he thus the queen 1 

Know'st thou not me ' Not yet, unhappy wile! 

Or are my features perish'd with my lite.' 
Look once again, and for thy husband lost. 
Lo! all that 's left of him. thy husband 
Thy vows for my return were all in vain j 
The stormy soutli o'ertook us in the main ; 
And never shalt thou see thj loving lord again. 
Bear witness, Heaven. 1 call'd on thee in death. 
And while 1 call'd, a billow stopp'd my breath : 



312 



CEYX AND ALCYONE. 



Think not that flying fame reports my fate ; 37 ° 
I present, I appear, and my own wreck relate. 
Rise, wretched widow, rise, nor undeplored 
Permit my ghost to pass the Stygian ford : 
But rise, prepared, in black, to mourn thy 
perish'd lord. 
Thus said the player god ; and adding art :S7i 
Of voice and gesture, so perform'd his part, 
She thought (so like her love the shade appears) 
That Ceyx spake the words, and Ceyx shed the 

tears. 
She groan'd, her inward soul with grief oppress'd, 
She sigh'd, she wept; and sleeping beat her 
breast : 3S0 

Then stretch'd her arms to embrace his body bare, 
Her clasping arms inclose but empty air : 
At this not yet awake she cried, Oh, stay, 
One is our fate, and common is our way ! 
So dreadful was the dream, so loud she spoke, 3SS 
That starting sudden up, the slumber broke ; 
Then cast her eyes around, in hope to view 
Her vanish'd lord, and find the vision true : 
For now the maids, who waited her commands, 
Ran in with lighted tapers in their hands. 390 

Tired with the search, not finding what she seeks, 
With cruel blows she pounds herblubber'd cheeks; 
Then from her beaten breast the linen tare, 
And cut the golden caul that bound her hair : 
Her nurse demands the cause ; with louder cries 
She prosecutes her gi'iefs, and thus replies : 3M 

No more Alcyone, she suffer'd death 
With her loved lord, when Ceyx lost his breath : 
No flattery, no false comfort, give me none, 
My shipwreck'd Ceyx is for ever gone ; 4 "° 

I saw, I saw him manifest in view, 
His voice, his figure, and his gestures knew : 
His lustre lost, and every living grace, 
Yet I retain'd the features of his face ; 
Though with pale cheeks, wet beard, and drop- 
ping hair, 4U3 
None but .my Ceyx could appear so fair : 
I would have strain'd him with a strict embrace, 
But through my arms he slipp'd, and vanish'd 

from the place : 
There, ev'n just there, he stood ; and as she spoke, 
Where last the spectre was, she cast her look : 410 
Fain would she hope, and gazed upon the ground, 
If any printed footsteps might be found. 

Then sigh'd and said : This I too well foreknew, 
And my prophetic fear presaged too true ; 
'Twas what I begg'd, when with a bleeding heart 
I took my leave, and suffer'd thee to part, 416 

Or I to go along, or thou to stay, 
Never, ah, never to divide our way ! 
Happier for me, that all our hours assign'd 
Together we had lived ; ev'n not in death disjoin'd ! 
So had my Ceyx still been living here, 42 ° 

Or with my Ceyx I had perish'd there : 
Now I die absent, in the vast profound ; 
And me without myself the seas have drown'd : 
The storms were not so cruel ; should I strive 425 
To lengthen life, and such a grief survive; 
But neither will I strive, nor wretched thee 
In death forsake, but keep thee company. 
If not one common sepulchre contains 
Our bodies, or one urn our last remains, 43 ° 

Yet Ceyx and Alcyone shall join, 
Their names remember'd in one common line. 

No farther voice her mighty grief affords, 
For sighs come rushing in betwixt her words, 



And stopp'd her tongue; but what her tongue 
denied, ^ 

Soft tears, and groans, and dumb complaints 
supplied. 

'Twas morning ; to the port she takes her way, 
And stands upon the margin of the sea : 
That place, that very spot of ground she sought, 
Or thither by her destiny was brought, 44 ° 

Where last he stood: and while she sadly said, 
'Twas here he left me, lingering here delay'd 
His parting kiss ; and there his anchors weigh'd ; 
Thus speaking, while her thoughts past actions 

trace, 
And call to mind, admonish'd by the place, 445 
Sharp at her utmost ken she cast her eyes, 
And somewhat floating from afar descries ; 
It seem'd a corpse adrift, to distant sight, 
But at a distance who could judge aright] 
It wafted nearer yet, and then she knew 4m 

That what before she but surmised, was true : 
A corpse it was, but whose it was, unknown, 
Yet moved, howe'er, she made the case her own : 
Took the bad omen of a shipwreck'd man, 
As for a stranger wept, and thus began : 4S6 

Poor wretch, on stormy seas to lose thy life, 
Unhappy thou, but more thy widow'd wife ! 
At this she paused ; for now the flowing tide 
Had brought the body nearer to the side : 
The more she looks, the more her fears increase 
At nearer sight ; and she 's herself the less : 461 
Now driven ashore, and at her feet it lies, 
She knows too much, in knowing whom she sees : 
Her husband's corpse ; at this she loudly shrieks, 
'Tis he, 'tis he, she cries, and tears her cheeks, 4I ' 5 
Her hair, her vest, and stooping to the sands, 
About his neck she cast her trembling hands. 

And is it thus, dearer than my life, 
Thus, thus return'st thou to thy longing wife ! 
She said, and to the neighbouring mole she strode, 
(Raised there to break the incursions of the 
flood ;) w 

Headlong from thence to plunge herself she 

springs, 
But shoots along supported on her wings ; 
A bird new made about the banks she plies, 
Not far from shore ; and short excursions tries ; 
Nor seeks in air her humble flight to raise, 4 ' 6 
Content to skim the surface of the seas ; 
Her bill, though slender, sends a creaking noise, 
And imitates a lamentable voice : 
Now lighting where the bloodless body lies, 4S0 
She with a funeral note renews her cries. 
At all her stretch her little wings she spread, 
And with her feather'd arms embraced the dead : 
Then flickering to his pallid lips, she strove 
To print a kiss, the last essay of love : 485 

Whether the vital touch revived the dead, 
Or that the moving waters raised his head 
To meet the kiss, the vulgar doubt alone ; 
For sure a present miracle was shown. 
The gods their shapes to winter-birds translate, 
But both obnoxious to their former fate. 491 

Their conjugal affection still is tied, 
And still the mournful race is multiplied ; 
They bill, they tread ; Alcyone compress'd 
Seven days sits brooding on h'er floating nest : 495 
A wintry queen : her sire at length is kind, 
Calms eveiy storm, and hushes every wind ; 
Prepares his empire for his daughter's ease, 
And for his hatching nephews smooths the seas. 



THE TWELFTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



3i3 



^ESACUS transformed into a 

CORMORANT. 

PKOM THE ELEVENTH BOOK 01' 

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



These some old man sees wanton in the air, 

And praises the unhappy constant pair. 

Then to his friend the long-neck'd cormorant 

shows, 
The former tale reviving others' woes : . 
That sable bird, he cries, which cuts the flood 5 
With slender legs, was once of royal blood ; 
His ancestors from mighty Tros proceed, 
The brave Laomedon, and Ganymede, 
(Whose beauty tempted Jove to steal the boy) 
And Priam, hapless prince ! who fell with Troy : 
Himself was Hector's brother, and had fate " 
But given this hopeful youth a longer date, 
perhaps had rivall'd warlike Hector's worth, 
Though on the mother's side of meaner birth ; 
Fair Alyxothoe, a country maid, 15 

Bare iEsacus by stealth in Ida's shade. 
He fled the noisy town, and pompous court, 
Loved the lone hills, and simple rural sport, 
And seldom to the city would resort. 
Yet he no rustic clownishness profess'd, :o 

Nor was soft love a stranger to his breast : 
The youth had long the nymph Hesperia woo'd, 
Oft through the thicket, or the mead pursued : 



Her haply on her father's bank he spied, 

While fearless she her silver tresses dried ; i4 

Away she fled : not stugs with half such speed, 

Before the prowling wolf, scud o'er the mead; 

Not ducks, when they the afer flood forsake, 

Pursued by hawks, so swift regain the lake. 

As fast he follow'd in the hot career ; *> 

Desire the lover wing'd, the virgin fear. 

A snake unseen now pierced her heedless foot ; 

Quick through tho veins the venoiu'd juices shoot: 

She fell, and 'scaped by death his fierce pursuit. 

Her lifeless body, frighted, he embraced, * 

And cried, Not this I dreaded, but thy haste : 

Oh, had my love been less, or less thy fear ! 

The victory thus bought is far too dear. 

Accursed snake ! yet I more cursed than he ! 

He gave the wound ; the cause was given by me. 

Yet none shall say, that unavenged you died. *■ 

He spoke ; then climb'd a cliti s o'er -hanging side, 

And, resolute, leap'd on tho foaming tide. 

Thetys received him gently on the wave ; 

The death he sought denied, and feathers gave. 4S 

Debarr'd the surest remedy of grief, 

A^id forced to live, he cursed the unask'd relief. 

Then on his airy pinions upward flies, 

And at a second fall successless tries ; 

The downy plume a quick descent denies. w 

Enraged, he often dives beneath the wave, 

And there in vain expects to find a grave, 

His ceaseless sorrow for the unhappy maid 

Meagred his look, and on his spirits prey'd. 

Still near the sounding deep he lives ; his name 

From frequent diving and emerging came. 5C 



THE TWELFTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



WHOLLY TRANSLATED. 



CONNECTION TO THE END OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK. 

.Fsfuus, the son of Priam, loving a country life, forsakes 
the court : living obscurely, he falls in love with a nymph; 
who, flying from him, was killed by a serpent; for grief 
of this, he would have drowned himself; but, by the pity 
of the gods, is turned into a Cormorant. Priam, not 
hearing of ^Esacus, believes him to be dead, and raises a 
tomb to preserve his memory. By this transition, which 
is one of the finest in all Ovid, the poet naturally falls 
into the story of the Trojan war, which is summed up, in 
the present hook, but so very briefly, in many places, 
that Ovid seems more short than Virgil, contrary to his 
usual style. Yet the House of Fame, which is here 
described, is one of the most beautiful pieces in the whole 
Metamorphoses. The fight of Achilles and Cygnus, and 
the fray betwixt the Lapitha! and Centaurs, yield to no 
other part of this port: ami particularly the !"*<' and 
death of Cyllarus ami Hylonome, the male and female 
Centaur, are wonderfully moving. 

Piuam, to whom tho story was unknown, 
As dead, deplored his metamorphosed son : 
A cenotaph his name and title kept, 
And Hector round the tomb, with all his brothers, 
wept. 



This pious office Paris did not share ; 

Absent alone and author of the war, 

Which, for the Spartan queen, the Grecians drew 

To avenge the rape, and Asia to subdue. 

A thousand ships were niann'd, to sail the sea : 
Nor had their just resentments found delay, ln 
Had not the winds and waves opposed their way. 
At Aulis, with united powers, they meet ; 
But there, cross winds or calms detain'd tho 
fleet. 

Now, while they raise an altar on the shore, 
And Jove with solemn sacrifice adore ; 
A boeling sign the priests and pi ople see : 
A snake of size immense ascends :. 
And in the leafy summit spied a - 
Which, o'er her callow young, a sparrow press .1. 
Eight were the birds unfledged ; their mother flew. 
And hovcr'd round her .'are : but still in v^w : -' 
Till the fierce reptile first devour'd the broi 1 : 
Then seized tho fluttering dam, and drank her 
blood. 



314 



THE TWELFTH BOOK OF 



This dire ostent the fearful people view ; 
Calchas alone, by Phoebus taught, foreknew 25 
What Heaven decreed : and with a smiling glance, 
Thus gratulates to Greece her happy chance : 
Argives, we shall conquer ; Troy is ours, 
But long delays shall first afflict our powers : 
Nine years of labour the nine birds portend ; 3U 
The tenth shall in the town's destruction end. 
The serpent, who his maw obscene had fill'd, 
The branches in his curl'd embraces held : 
But as in spires he stood, he turn'd to stone : M 
The stony snake retain'd the figure still his own. 
Yet not for this the wind-bound navy weigh'd ; 
Slack were their sails ; and Neptune disobey'd. 
Some thought him loth the town should be de- 

stroy'd, 
Whose building had his hands divine employ 'd : 
Not so the seer; who knew, and known fore- 

show'd, 4n 

The virgin Phcebe with a virgin's blood 
Must first be reconciled ; the common cause 
Prevail'd ; and pity yielding to the laws, 
Fair Iphigenia, the devoted maid, 
Was, by the weeping priests, in linen robes array'd ; 
All mourn her fate ; but no relief appear'd : 46 
The royal victim bound, the knife already rear'd : 
When that offended Power, who caused their woe, 
Relenting ceased her wrath; and stopp'd the 

coming blow. 
A mist before the ministers she cast ; 50 

And, in the virgin's room, a hind she placed. 
The oblation slain, and Phcebe reconciled, 
The storm was hush'd, and dimpled ocean smiled : 
A favourable gale arose from shore, 
Which to the port desired the Grecian galleys bore. 
Full in the midst of this created space, 56 

Betwixt heaven, earth, and skies, there stands a 

place 
Confining on all three ; with triple bound ; 
Whence all things, though remote, are view'd 

around, 
And thither bring their undulating sound. M 

The palace of loud Fame ; her seat of power ; 
Placed on the summit of a lofty tower. 
A thousand winding entries, long and wide, 
Receive of fresh reports a flowing tide. 
A thousand crannies in the walls are made ; G5 
Nor gate nor bars exclude the busy trade. 
'Tis built of brass, the better to diffuse 
The spreading sounds, and multiply the news ; 
Where echoes in repeated echoes play : 
A mart for ever full, and open night and day. '° 
Nor silence is within, nor voice express, 
But a deaf noise of sounds that never cease ; 
Confused, and chiding, like the hollow roar 
Of tides, receding from the insulted shore : 
Or like the broken thunder, heard ffom far, ? 5 
When Jove to distance drives the rolling war. 



Ver. 67. 'Tis iuili] The following lines are some of 
Dryden's happiest alliterations, consisting of letters thrice 
repeated: 

And shot her venom'd vipers in her veins— 
The breast beneath his fingers bent — 
'Tis built of brass the better to diffuse — 
Nor did the whizzing weapon miss the way. 

The first of these lines reminds me of the following one 
in Lucretius : 

" Verbera ventorum vitare " 

With a repetition of an uncommon consonant. Dr. J. 
Warton. 



The courts are fill'd with a tumultuous din 
Of crowds, or issuing forth, or entering in : 
A thoroughfare of news : where some devise 
Things never heard ; some mingle truth with lies : ^ 
The troubled air with empty sounds they beat ; 
Intent to hear, and eager to repeat. 
Error sits brooding there ; with added train 
Of vain Credulity, and Joys as vain : 
Suspicion, with Sedition j oin'd, are near ; w 

And rumours raised, and murmurs mix'd, and 

panic fear. 
Fame sits aloft; and sees the subject ground, 
And seas about, and skies above ; enquiring all 

around. 
The goddess gives the alarm ; and soon is 

known 
The Grecian fleet, descending on the town. <M 

Fix'd on defence, the Trojans are not slow 
To guard their shore from an expected foe. 
They meet in fight : by Hector's fatal hand 
Protesilaus falls, and bites the strand, 
Which with expence of blood the Grecians won ; 
And proved the strength unknown of Priam's 

son. <J6 

And to their cost the Trojan leaders felt 
The Grecian heroes, and what deaths they dealt. 

From these first onsets, the Sigaean shore 
Was strew'd with carcases, and stain'd with gore : 
Neptunian Cygnus troops of Greeks had slain ; )ul 
Achilles in his car had scour'd the plain, 
And clear'd the Trojan ranks : where'er he fought, 
Cygnus, or Hector, through the fields he sought : 
Cygnus he found ; on him his force essayed : 105 
For Hector was to the tenth year delay'd. 
His white-maned steeds, that bow'd beneath the 

yoke, 
He cheer'd to courage, with a gentle stroke ; 
Then urged his fiery chariot on the foe : 
And rising shook his lance, in act to throw. 110 
But first he cried, youth, be proud to bear 
Thy death, ennobled by Pelides' spear. 
The lance pursued the voice without delay ; 
Nor did the whizzing weapon miss the way, 
But pierced his cuirass, with such fury sent ; lls 
And sign'd his bosom with a purple dint. 
At this the seed of Neptune : Goddess-born, 
For ornament, not use, these arms are worn ; 
This helm, and heavy buckler, I can spare, 
As only decorations of the war : la) 

So Mars is arm'd for glory, not for need. 
'Tis somewhat more from Neptune to proceed, 
Than from a daughter of the sea to spring : 
Thy sire is mortal ; mine is ocean's king. 
Secure of death, I should contemn thy dart, '* 
Though naked, and impassible depart : 
He said, and threw ; the trembling weapon pass'd 
Through nine bull-hides, each under other placed, 
On his broad shield, and stuck within the last. 
Achilles wrench'd it out ; and sent again l:i " 

The hostile gift : the hostile gift was vain. 
He tried a third, a tough well-chosen spear ; 
The inviolable body stood sincere, 
Though Cygnus then did no defence provide, 
But scornful offer'd his unshielded side. I3r> 

Not otherwise the impatient hero fared, 
Than as a bull, encompass'd with a guard, 
Amid the circus roars : provoked from far, 
By sight of scarlet, and a sanguine war : 
They quit their ground; his bended horns elude; 
In vain pursuing, and in vain pursued. 



OVID'S METAMOKPHOSKX. 



315 



Before to farther fight he would advance, 
He stood considering, and survey'd his lance. 
Doubts if he wielded not a wooden spear 
Without a point : he look'd, the point was there. 
This is ray hand, and this my lance, he said, 14 ° 
By which so many thousand foes arc dead. 
Oh, whither is their usual virtue fled ! 
I had it once ; and the Lyrnessian wall, 
And Tenedos confess'd it iu their fall. 15u 

Thy streams, Ca'icus, roll'd a crimson flood ; 
And Thebes ran red with her own natives' blood. 
Twice Tclephus employ 'd their piercing steel, 
To wound him first, and afterward to heal. 
The vigour of this arm was never vain : 1M 

And that my wonted prowess I retain, 
Witness these heaps of slaughter on the plain. 
He said, and, doubtful of his former deeds, 
To some new trial of his force proceeds. 
He chose Mometes from among the rest ; lco 

At him he lanched his spear, and pierced his 

breast : 
On the hard earth the Lycian knock'd his head, 
And lay supine ; and forth the spirit fled. 

Then thus the hero : Neither can I blame 
The hand, or javelin ; both are still the same. 16s 
The same I will employ against this foe ; 
And wish but with the same success to throw. 
So spoke the chief ; and while he spoke he threw ; 
The weapon with unerring fury flew ; 
At his left shoulder aim'd : nor entrance found ; 
But back, as from a rock, with swift rebound ''' 
Harmless return'd : a bloody mark appear'd, 
Which with false joy the flatter'd hero cheer'd. 
Wound there was none ; the blood that was in 

view, 
The lance before from slain Menaces drew. ! ' s 

Headlong he leaps from off his lofty car, 
And in close fight on foot renews the war. 
Raging with high disdain repeats his blows ; 
Nor shield nor armour can their force oppose ; 
Huge cantlets of his buckler strew the ground, 13 ° 
And no defence in his bored arms is found. 
But on his flesh no wound or blood is seen ; 
The sword itself is blunted on the skin. 

This vain attempt the chief no longer bears; 
But round his hollow temples and his ears 185 

His buckler beats ; the sou of Neptune, stunn'd 
With these repeated buffets, quits his ground ; 
A sickly sweat succeeds, and shades of night ; 
Inverted nature swims before his sight : 
The insulting victor presses on the more, l90 

And treads the steps the vanquish'd trod before, 
Nor rest, nor respite gives. A stone there lay 
Behind his trembling foe, and stopp'd his way : 
Ai [Miles took the advantage which he found, 
O'er-tum'd, and push'd him backward on the 
ground. 1<J5 

His buckler held him under, while he press'd, 
With both his knees above, his panting breast : 
Unlaced his helm: about his chin the twist 
He tied; and soon the strangled soul dismiss'cL 

With eager haste he went to strip the dead ; '-' {IU 
The vanquish'd body from his arms was fled. 
His sea-god sire, to immortalise his fame, 
Had turn'd it to the bird that bears his name. 

A truce succeeds the labours of this day. 
And arms suspended with a long delay. I" 

While Trojan walls are kept with watch and ward; 
The Greeks beforo their trenches mount the 
guard. 



The feast approaeh'd ; when to the blue-eyed maid 
His vows for CygrniB slain the victor paid, 
And a white heifer on her altar laid. 
The reeking entrails on the fire they threw ; 
And to the gods the grateful odour flew : 
Heaven had its part in sacrifice : the rest 
Was broil'd and roasted for the future feast. 
The chief invited guests were set around : 5I6 

And, hunger first assuaged, the bowls were 

crown'd, 
Which in deep draughts their cares and labours 

drown'd. 
The mellow harp did not their cars employ : 
And mute was all the warlike symphony. 
Discourse, the food of souls, was their delight, -■" 
And pleasing chat prolong'd the summer's night. 
The subject, deeds of arms; and valour shown, 
Or on the Trojan side, or or their own. 
Of dangers undertaken, fame achieved, 
They talk'd by turns; the talk by turns re- 
lieved. 2S* 
What things but these could fierce Achilles tell, 
Or what could fierce Achilles hear so well ! 
The last great act perform'd, of Cygnua slain, 
Did most the martial audience entertain : 
Wondering to find a body, free by fate =3 ° 
From steel, and which could ev'n that steel rebate: 
Amazed, their admiration they renew ; 
And scarce Pelides could believe it true. 

Then Nestor, thus : What once this age has 
known, 
In fated Cygnus, and in him alone, 
These eyes have seen in C'sencus long before, 
Whose body not a thousand swords could bore. 
Cameus, in courage, and in strength, excell'd, 
And still his Othrys with his fame is fill'd : 
But what did most his martial deeds adorn, **> 
(Though since he changed his sex) a womau 
born. 
A novelty so strange, and full of fate, 
His listening audience ask'd him to relate. 
Achilles thus commends their common suit; 
father, first for prudence in repute, '-''' 

Tell, with that eloquence, so much thy own, 
What thou hast heard, or what of Gcueus known : 
What was he, whence his change; of sex begun, 
What trophies, join'd in wars with thee, he won ' 
Who conquer'd him, and in what fatal strife 
The youth, without a wound, could lose his life ! 

Neleides then : Though tardy age, and time, 
Have shrunk my sinews, and decay d my prime : 
Though much I have forgotten of my store, 
Yet not exhausted, I remember more. 
Of all that arms achieved, or peace design'd, 
That action still is fresher iu my mind 
Than aught beside. If reverend age can give 
To faith a sanction, in my third I live. 

'Twafl in my second century, I survey \1 vo 

Young Cicnis, then a fair Thessalian maid: 
Crcuis the bright was born to high command : 
A princess, and a native of thy land. 
Divine Achilles: every tongue proclaim'd 
Her beauty, and her eves all hearts inflamed '•*' 
Peleus, thy sire, perhaps had soughl her bed, 
Among the rest ; but he had either led 
Thy mother then, en- was by promise tied ; 

But she to him, and all, alike her love denied. 

It was her fortune once, to take her way "" 

Along the sandy margin of the BOB : 
The Power of ocean view'd In 



316 



THE TWELFTH BOOK OP 



And, loved as soon as seen, by force embraced. 
So fame reports. Her virgin treasiire seized, 
And his new joys the ravisher so pleased, f" 

That thus, transported, to the nymph he cried ; 
Ask what thou wilt, no prayer shall be denied. 
This also fame relates : the haughty fair, 
Who not the rape ev'n of a god could bear, 
This answer, proud, return'd : To mighty wrongs 
A mighty recompense, of right, belongs. 2S1 

Give me no more to suffer . ich a shame ; 
But change the woman for a better name ; 
One gift for all : she said ; and while she spoke, 
A stern, majestic, manly tone she took. 285 

A man she was : and as the godhead swore, 
To Caeneus turn'd, who Caenis was before. 
To this the lover adds, without request, 
No force of steel should violate his breast. 
Glad of the gift, the new-made warrior goes ; 2! "> 
And arms among the Greeks, and longs for equal 

foes. 
Now brave Pirithous, bold Ixion's son, 
The love of fair Hippodame had won. 
The eloud-beeotten race, half-men, half-beast, 
Invited, came to grace the nuptial feast : 295 

In a cool cave's recess the treat was made, 
Whose entrance trees with spreading boughs 

o'ershade. 
They sat: and, summon'd by the bridegroom, came, 
To mix with those, the Lapithaean name : 
Nor wanted I : the roofs with joy resound : 3(l0 
And Hymen, 16 Hymen, rung around, 
Raised altars shone with holy fires ; the bride, 
Lovely herself (and lovely by her side 
A bevy of bright nymphs, with sober grace,) 
Came glittering like a star, and took her place : 305 
Her heavenly form beheld, all wish'd her joy ; 
And little wanted, but in vain their wishes all 

employ. 
For one, most brutal of the brutal brood, 
Or whether wine or beauty fired his blood, 
Or both at once, beheld with lustful eyes 310 

The bride ; at once resolved to make his prize. 
Down went the board ; and fastening on her hair, 
He seized with sudden force the frighted fair. 
'Twas Eurytus began : his bestial kind 
His crime pursued ; and each as pleased his 

mind, 315 

Or her, whom chance presented, took : the feast 
An image of a taken town express'd. 

The cave resounds with female shrieks ; we 

rise, 
Mad with revenge, to make a swift reprise : 
And Theseus first : What frenzy has possess'd, 320 
O Eurytus, he cried, thy brutal breast, 
To wrong Pirithous, and not him alone, 
But, while I live, two friends conjoin'd in one? 

To justify his threat, he thrusts aside 
The crowd of Centaurs, and redeems the bride. 325 
The monster nought replied : for words were 

vain; 
And deeds could only deeds unjust maintain : 
But answers with his hand ; and forward press'd, 
With Vows redoubled, on his face and breast. 
An ample goblet stood, of antique mould, S3 ° 

And rough with figures of the rising gold ; 
The hero snatch'd it up, and toss'd in air, 
Full at the front of the foul ravisher : 
He falls ; and falling vomits forth a flood 
Of wine, and foam, and brains, and mingled 

blood. ^ 



Half-roaring, and half-neighing through the hall, 
Arms, arms, the double-form'd with fury call ; 
To wreak their brother's death : a medley flight 
Of bowls and jars, at first, supply the fight, 
Once instruments of feasts, but now of fate ; 34 ° 
Wine animates their rage, and arms their hate. 

Bold Amycus, from the robb'd vestry, brings 
The chalices of heaven, and holy things 
Of precious weight : a sconce, that hung on high, 
With tapers fill'd, to light the sacristy, 345 

Torn from the cord, with his unhallow'd hand 
He threw amid the Lapithaean band. 
On Celadon the ruin fell, and left 
His face of feature and of form bereft : 
So, when some brawny sacrificer knocks, 350 

Before an altar led, an offer'd ox, 
His eye-balls rooted out are thrown to ground ; 
His nose dismantled in his mouth is found, 
His jaws, cheeks, front, one undistinguish'd wound 

This, Belates, the avenger, could not brook ; 3S5 
But, by the foot, a maple-board he took, 
And hurl'd at Amycus ; his chin is bent 
Against his chest, and down the Centaur sent; 
Whom sputtering bloody teeth, the second blow 
Of his drawn sword dispatch'd to shades below. 3M 

Grineus was near ; and cast a furious look 
On the side-altar, censed with sacred smoke, 
And bright with flaming fires : The gods, he cried, 
Have with their holy trade our hands supplied : 
Why use we not their gifts'! Then from the floor 
An altar-stone he heaved, with all the load it 
bore : 3li6 

Altar and altar's freight together flew 
Where thickest throng'd the Lapithaean crew; 
And, at once, Broteas and Oryus slew : 
Oryus' mother, Mycale, was known 3 '° 

Down from her sphere to draw the labouring 
moon. 

Exadius cried, Unpunish'd shall not go 
This fact, if arms are found against the foe. 
He look'd about, where on a pine wer« spread 
The votive horns of a stag's branching head ; 375 
A.t Grineus these he throws : so just they fly, 
That the sharp antlers stuck in either eye : 
Breathless and blind h 3 fell ; with blood besmear' d, 
His eye-balls beaten out hung dangling on his 

beard. 
Fierce Rhaetus, from the hearth, a burning brand 3S0 
Selects, and whirling waves ; till, from his hand, 
The fire took flame ; then dash'd it from the right, 
On fair Charaxus' temples, near the sight : 
The whistling pest came on, and pierced the bone, 
And caught the yellow hair, that shrivell'd while 
it shone ; 3K5 

Caught, like dry stubble fired, or like sere-wood ; 
Yet from the wound ensued no purple flood ; 
But look'd a bubbling mass of frying blood. 
His blazing locks sent forth a crackling sound, 
And hiss'd, like red-hot iron within the smithy 
drown'd. 39 ° 

The wounded warrior shook his flaming hair, 
Then (what a team of horse could hardly rear) 
He heaves the threshold-stone ; but could not 

throw ; 
The weight itself forbad the threaten'd blow ; 
Which, dropping from his lifted arms, came down 
Full on Cometes' head, and crush'd his crown. S9S 
Nor Rhaetus then retain'd his joy, but said, 
So by their fellows may our foes be sped, 
Then with redoubled strokes he plies his head : 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



817 



The burning lever not deludes his pains, 4 ° n 

But drives the batter' d skull within the brains. 

Thus flush'd, the conqueror, with force renew'd, 
Evagrus, Dryas, Corythus, pursued : 
First, Corythus, with downy cheeks, he slew; 
Whose fall when fierce Evagrus had in view, 405 
He cried, What palm is from a beardless prey? 
Rhaetus prevents what more he had to say ; 
And drove within his mouth the fiery death, 
Which cnter'd hissing in, and choked his breath. 
At Dryas next he flew ; but weaiy chance 41u 

No longer would the same success advance. 
But while he whirl'd in fiery circles round 
The brand, a sharpen'd stake strong Dryas found ; 
And in the shoulder's joint inflicts the wound. 
The weapon stuck, which roaring out with pain 
He drew ; nor longer durst the fight maintain, 416 
But turn'd his back for fear, and fled amain. 
With him fled Orneus, with like dread possess'd ; 
Thaumas and Medon, wounded in the breast, 
And Mermeros, in the late race renown'd, 42 ° 

Now limping ran, and tardy with his wound. 
Pholus and Melaneus from fight withdrew, 
And Abas maim'd, who boars encountering slew : 
And augur Astylos, whose art in vain 
From fight dissuaded the four-footed ti'ain, 425 
Now beat the hoof with Nessus on the plain ; 
But to his fellow cried, Be safely slow, 
Thy death deferr'd is due to great Alcides' bow. 

Meantime strong Dryas urged his chance so 
well, 
That Lycidas, Areos, Imbreus fell ; 43 ° 

All, one by one, and fighting face to face : 
Crenajus fled, to fall with more disgrace : 
For, fearful while he look'd behind, he bore, 
Betwixt his nose and front, the blow before. 
Amid the noise and tumult of the fray, 4:t5 

Snoring and drunk with wine, Aphidas lay. 
Ev'n then the bowl within his hand he kept, 
And on a bear's rough hide securely slept. 
Him Phorbas with his flying dart transfix'd : 
Take thy next draught with Stygian waters mix'd, 
And sleep thy fill, the insulting victor cried ; + " 
Surprised with death unfelt, the Centaur died : 
The ruddy vomit, as he breathed his soul, 
Repass'd his throat, and fill'd his empty bowl. 

I saw Petraus' arms employ'd around * 45 

A well-grown oak, to root it from the ground. 
This way, and that, he wrench'd the fibrous bands, 
The trunk was like a sapling in his hands, 
And still obey*d the bent : while thus he stood, 
Pirithous' dart drove on, and nail'd him to the 
wood. 45u 

Lycus and Chromys fell, by him oppress'd : 
Helops and Dictys added to the rest 
A nobler palm : Helops, through cither ear 
Transfix'd, received the penetrating spear. 
This Dictys saw ; and seized with sudden fright, 4: ' 5 
Leapt headlong from the hill of steepy height ; 
And crush'd an ash beneath, that could not bear 

his weight. 
The shatter'd tree receives his fall, and strikes, 
Within his full-blown paunch, the sharpen'd spikes. 
Strong Aphareus had heaved a mighty stone, 400 
The fragment of a rock, and would have thrown ; 
But Theseus, with a club of harden'd oak, 
The cubit-bone of the bold Centaur broke ; 
And left him maim'd ; nor seconded the stroke. 
Then leapt on tall Bianor's back ; (who bore l6S 
No mortal burden but his own, before.) 



Press'd with his knees his sides ; the double man, 
His speed with spurs increased, unwilling ran. 
One hand the hero fasten'd on his locks; 
His other plied him with repeated strokes. , "" 
The club hung round his cars, and batter'd bro 
He falls, and lashing up his heels, his rider tin 

The same Herculean arms Nedymnufl wound; 
And lay by him Lycotas on the ground ; 
And Hippasus, whose beard hie breast invades; 4 " 4 
And Ripheus, haunter of the woodland shad' 
And Tereus, used with mountain bears to strive ; 
And from their dens to draw the indignant beasts 
alive. 
Demoleon could not bear this hateful sight. 
Or the long fortune of the Athenian knight : 48 ° 
But pull'd with all his force, to disengage 
From earth a pine, the product of an a 
The root stuck fast ; the broken trunk he sent 
At Theseus : Theseus frustrates his intent, 
And leaps aside, by Pallas wam'd, the blow 4S5 
To shun : (for so he said; and we believed it so.) 
Yet not in vain the enormous weight was cast; 
Which Crantor's body sunder'd at the waist. 
Thy father's squire, Achilles, ami his care; 
Whom, conquer'd in the Dolopeian war, 
Their king, his present ruin to prevent, 
A pledge of peace implored, lo Peleus sent. 
Thy sire, with grieving eyes, beheld his fate ; 
And cried, Not long, loved Crantor, shalt thou 

wait 
Thy vow'd revenge. At once he said, and threw 
His ashen-spear, which quiver'd as it flew, 
With all his force and all his soul applied ; 
The sharp point enter'd in the Centaur's side : 
Both hands, to wrench it out, the monster join'd; 
And wrench'd it out ; but left the steel behind. 
Stuck in his lungs it stood : enraged he rears sc ' 
His hoofs, and down to ground thy father bears. 
Thus trampled under foot, his shield defends 
His head ; his other hand the lance protends. 
Ev'n while he lay extended on the dust, 
He sped the Centaur with one single thrust. 
Two more his lance before transfix'd from far ; 
And two his sword had slain in closer war. 
To these was added Dorylas : who spread 
A bull's two goring horns around his head. 510 
With these he push'd ; in blood already dyed : 
Him, fearless, I approach'd, and thus defied : 
Now, monster, now, by proof it shall appear, 
Whether thy horns are sharper, or my spear, 
At this, I threw : for want of other ward, 
He lifted up his hand, his front to guard. 
His hand it pass'd, and fix'd it to his brow : 
Loud shouts of ours attend the lucky blow : 
Him Peleus finish'd, with a second wound, 
Which through the navel pierced: he recl'd 

around, 
And dragg'd his dangling bowels on the ground : 
Trod what he dragg'd, and what he trod he 

crush'd : 
And to his mother-earth, with empty belly, 

rush'd. 
Nor could thy form, O CyllaruB, foreshow 
Thy fate; (if form to monsters men allow :) 6=s 
Just bloom 'd thy beard, thy beard of golden 

hue : 
Thy locks, in golden waves, about thy shoulders 

flew. 
Sprightly thy look : thy sh;q>es in every part 
So cleau, as might instruct the sculptor's ait : 



318 



THE TWELFTH BOOK OP 



As far as man extended : where began 5M 

The beast, the beast was equal to the man. 

Add but a horse's head and neck, and he, 

Castor, was a courser worthy thee. 

So was his back proportion'd for the seat ; 

So rose his brawny chest ; so swiftly moved his 

feet. 535 

Coal-black his colour, but like jet it shone ; 
Hi« legs and flowing tail were white alone. 
Beloved by many maidens of his kind, 
But fair Hylonome possess'd his mind ; 
Hylonome, for features, and for face, 64 ° 

Excelling all the nymphs of double race : 
Nor less her blandishments, than beauty, move ; 
At once both loving, and confessing love. 
For him she dress'd ; for him with female care 
She comb'd, and set in curls, her auburn hair. 54S 
Of roses, violets, and lilies mix'd, 
And sprigs of flowing rosemary betwixt, 
She form'd the chaplet, that adorn' d her front : 
In waters of the Pegasaean fount, 549 

And in the streams that from the fountain play, 
She wash'd her face, and bathed her twice a day. 
The scarf of furs, that hung below her side, 
Was ermine, or the panther's spotted pride ; 
Spoils of no common beast : with equal flame 
They loved : their sylvan pleasures were the 

same : 555 

All day they hunted ; and when day expired, 
Together to some shady cave retired. 
Invited, to the nuptials both repair : 
And, side by side, they both engage in war. 

Uncertain from what hand, a flying dart 56n 
At Cyllarus was sent, which pierced his heart. 
The javelin drawn from out the mortal wound, 
He faints with staggering steps, and seeks the 

ground : 
The fair within her arms received his fall, 
And strove his wandering spirits to recal : 665 

And while her hand the streaming blood opposed, 
Join'd face to face, his lips with hers she closed. 
Stifled with kisses, a sweet death he dies ; 
She fills the fields with undistinguish'd cries : 
At least her words were in her clamour drown'd; 
For my stunn'd ears received no vocal sound. 571 
In madness of her grief, she seized the dart 
New-drawn, and reeking from her lover's heart ; 
To her bare bosom the sharp point applied, 
And wounded fell ; and falling by his side, 5 " 5 
Embraced him in her arms, and thus embracing 

died. 
Ev'n still, methinks, I see Phasocomes ; 
Strange was his habit, and as odd his dress. 
Six lions' hides, with thongs together fast, 
His upper part defended to his waist ; 5S0 

And where man ended, the continued vest, 
Spread on his back, the houss and trappings of a 

beast. 
A stump too heavy for a team to draw, 
(It seems a fable, though the fact I saw ;) 
He threw at Pholon ; the descending blow 585 
Divides the skull, and cleaves his head in two. 
The brains, from nose and mouth, and either ear, 
Came issuing out, as through a cullender 
The curdled milk : or from the press the whey, 
Driven down by weights above, is drain' d away. 
But him, while stooping down to spoil the 

slain, 591 

Pierced through the paunch, I tumbled on the 

plain. 



Then Chthonius and Teleboas I slew : 

A fork the former arm'd ; a dart his fellow throw : 

The javelin wounded me ; (behold the scar.) 6M 

Then was my time to seek the Trojan war ; 

Then I was Hector's match in open field ; 

But he was then unborn ; at least a child ; 

Now, I am nothing. I forbear to tell 

By Periphantes how Pyretus fell ; 6no 

The Centaur by the knight : nor will I stay 

On Amphix, or what deaths he dealt that day : 

What honour, with a pointless lance, he won, 

Stuck in the front of a four-footed man. 

What fame young Macareus obtain'd in fight : 6(B 

Or dwell on Nessus, now return'd from flight. 

How prophet Mopsus not alone divined, 

Whose valour equall'd his foreseeing mind. 

Already Caeneus, with his conquering hand, 
Had slaughter'd five the boldest of their band : 610 
Pyrachmus, Helymus, Antimachus, 
Bromus the brave, and stronger Stiphelus ; 
Their names I number'd, and remember well, 
No trace remaining, by what wounds they fell. 

Latreus, the bulkiest of the double race, 615 
Whom the spoil'd arms of slain Halesus grace, 
In years retaining still his youthful might, 
Though his black hairs were interspersed with 

white, 
Betwixt the embattled ranks began to prance, 
Proud of his helm, and Macedonian lance ; 62 ° 
And rode the ring around ; that either host 
Might hear him, while he made this empty boast : 
And from a strumpet shall we suffer shame 1 
For Caeuis still, not Caeneus is thy name : 
And still the native softness of thy kind 62S 

Prevails, and leaves the woman in thy mind. 
Remember what thou wert : what price was paid 
To change thy sex : to make thee not a maid : 
And but a man in show : go, card and spin ; 
And leave the business of the war to men. m 

While thus the boaster exercised his pride, 
The fatal spear of Caeneus reach'd his side : 
Just in the mixture of the kinds it ran; 
Betwixt the nether beast and upper man. 
The monster mad with rage, and stung with 

smart, fi3S 

His lance directed at the hero's heart : 
It strook ; but bounded from his harden'd breast, 
Like hail from tiles, which the safe house invest ; 
Nor seem'd the stroke with more effect to come, 
Than a small pebble falling on a drum. 64 ° 

He next his fauchion tried, in closer fight ; 
But the keen fauchion had no power to bite. 
He thrust ; the blunted point return'd again : 
Since downright blows, he cried, and thrusts are 

vain, 
I '11 prove his side : in strong embraces held, W5 
He proved his side ; his side the sword repell'd : 
His hollow belly echoed to the stroke ; 
Untouch'd his body, as a solid rock ; 
Aim'd at his neck at last, the blade in shivers 

broke. 
The impassive knight stood idle, to deride 65 ° 
His rage, and offer'd oft his naked side : 
At length, Now, monster, in thy turn, he cried, 
Try thou the strength of Caeneus : at the word 
He thrust; and in his shoulder plunged the 

sword. 
Then writhed his hand ; and as he drove it 

down, «* 

Deep in his breast, made many wounds in one. 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 



310 



TheCentaurs saw, enraged, the unhoped success; 
And, rushing on, in crowds, together press; 
At him, and him alone, their darts they threw : 
Repulsed they from his fated body flow. 66 ° 

Amazed they stood ; till Monychus began : 

shame, a nation conquer'd by a man ! 
A woman-man ; yet more a man is he, 
Than all our race ; and what he was, are we. 
Now, what avail our nerves 1 the united force, m!< 
Of two the strongest creatures, man and horse 1 
Nor goddess-born, nor of boon's seed 

We seem ; (a lover built for Juno' bed ;) 
Master'd by this half man. Whole mountains 

throw 
With woods at once, and bury him below. c '° 

This only way remains. Nor need we doubt 
To choke the soul within, though not to force it out. 
Heap weights, instead of wounds. He chanced to 

see 
Where southern storms had rooted up a tree ; 
This, raised from, earth, against the foe he 

threw ; ^ 

The example shown, his fellow-brutes pursue. 
With forest-loads the warrior they invade ; 
Othrys and Pelion soon were void of shade ; 
And spreading groves were naked mountains 

made. 
Press'd with the burden, Cseneus pants for breath ; 
And on his shoulders bears the wooden death. 6S1 
To heave the intolerable weight he tries ; 
At length it rose above bis mouth and eyes ; 
Yet still he heaves : and struggling with despair, 
Shakes all aside, and gains a gulp of air : 68S 

A short relief, which but prolongs his pain ; 
He faints by fits ; and then respires again : 
At last, the burden only nods above, 
As when an earthquake stirs the Idasan grove. 
Doubtful his death : he suffocated seem'd 60 ° 

To most ; but otherwise our Mopsus deem'd : 
Who said he saw a yellow bird arise 
From out the pile, and cleave the liquid skies : 

1 saw it too, with golden feathers bright, 

Nor e'er before beheld so strange a sight. 65S 

Whom Mopsus viewing, as it soar'd around 
Our troop, and heard the pinions' rattling sound, 
All hail, he cried, thy country's grace and love ; 
Once first of men below, now first of birds above. 
Its author to the story gave belief: 7 "° 

For us, our courage was increased by grief : 
Ashamed to see a single man, pursued 
With odds, to sink beneath a multitude : 
We push'd the foe, and forced to shameful fight ; 
Part fell ; and part escaped by favour of the night. 

This tale, by Nestor told, did much displease '° 6 
Tlepolemus, the seed of Hercules : 
For, often ho had heard his father say, 
That he himself was present at the fray ; 
And more than shared the glories of the day. ? w 

Old Chronicle, he said, among the rest, 
You might have named Alcides at the least : 
Is he not worth your praise ? The Pylian prince 
Sigh'd ere he spoke; then made this proud defence. 
My former woes, in long oblivion drown'd, ' lc > 
I would have lost ; but you renew the wound : 
Botter to pass him o'er, than to relate 
The cause I have your mighty sire to hate. 
His fame has fill'd the world, and reach'd the sky ; 
(Which, oh, I wish, with truth, I could deny !) r:o 
We praise not Hector ; though his name, we know, 
Is great in arms ; 'tis hard to praise a foe. 



He, your great father, lovell'd to the ground 
Messenia's towers : nor better fortune found 
Elis, and Pylus ; that, a neighboui ng tate, "-' 
And this, my own : both guiltless of their i 

To pass the rest, twelve, wanting one, he slew, 

My brethren, who their birth from Neleus drew. 

All youths of early promise, had they lived ; 

By him they perish d i I alone survived. < 30 

The rest were easy conquest : but the fate 

Of Periclymenos is wondrous to relate. 

To him our comni"n grandsire of the main 

Had given to change his form, and, changed, 

resume again. 
Varied at pleasure, every shape he tried ; T 35 

And in all beasts Alcides still defied : 
Vanquish'd on earth, at length he soar'd above ; 
Changed to the bird that bears the bolt of Jove : 
The new dissembled eagle, now endued 
With beak and pounces, Hercvles pursued, 7 40 
And cuff'd his manly cheeks, and tore his face ; 
Then, safe retired, and tower'd in empty space. 
Alcides bore not long his flying foe : 
But bending his inevitable bow, 
Reach'd him in air, suspended as lie stood ; ' ,tf 
And in his pinion fix'd the feather'd wood. 
Light was the wound ; but in the sinew hung 
The point ; and his disabled wing unstrung. 
He wheel'd in air, and stretch d his vans in 

vain ; 
His vans no longer could his flight sustain : W 
For while one gather'd wind, one unsupplied 
Hung drooping down ; nor poised his other side. 
He fell : the shaft that slightly was impress'd, 
Now from his heavy fall with weight increased, 
Drove through his neck, aslant ; he spurns the 

ground, 75 s 

And the soul issues through the weazen's wound, 

Now, brave commander of the Rhodian seas, 
What praise is due from me to Hercules? 
Silence is all the vengeance I decree 
For my slain brother's; but 'tis peace with thee. ' 60 
Thus with a flowing tongue old Xcstor spoke : 
Then to full bowls each other they provoke : 
At length with weariness and wine oppress'd, 
They rise from table, and withdraw to rest. 

The sire of Cygnus, monarch of the main, "''"' 
Meantime, laments his son in battle slain : 
And vows the victor's death, nor vows in vain. 
For nine long years the smother'd pain he bore ; 
(Achilles was not ripe for fate before :) 
Then when he saw the promised hour was near, "" 
He thus bespoke the god, that guides the year. 
Immortal offspring of my brother Jove ; 
My brightest nephew, and whom best I love, 
Whose hands were join'd with mine, to raise the 

wall 
Of tottering Troy, now nodding to her fall ; "* 
Dost thou not mourn our power employ 'd in 

vain ; 
And the defenders of our city slain ? 
To pass the rest, could noble Hector lie 
Unpitied, dragged around his native Troy I 
And yet the murderer lives : himself by Bar •"*' 
A greater plague than all the wasteful war: 
He lives; the proud Pelides lives, to bo 
Our town destroy'd, our common labour lost ! 
Oh, could I meet him ! But I \\ ish too lato, 
To prove my trident is not in his fate. 
Bui let him try (for that 's nllow'di thy dart, 
And pierce his only penetrable part. 



320 



AJAX AND ULYSSES. 



Apollo bows to the superior throne ; 
And to his uncle's anger adds his own. 
Then, in a cloud involved, he takes his flight, 79 ° 
Where Greeks and Trojans mix'd in mortal fight; 
And found out Paris, lurking where he stood, 
And stain'd his arrows with plebeian blood : 
Phoebus to him alone the god confess'd, 
Then to the recreant knight he thus address'd : " 95 
Dost thou not blush, to spend thy shafts in vain 
On a degenerate and ignoble train ? 
If fame, or better vengeance, be thy care, 
There aim : and, with one arrow, end the war. 

He said ; and show'd from far the blazing shield 
And sword, which but Achilles none could wield; 801 
And how he moved a god, and mow'd the stand- 
ing field. 
The deity himself directs aright 
The envenom'd shaft ; and wings the fatal flight. 

Thus fell the foremost of the Grecian name ; 805 
And he, the base adulterer, boasts the fame. 
A spectacle to glad the Trojan train ; 
And please old Priam, after Hector slain. 
If by a female hand he had foreseen 
He was to die, his wish had rather been 81 ° 

The lance and double axe of the fair warrior 

queen. 
And now, the terror of the Trojan field, 
The Grecian honour, ornament, and shield, 
High on a pile, the unconquer'd chief is placed : 
The god, that arm'd him first, consumed at last. 815 
Of all the mighty man, the small remains 
A little urn, and scarcely fill'd, contains. 
Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives ; 
And, equal to himself, himself survives. 

His buckler owns its former lord ; and brings 
New cause of strife betwixt contending kings ; s21 
"Who worthiest, after him, his sword to wield, 
Or wear his armour, or sustain his shield. 
Ev'n Diomede sat mute, with downcast eyes ; 
Conscious of wanted worth to win the prize : 825 
Nor Menelaus presumed these arms to claim, 
Nor he the king of men, a greater name. 
Two rivals only rose : Laertes' son, 
And the vast bulk of Ajax Telamon. 
The king, who cherish'd each with equal love, 83 ° 
And from himself all envy would remove, 
Left both to be determined by the laws ; 
And to the Grecian chiefs transferr'd the cause. 



THE SPEECHES OP 

AJAX AND ULYSSES. 

FKOM THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OP 

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.* 
♦ — - 

The chiefs were set, the soldiers crown'd the field : 
To these the master of the seven-fold shield 
Upstarted fierce : and kindled with disdain, 
Eager to speak, unable to contain 

» The Metamorphoses (as well as the Fasti of Ovid) have 
preserved, it must he owned, many curious particulars of 
ancient history, philosophy, and mythology. For Ovid was 
a great and learned antiquarian, which, from the levity 
and spovtiveness of some of his poems, one would not 



His boiling rage, he roll'd his eyes around ' 

The shore, and Grecian galleys haled aground. 

Then stretching out his hands, Jove, he cried, 

Must then our cause before the fleet be tried % 

And dares Ulysses for the prize contend, 

In sight of what he durst not once defend 1 10 

But basely fled, that memorable day, 

When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming 

prey. 
So much 'tis safer at the noisy bar 
AVith words to flourish, than engage in war. 
By different methods we maintain'd our right, M 
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight. 
In bloody fields I labour to be great ; 
His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft deceit. 
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see ; 
The sun and day are witnesses for me. 20 

Let him who fights unseen relate his own, 
And vouch the silent stars, and conscious moon. 
Great is the prize demanded, I confess, 
But such an abject rival makes it less. 
That gift, those honours, he but hoped to gain, 25 
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain : 
Losing he wins, because his name will be 
Ennobled by defeat, who durst contend with me. 
Were mine own valour question'd, yet my blood 
Without that plea would make my title good : * 
My sire was Telamon, whose arms, employ'd 
With Hercules, these Trojan walls destroy'd ; 
And who before, with Jason, sent from Greece, 
In the first ship brought home the golden fleece : 
Great Telamon from iEacus derives K 

His birth (the inquisitor of guilty lives 
In shades below ; where Sisyphus, whose son 
This thief is thought, rolls up the restless heavy 

stone,) 
Just iEacus the king of gods above 
Begot : thus Ajax is the third from Jove. 4I 

Nor should I seek advantage from my line, 
Unless (Achilles) it were mix'd with thine : 
As next of kin Achilles' arms I claim ; 
This fellow would ingraft a foreign name 
Upon our stock, and the Sisyphian seed 
By fraud and theft asserts his father's breed. 
Then must I lose these arms, because I came 
To fight uncall'd, a voluntary name ? 
Nor shunn'd the cause, but offer'd you my aid, 
While he long lurking was to war betray'd : so 
Forced to the field he came, but in the rear ; 
And feign'd distraction to conceal his fear : 
Till one more cunning caught him in the snare, 
(111 for himself) and dragg'd him into war. 
Now let a hero's arms a coward vest, 
And he, who shunn'd all honours, gain the best ; 
And let me stand excluded from my right, 
Robb'd of my kinsman's arms, who first appear'd 

in fight. 
Better for us, at home he had remain'd, 
Had it been true the madness which he feign'd, M 

suspect. An old French translator of Ovid, Thomas Vallois, 
called the Metamorphoses the Bihle of the poets; his work 
was printed at Paris, in black letter, 1523. The Abbe 
Banier published a magnificent edition in 4to. 4 vols. 1767, 
with historical and mythological illustrations. — Benserade 
made a kind of travestie of Ovid in Rondeaux, printed in 
4to. with beautiful sculptures. The Abbe Bellegarde trans- 
lated at the same time Ovid's Metamorphoses, and the 
pious Thomas a Kempis. Perhaps he was ordered by his 
confessor to undertake the latter work as an act of penance; 
as Dryden was ordered by his confessor to write the Hind 
and Panther, as an expiation for having written the Spanish 
Friar. Dr. Joseph Waeton. 



AJAX AND ULYSSES. 



321 



Or so believed ; the less had been our shame, 
The less his couusell'd crime, which brands the 

Grecian name ; 
Nor Philoctetes had been loft inclosed 
In a bare isle, to wants and pains exposed, 
Where to the rocks, with solitary groans, m 

His sufferings and our baseness lie bemoans; 
And wishes (so may Heaven his wish fulfil) 
The due reward to him who caused his ill. 
Now he, with us to Troy's destruction sworn, 
Our brother of the war, by whom are borne 70 
Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds, 
With cold and hunger pinch'd, and pain'd with 

wounds, 
To find him food and clothing, must employ 
Against the birds the shafts due to the fato of 

Troy. 
Yet still ho lives, and lives from treason free, '■' 
Because he left Ulysses' company : 
Poor Palamede might wish, so void of aid 
Rather to have been left, than so to death 

betray'd. 
The coward bore the man immortal spite, 
Who shamed him out of madness into fight : 80 
Nor daring otherwise to vent his hate, 
Accused him first of treason to the state ; 
And then, for proof, produced the golden store 
Himself had hidden in his tent before : 
Thus of two champions he deprived our host, m 
By exile one, and one by treason lost. 
Tims fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends, 
A formidable man, but to his friends : 
Great, for what greatness is in words and sound : 
Even faithful Nestor less in both is found : 90 

But that he might without a rival reign, 
He left his faithful Nestor on the plain ; 
Forsook his friend ev'n at his utmost need, 
Who tired and tardy, with his wounded steed, 
Cried out for aid, and call'd him by his name ; 95 
But cowardice has neither ears nor shame : 
Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid, 
And, for as much as lay in him, betray'd. 
That this is not a fable forged by me, 
Like one of his, an Ulyssean lie, I0n 

I vouch ev'n Diomede, who, though his friend, 
Cannot that act excuse, much less defend : 
He call'd him back aloud, and tax'd his fear ; 
And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear. 

The gods with equal eyes on mortals look ; m 
Ho justly was forsaken, who forsook : 
Wanted that succour he refused to lend, 
Found every fellow such another friend : 
No wonder, if he roar'd that all might hear, 
His elocution was increased by fear : 1UI 

I heard, I ran, I found him out of breath, 
Pale, trembling, and half dead with fear of 

death. 
Though he had judged himself by his own laws, 
And stood condemn'd, I help'd the common 

cause: 
With my broad buckler hid him from the foe ; m 
(Ev'n the shield trembled as he lay below ;) 
And from impending fate the coward freed : 
Good heaven forgive mo for so bad a deed ! 
If still ho will persist, and urge the strife, 
First let him give me back his forfeit life ; ia) 

Let him return to that opprobrious field : 
Again creep under my protecting shield : 
Let him lie wounded, let the foe be near, 
And let his quivering heart confess his fear; 



There put him in Llio very jaws of fate; 

And let him plead his cause in that (-.state : 

And yet, when suatch'd from death, when from 

below 
My lifted shield I loosed, and let him go, 
Good heavens, how light he rose, with what a 

bound 
lb; sprung from earth, forgetful of bis wound 
How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply ; 
Who had not strength to stand, had speed to fly ! 

Hector came on, and brought the gods along ; 
Fear seized alike the feeble and the Btrong : 
Each (Jreck was an Ulysses; such a dread IM 
Th' approach, and ev'n the sound, of 1 lector bred ■ 
Him, flesh'd with slaughter, and with conquest 

crown'd, 
I met, and overtum'd him to the ground. 
When after, matchless as he deem'd in might, 
He challenged all our host to single fig] no 

All eyes were fix'd on mo : the lots were thrown 
.But for your champion I was wish'd alone: 
Your vows were heard, we fought, and neither 

yield ; 
Yet I return'd unvanquish'd from the field. 
With Jove to friend th' insulting Trojan came, "' 
And menaced us with force, our fleet with flume : 
Was it the strength of this tongue- valiant lord, 
In that black hour, that saved you from the 

sword ; 
Or was my breast exposed alone, to brave 
A thousand swords, a thousand ships to save 1 '"'" 
The hopes of your return ! and can you yield, 
For a saved fleet, less than a single shield f 
Think it no boast, O Grecians, if I deem 
These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them ; 
Or, I with them an equal honour share ; '" 

They honour'd to be worn, and I to wear. 
Will he compare my courage with his flight? 
As well he may compare the day with night. 
Night is indeed the province of his reign : 
Yet all his dark exploits no more contain 1G " 

Than a spy taken, and a sleeper slain ; 
A priest made prisoner, Pallas made a prey : 
But none of all these actions done by day : 
Nor aught of these was done, and Diomede away. 
If on such petty merits you confer " k ' 

So vast a prize, let each his portion share ; 
Make a just dividend : and if not all. 
The greater part to Diomede will fall. 
But why for Ithacus such anus as i 
Who naked and by night invades his foes ? '"" 

The glittering helm by moonlight will proclaim 
The latent robber, and prevent his game : 
Nor could he hold his tottering head upright 
Beneath that motion, or sustain the weight ; 
Nor that right arm could toss the beamy laiuc :'"' 
Much less the left that ampler shield advance: 
Ponderous with precious weight, and rough with 

cost 
Of the round world in rising gold emboss'd. 
That orb would ill become his hand to wield, 
And look as for the gold he stole the shield : '""' 
Which should your error on the wretch bestow. 
It would not frighten, but allure (he foe 

Why asfcs he what avails him not in fight, 

And world but cumber and retard his i 
In which his onlj excelleni 
Vou give him death, thai intercept I"- i 
Add, that his own is yel n maidi u ■ ield, 
Nor the least dinl b r*d in the field, 



V22 



AJAX AND ULYSSES. 



Guiltless of fight : mine batter'd, hew'd, and 

bored, 
Worn out of service, must forsake his lord. 19 ° 
What farther need of words our right to scan 1 
My arguments are deeds ; let action speak the 

man. 
^ince from a champion's arms the strife arose, 
3o cast the glorious prize amid the foes ; 
Then send us to redeem both arms and shield, 195 
And let him wear who wins 'em in the field. 

He said : a murmur from the multitude, 
Or somewhat like a stifled shout, ensued : 
Till from his seat arose Laertes' son, 
Look'd down awhile, and paused ere he begun ; 20 ° 
Then to the expecting audience raised his look, 
And not without prepared attention spoke : 
Soft was his tone, and sober was his face ; 
Action his words, and words his action grace. 

If heaven, my lords, had heard our common 
prayer, ai5 

These arms had caused no quarrel for an heir ; 
Still great Achilles had his own possess' d, 
And we with great Achilles had been bless'd. 
But since hard fate, and heaven's severe decree, 
Have ravish'd him away from you and me, 21 ° 

(At this he sigh'd, and wiped his eyes, and 

drew, 
Or seem'd to draw, some drops of kindly dew,) 
Who better can succeed Achilles lost, 
Than he who gave Achilles to your host ? 
This only I request, that neither he 215 

May gain, by being what he seems to be, 
A stupid thing, nor I may lose the prize, 
By having sense, which heaven to him denies : 
Since, great or small, the talent I enjoy'd 
Was ever in the common cause employ'd : 220 

Nor let my wit, and wonted eloquence, 
Which often has been used in your defence 
And in my own, this only time be brought 
To bear against myself, and deem'd a fault. 
Make not a crime, where nature made it none ; * 2i 
For every man may freely use his own. 
The deeds of long-descended ancestors 
Are but by grace of imputation ours, 
Theirs in effect : but since he draws his line 
From Jove, and seems to plead a right divine ; 23n 
From Jove, like him, I claim my pedigree, 
And am descended in the same degree : 
My sire Laertes was Arcesius' heir, 
Arcesius was the son of Jupiter : 
No parricide, no banish'd man, is known 235 

In all nay line : let him excuse his own. 
Hermes ennobles too my mother's side, 
By both my parents to the gods allied ; 
But not because that on the female part 
My blood is better, dare I claim desert, 24 ° 

Or that my sire from parricide is free, 
But judge by merit betwixt him and me : 
The prize be to the best ; provided yet, 
That Ajax for a while his kin forget, 
And his great sire, and greater uncle's name, 245 
To fortify by them his feeble claim : 
Be kindred and relation laid aside, 
And honour's cause by laws of honour tried : 
F ~ir, if he plead proximity of blood, 
T'-at empty title is with ease withstood. 25 ° 

Peleus, the hero's sire, more nigh than he, 
And Pyrrhus his undoubted progeny, 
Inherit first these trophies of the field ; 
To Scyros, or to Phthia, send the shield : 



And Teucer has an uncle's right ; yet he 2S5 

Waves his pretensions, nor contends with me. 

Then, since the cause on pure desert is placed, 
Whence shall I take my rise, what reckon last] 
I not presume on every act to dwell, 
But take these few, in order as they fell. 

Thetis, who knew the fates, applied her care 
To keep Achilles in disguise from war ; 
And till the threatening influence were past, 
A woman's habit on the hero cast : 
All eyes were cozen'd by the borrow'd vest, 265 
And Ajax (never wiser than the rest) 
Found no Pelides there : at length I came 
With proffer'd wares to this pretended dame ; 
She, not discover'd by her mien or voice, 
Betray'd her manhood by her manly choice ; ^ 
And while on female toys her fellows look, 
Grasp'd in her warlike hand, a javelin shook'; 
Whom, by this act reveal'd, I thus bespoke : 

goddess-born ! resist not heaven's decree, 
The fall of Ilium is reserved for thee ; ^ 
Then seized him, and, produced in open light, 
Sent blushing to the field the fatal knight. 

Mine then are all his actions of the war; 
Great Telephus was conquer'd by my spear, 
And after cured : to me the Thebans owe, 280 

Lesbos and Tenedos, their overthrow ; 
Scyros and Cylla : not on all to dwell, 
By me Lyrnesus and strong Chrysa fell : 
And since I sent the man who Hector slew, 
To me the noble Hector's death is due : 
Those arms I put into his living hand, 
Those arms, Pelides dead, I now demand. 

When Greece was injured in the Spartan prince, 
And met at Aulis to (revenge the offence, 
'Twas a dead calm, or adverse blasts, that reign'd, 
And in the port the wind-bound fleet detain'd : - 91 
Bad signs were seen, and oracles severe 
Were daily thunder'd in our general's ear : 
That by his daughter's blood we must appease 
Diana's kindled wrath, and free the seas. W5 

Affection, interest, fame, his heart assail'd ; 
But soon the father o'er the king prevail'd 
Bold, on himself he took the pious crime, 
As angry with the gods, as they with him. 
No subject could sustain their sovereign's look, 300 
Till this hard enterprise I undertook : 

1 only durst th' imperial power control, 
And undermined the parent in his soul ; 
Forced him to exert the king for common good, 
And pay our ransom with his daughter's blood. 30S 
Never was cause more difficult to plead, 

Than where the judge against himself decreed : 
Yet this I won by dint of argument ; 
The wrongs his injured brother underwent, 
And his own office, shamed him to consent. 31 ° 

'Twas harder yet to move the mother's mind, 
And to this heavy task was I design'd : 
Reasons against her love I knew were vain : 
I circumvented whom I could not gain : 
Had Ajax been employ'd, our slacken'd sails 315 
Had still at Aulis waited happy gales. 

Arrived at Troy, your choice was fix'd on me, 
A fearless envoy, fit for a bold embassy : 
Secure, I enter'd through the hostile court, 
Glittering with steel, and crowded with resort : 3a0 
There, in the midst of arms, I plead our cause, 
Urge the foul rape, and violated laws ; 
Accuse the foes, as authors of the strife, 
Reproach the ravisher, demand the wife. 



AJAX AND ULYSSES. 



323 



Priam, Anterior, and the wiser few, *• 

I moved ; but Paris and his lawless crew 

Scarce held their hands, and lifted swords : but 

stood 
Jn act to quench their impious thirst of blood : 
This Menelaus knows ; exposed to share 
With me the rough preludium of the war. 530 

Endless it were to tell what I have done, 
In arms, or counsel, since the siege begun. 
The first encounters past, the foe repell'd, 
They skulk'd within the town, we kept the field. 
War seem'd asleep for nine long years ; at length, 
Both sides resolved to push, we tried our 

strength. w 

Now what did Ajax while our arms took breath, 
Versed only in the gross mechanic trade of 

death? 
If you require my deeds, with ambush'd arms 
I trapp'd the foe, or tired with false alarms ; 3I0 
Secured the ships, drew lines along the plain, 
The fainting cheer'd, chastised the rebel train, 
Provided forage, our spent arms renew' d ; 
Employ 'd at home, or sent abroad, the common 

cause pursued. 
The king, deluded in a dream by Jove, W5 

Despair'd to take the town, and order'd to remove. 
What subject durst arraign the power supreme, 
Producing Jove to justify his dream ? 
Ajax might wish the soldiers to retain 
From shameful flight, but wishes were in vain ; 
As wanting of effect had been his words, 351 

Such as of course his thundering tongue affords. 
But did this boaster threaten, did he pray, 
Or by his own example urge their stay 1 
None, none of these, but ran himself away. 3,s 
I saw him run, and was ashamed to see ; 
Who plied his feet so fast to get aboard as he ? 
Then speeding through the place, I made a stand, 
And loudly cried, base degenerate band, 
To leave a town already in your hand ! 30 ° 

After so long expense of blood, for fame, 
To bring home nothing but perpetual shame ! 
These words, or what I have forgotten since, 
(For grief inspired me then with eloquence) 
Reduced their minds; they leave the crowded 

port, 305 

And to their late forsaken camp resort ; 
Dismay* d the council met : this man was there, 
But mute, and not recover'd of his fear : 
Thersites tax'd the king, and loudly rail'd, 
But his wide opening mouth with blows I seal'd. 
Then, rising, I excite their souls to fame, 3 '' 

And kindle sleeping virtue into flame ; 
From thence, whatever he perform'd in fight 
Is justly mine, who drew him back from flight. 
Which of the Grecian chiefs consorts with 

thee? 3 - 5 

But Diomcde desires my company, 
And still communicates his praise with me. 
As guided by a god, secure he goes, 
Arm'd with my fellowship, amid the foes : 
And sure no little merit I may boast, 
Whom such a man selects from such an host ; 
Unforced by lots I went without affright. 
To dare with him the dangers of the night : 
On the same errand sent, we met the spy 
Of Hector, double-tongued, and used to lie ; 89B 
Him I despatch'd, but not till, undermined, 
I drew him first to tell what treacherous Troy 

desigu'd : 



My task perform'd, will, praise I had retired, 

But not content with this, to great 

aspired ; 
Invaded Rhcesus, and his Thracian ra 3 ' M 

And him, and his, in their own strength, I slew j 
Return'd a victor, all my vows complete, 
With the king's chariot, in his royal seat : 
Refuse me now his arms, whose fiery steeds 
Were promised to the spy for his nocturnal 

deeds : ■>"> 

And let dull Ajax bear away my right, 
When all bis days outbalance this one night. 

Nor fought I darkling still : the sun beheld 
With slaughtered Lycians when I strew'd the 

field : 
You saw, and counted as I pass'd along, ■ ,a0 

Alastor, Cromius, Ceranos the strong, 
Alcander, Prytanis, and Ih.'-us, 

Noemon, Charopes, and E 

Choon, Chcrsidamas ; and five beside, 
Men of obscure descent, but courage tried : 4la 
All these this hand laid breathless on the ground; 
Nor want I proofs of many a manly wound : 
All honest, all before : believe not me ; 
Words may deceive, but credit what you see. 
At this he bared his breast, and show'd his 

seal's, I'm 

As of a furrow'd field, well plough'd with wars ; 
Nor is this part unexercised, said he ; 
That giant bulk of his from wounds is free : 
Safe in his shield, he fears no foe to try, 
And better manages his blood than I : 
But this avails me not ; our boaster strove 
Not with our foes alone, but partial Jove, 
To save the fleet : this I confess is true, 
(Nor will I take from any man his due) ; 
But thus assuming all, he robs from you. 
Some part of honour to your share will fall ; 
He did the best indeed, but did not all. 
Patroclus in Achilles' arms, and thought 
The chief he seem'd, with equal ardour fought ; 
Preserved the fleet, repell'd the raging fire, 4 -'~ 
And forced the fearful Trojans to retire. 

But Ajax boasts that he was only thought 
A match for Hector, who the combat sought : 
Sure he forgets the king, the chiefs, and me ; 
All were as eager for the fight as he ; 
He but the ninth, and, not by public voice, 
Or em's prcferr'd, was only fortune's choice : 
They fought; nor can our hero boast th' event, 
For Hector from the field unwounded went. 

Why am I forced to name that fatal day. 
That snatch'd the prop and pride of Greece awa\ ! 
I saw Pclides sink, with pious grief, 
And ran in vain, alas ! to his relief; 
For the brave soul was fled : lull of my friend, 
I rush'd amid the war, his relies to defend : ■"" 
Nor ceased my toil till I redeem'd the prey, 
And, loaded with Achilles, march'd away : 
Those arms, which on these shoulders then I 

bore, 
'Tis just you to these shoulders should restore. 
You see I want not nerves, who could sustain ' 
The ponderous ruins of so great a man : 
Or if in others equal force you find, 

None is endued with a more grateful mind. 
Did Thetis then, ambitious in her care. 

Those arms thus labour'd for her bod pn 

That Ajax after him the heavenly gilt should 

wear ? 

\ i 



321 



AJAX AND ULYSSES. 



For that dull soul to stare, with stupid eyes, 
On the learn'd, unintelligible prize ! 
What are to him the sculptures of the shield, 
Heaven's planets, earth, and ocean's watery field ? 
The Pleiads, Hyads ; less, and greater Bear, 4ia 
Undipp'd in seas ; Orion's angry star ; 
Two differing cities, graved on either hand ? 
Would he wear arms he cannot understand ? 

Beside, what wise objections he prepares 4G0 
Against my late accession to the wars ? 
Does not the fool perceive his argument 
Is with more force against Achilles bent ? 
For, if dissembling be so great a crime, 
The fault is common, and the same in him : 46S 
And if he taxes both of long delay, 
My guilt is less, who sooner came away. 
His pious mother, anxious for his life, 
Detain'd her son ; and me, my pious wife. 
To them the blossoms of our youth were due : 47 ° 
Our riper manhood we reserved for you. 
But grant me guilty, 'tis not much my care, 
When with so great a man my guilt I share : 
My wit to war the matchless hero brought, 
But by this fool he never had been caught. 47s 

Nor need I wonder, that on me he threw 
Such foul aspersions, when he spares not you : 
If Palamede unjustly fell by me, 
Your honour suffer'd in th' unjust decree : 
I but accused, you doom'd : and yet he died, 4S0 
Convinced of treason, and was fairly tried : 
You heard not he was false ; your eyes beheld 
The traitor manifest ; the bribe reveal'd. 

That Philoctetes is on Lemnos left, 
Wounded, forlorn, of human aid bereft, 4S3 

Is not my crime, or not my crirne alone ; 
Defend your justice, for the fact 's your own : 
'Tis true, the advice was mine; that staying 

there 
He might his weary limbs with rest repair, 
From a long voyage free, and from a longer 
war. 4M 

He took the counsel, and he lives at least; 
The event declares I counsell'd for the best : 
Though faith is all in ministers of state ; 
For who can promise to be fortunate 1 
Now since his ai-rows are the fate of Troy, 495 
Do not my wit, or weak address, employ ; 
Send Ajax there, with his persuasive sense, 
To mollify the man, and draw him thence : 
But Xanthus shall run backward ; Ida stand 
A leafless mountain ; and the Grecian band 5C0 
Shall fight for Troy ; if, when my counsels fail, 
The wit of heavy Ajax can prevail. 

Hard Philoctetes, exercise thy spleen 
Against thy fellows, and the king of men ; 
Curse my devoted head, above the rest, 505 

And wish in arms to meet me breast to breast : 
Yet I the dangerous task will undertake, 
And either die myself, or bring thee back. 

Nor doubt the same success, as when before 
The Phrygian prophet to these tents I bore, 510 
Surprised by night, and forced him to declare 
In what was placed the fortune of the war; 
Heaven's dark decrees and answers to display, 
And how to take the town, and where the secret 

lay: 
Yet this I compass'd, and from Troy convey'd 51s 
The fatal image of their guardian maid ; 
That work was mine ; for Pallas, though our friend, 
Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend. 



Now what has Ajax done, or what design'd ? 
A noisy nothing, and an empty wind. 520 

If he be what he promises in show, 
Why was I sent, and why fear'd he to go 1 
Our boasting champion thought the task not light 
To pass the guards, commit himself to night ; 
Not only through a hostile town to pass, 526 

But scale, with steep ascent, the sacred place ; 
AVith wandering steps to search the citadel, 
And from the priests their patroness to steal : 
Then through surrounding foes to force my way, 
And bear in triumph home the heavenly prey ; 530 
Which had I not, Ajax in vain had held, 
Before that monstrous bulk, his sevenfold shield. 
That night to conquer Troy I might be said, 
When Troy was liable to conquest made. 

Why point' st thou to my partner of the war 1 ? 535 
Tydides had indeed a worthy share 
Iu all my toil, and praise ; but when thy might 
Our ships protected, didst thou singly fight] 
All join' d, and thou of many wert but one ; 
I ask'd no friend, nor had, but him alone ; 54 ° 

Who, had he not been well assured, that art 
And conduct were of war the better part, 
And more avail'd than strength, my valiant friend 
Had urged a better right than Ajax can pretend : 
As good at least Eurypylus may claim, 545 

And the more moderate Ajax of the name; 
The Cretan king, and his brave charioteer, 
And Menelaus bold with sword and spear ; 
All these had been my rivals in the shield, 
And yet all these to my pretensions yield. 55 ° 

Thy boisterous hands are then of use, when I 
With this directing head those hands apply. 
Brawn without brain is thine : my prudent care 
Foresees, provides, administers the war : 
Thy province is to fight ; but when shall be 65S 
The time to fight, the king consults with me : 
No dram of judgment with thy force is join'd ; 
Thy body is of profit, and my mind. 
By how much more the ship her safety owes 
To him who steers, than him that only rows, 560 
By how much more the captain merits praise 
Than he who fights, and fighting but obeys ; 
By so much greater is my worth than thine, 
Who canst but execute what I design. 
What gain'st thou, brutal man, if I confess 565 

Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less '! 
Mind is the man : I claim my whole desert 
From the mind's vigour, and the immortal part. 

But you, Grecian chiefs, reward my care, 
Be grateful to your watchman of the war ; 57 ° 

For all my labours in so long a space, 
Sure I may plead a title to your grace : 
Enter the town ; I then unbarr'd the gates, 
When I removed their tutelary fates. 
By all our common hopes, if hopes they be 575 
Which I have now reduced to certainty ; 
By falling Troy, by yonder tottering towers, 
And by their taken gods, which now are ours ; 
Or if there yet a farther task remains, 
To be perform'd by prudence or by pains ; 58 ° 
If yet some desperate action rests behind, 
That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind ; 
If aught be wanting to the Trojan doom, 
Which none but I can manage and o'ercome ; 
Award those arms I ask, by your decree : 585 

Or give to this what you refuse to me. 

He ceased : and, ceasing, with respect he bow'd, 
And with his hand at once the fatal statue shoVd. 



ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA. 



82fi 



i leaven, air, and ocean rung with loud applause, 
And by tlie general vote lie gain'd his cause. ' J,J0 
Tims conduct won the prize, when courage fail'd, 
And eloquence o'er brutal force prevail'd. 



THE DEATH OF AJAX. 

He who could often, and alone, withstand 
The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand, 
Now caunot his uninaster'd grief sustain, 595 

But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain ; 
Then snatching out his fauchion, Thou, said he, 
Art mine ; Ulysses lays no claim to thee. 
often tried, and ever tnisty sword, 
Now do thy last kiud office to thy lord : 00 ° 

'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show 
None but himself, himself could overthrow. 
He said, and with so good a will to die 
Did to his breast the fatal point apply, 
It found his heart, a way till then unknown, C05 
Where never weapon enter'd but his own : 
No hands could force it thcuce, so fix'd it stood, 
'Till out it rush'd, expell'd by streams of spouting 

blood. 
The fruitful blood produced a flower, which grew 
On a green stem, and of a purple hue : 6, ° 

Like Lis, whom unaware Apollo slew. 
Inscribed in both, the letters are the same ; 
But those express the grief, and these the name. 



THE STORY OF 



ACIS,rOLYPIIEMUS,AND GALATEA. 

FBOM THE THIRTEENTH TOOK OK 

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 

♦ 

Acts, the lovely youth, whose loss I mourn, 

From Faunus and the nymph Symcthis born, 

Was both his parents' pleasure : but to me 

Was all that love could make a lover be. 

The Gods our minds in mutual bands did join : 5 

I was his only joy, and he was mine. 

Now sixteen summers the sweet youth had seen ; 

And doubtful down began to shade his chin ; 

When Polyphemus first disturb'd our joy, 

And loved me fiercoly as I loved the boy. lu 

Ask not which passion in my soid was higher, 

My last aversion, or my first desire : 

Nor this the greater was, nor that the less ; 

Both were alike, for both were in excess. 

Tin i', Venus, thee both heaven and earth obey; '•"' 

Immense thy power, and boundless is thy sway. 

The Cyclops, who defied th' ethereal throuo, 

And thought no thunder louder than his own, 

Tlie terror of the woods, and wilder Car 

Than wolves in plains, or bears in forests are, ' x 

'I'll' inhuman host, who made his bloody feasts 

On mangled members of his butcher'd guests, 

"i ii felt the force of love, and fierce desire, 

And burn'd for mo with unrelenting fire: 



Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care, 
A - iiuied tlie Boftni of lovi r.-'air; 

And comb'd, with teeth of rake,, hi- rugged hair. 

Now with a Cl-OOked scythe his beard I 

And mows the stubborn stubble of bis cheeks : 

Now in the crystal stream he look.-, to 

His simagres, ami rolls his glaring eye. 

His cruelty and thirst ofblood are lost, 
And ships securely sail along the I 

The prophet Telemus (arrived bj chat 
Where Etna's summits to the si is ad M 

Who mark'd the tracks of every bird that ilow, 

And sure presages from their flying drew,) 

Foretold the Cyclops, tin, I hand 

In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand. 
The giant, with a scornful grin, replied, « 

Vain augur, thou hast falsely prophesied; 
Already Love his flaming ] rand ha- to ,| ; 
Looking on two fair eyes, nvj sight 1 lo i. 
Thus, warn'd in vain, with stalking pace he strode, 
And stamp'd the margin of the briny flood 10 

With heavy steps; and, weary, sought again 
The cool retirement of his gloomy den. 

A promontory, sharpening by d. 
Ends in a wedge, and overlook- the -eas: 
On either side, below, the water flows' : "" 

This airy walk the giant lover chose ; 
Here on the midst he sate ; his flocks, unled, 
Their shepherd follow'd, and securely fed. 
A pine so burly, and of length so vast, 
That sailing ships required it for a mast, M 

He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide : 
But laid it by, his whistle while he tiled. 
A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth, 
Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth : 
Which when he gave it wind, the rock.-- around, 
And watery plains, the dreadful hiss resound. cl 
I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow, 
Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below ; 
On Acis' bosom I my head reclined : 
And still preserve the poem in my mind. ** 

lovely Galatea, whiter far 
Than falling snows, and rising lilies are ; 
More flowery than the meads ; as crystal blight ; 
Erect as alders, and of equal height: 
More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin '"° 
Than orient shells, that on the shores are seen : 
Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade ; 
Pleasing as whiter suns, or summer she 
More grateful to the sight than goodly plains ; 
And softer to the touch than down of swans. '■• 
Or curds new turn'd : and sweeter to the taste 
Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste : 
More clear than ice, or running streams, that stray 
Through garden plots, but, ah ! more swift than they. 

Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke 
Than bullocks, unreclaim'd to bear the yoke : 
And far more stubborn than the knotted oak : 
Like sliding streams, imp ible to hold : 
Liko them fallacious; like their fountains, cold : 
More warping than the willow, to decline 
My warm embrace; more brittle than the vim-; 
Immoveable, and lix'd in thj disdain: 
Rough a.s these rocks, anil of a harder gr. til. ; 
Moro violent than is the rising flood : 
And the praised peacock IS not half 30 proud 
Fierce as the lire, and sharp as th 
And more outrageous than a mother bear: 
Deaf as the billows to the VOW I I 
And more revengeful than a trodd 



326 



ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA. 



In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind, 95 

Or driven tempests, or the driving wind. 
All other faults with patience I can bear; 
But swiftness is the vice I only fear. 

Yet, if you knew me well, you would not shun 
My love, but to my wish'd embraces run : MD 

Would languish in your turn, and court my stay ; 
And much repent of your unwise delay. 

My palace, in the living rock, is made 
By nature's hand ; a spacious pleasing shade ; 
Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade. 
My garden fill'd with fruits you may behold, l06 
And grapes in clusters, imitating gold ; 
Some blushing bunches of a purple hue : 
And these, and those, are all reserved for you. 
Red strawberries in shades expecting stand, n0 
Proud to be gather'd by so white a hand; 
Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide, 
And plums, to tempt you, turn their glossy side : 
Not those of common kinds ; but such alone, 
As in Ph88acian orchards might have grown : 115 
Nor chestnuts shall be wanting to your food, 
Nor garden-fruits, nor wildings of the wood ; 
The laden boughs for you alone shall bear ; 
And yours shall be the product of the year. 

The flocks, you see, are all my own; beside 12 ° 
The rest that woods and winding valleys hide; 
And those that folded in the caves abide. 
Ask not the numbers of my growing store ; 
Who knows how many, knows he has no more. 
Nor will I praise my cattle ; trust not me, 125 
But judge yourself, and pass your own decree : 
Behold their swelling dugs ; the sweepy weight 
Of ewes, that sink beneath the milky freight ; 
In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie ; 
Apart from kids, that call with human cry. 13 ° 
New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly served 
For daily drink ; the rest for cheese reserved. 
Nor are these household dainties all my store : 
The fields and forests will afford us more ; 
The deer, the hare, the goat, the savage boar : 135 
All sorts of venison ; and of birds the best ; 
A pair of turtles taken from the nest. 
I walk'd the mountains, and two cubs I found, 
Whose dam had left 'em on the naked ground ; 
So like, that no distinction could be seen ; M0 

So pretty, they were presents for a queen ; 
And so they shall ; I took them both, away ; 
And keep, to be companions of your play. 

Oh raise, fair nymph, your beauteous face above 
The waves ; nor scorn my presents, and my love. 
Come, Galatea, come, and view my face ; U6 

I late beheld it in the watery glass, 
And found it lovelier than I fear'd it was. 
Survey my towering stature, and my size : 
Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the skies, 
Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread : 152 

My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head) 
Hang o'er my manly face ; and dangling down, 
As with a shady grove, my shoulders crown. 
Nor think, because my limbs and body bear 155 
A thick-set underwood of bristling hair, 
My shape deform'd : what fouler sight can be 
Than the bald branches of a leafless tree 1 
Foul is the steed without a flowing mane ; 
And birds, without their feathers, and their train. 16 ° 
Wool decks the sheep ; and man receives a grace 
From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face. 
My forehead with a single eye is fill'd, 
Round as a ball, and ample as a shield. 



The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, 166 

Is nature's eye ; and she 's content with one. 

Add, that my father sways your seas, and I, 

Like you, am of the watery family. 

I make you his, in making you my own ; 

You I adore, and kneel to you alone : ,7 ° 

Jove, with his fabled thunder, I despise, 

And only fear the lightning of your eyes. 

Frown not, fair nymph ; yet I could bear to be 

Disdain' d, if others were disdain'd with me. 

But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer 175 

The love of Acis, heavens ! I cannot bear. 

But let the stripling please himself; nay more, 

Please you, though that 's the thing I most abhor; 

The boy shall find, if e'er we cope in fight, 

These giant limbs endued with giant might. 18 ° 

His living bowels from his belly torn, 

And scatter'd limbs, shall on the flood be borne, 

Thy flood, ungrateful nymph ; and fate shall find 

That way for thee and Acis to be join'd. 

For, oh ! I burn with love, and thy disdain 18S 

Augments at once my passion and my pain. 

Translated ./Etna flames within my heart, 

And thou, inhuman, wilt not ease my smart. 

Lamenting thus in vain, he rose, and strode 
With furious paces to the neighbouring wood : 19 ° 
Restless his feet, distracted was his walk ; 
Mad were his motions, and confused his talk. 
Mad as the vanquish'd bull, when forced to yield 
His lovely mistress, and forsake the field. 

Thus far unseen I saw : when, fatal chance 195 
His looks directing, with a sudden glance, 
Acis and I were to his sight betrayed ; 
Where, nought suspecting, we securely play'd. 
From his wide mouth a bellowing cry he cast ; 
I see, I see ! but this shall be your last. 
A roar so loud made iEtna to rebound ; 
And all the Cyclops labour'd in the sound. 
Affrighted with his monstrous voice, I fled, 
And in the neighbouring ocean plunged my head. 
Poor Acis turn'd his back, and, Help, he cried, ^ 
Help, Galatea ! help, my parent gods, 
And take me dying to your deep abodes ! 
The Cyclops follow'd ; but he sent before 
A rib, which from the living rock he tore : • 
Though but an angle reach'd him of the stone, 21 ° 
The mighty fragment was enough alone 
To crush all Acis ; 'twas too late to save, 
But what the fates allow'd to give, I gave : 
That Acis to his lineage should, return ; 
And roll, among the river gods, his urn. 
Straight issued from the stone a stream of blood; 
Which lost the purple, mingling with the flood. 
Then like a troubled torrent it appear'd : 
The torrent too, in little space, was clear' d. 
The stone was cleft, and through the yawning 
chink w 

New reeds arose, on the new river's brink. 
The rock, from out its hollow womb, disclosed 
A sound like water in its course opposed : 
When (wondrous to behold) full in the flood 
Up starts a youth, and navel-high he stood. 225 
Horns from his temples rise ; and either horn 
Thick wreaths of reeds (his native growth) adorn. 
Were not his stature taller than before, 
His bulk augmented, and his beauty more, 
His colour blue, for Acis he might pass : 
And Acis changed into a stream he was. 
But mine no more, he rolls along the plains 
With rapid motion, and his name retains. 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY. 



327 



OF THE 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY; 



FKOM THE FIFTEENTII BOOK OK 



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES." 



The Fourteenth Book concludes with the death and deifi- 
cation ofKomulus; the Fifteenth begins with the elec- 
tion of Numa to the crown of Kome. On this occasion, 
Ovid, following the opinion of some authors, makes 
Numa the scholar of Pythagoras ; and to have begun 
his acquaintance with that philosopher at Crotona, a 
town in Italy ; from thence he makes a digression to the 
moral and natural philosophy of Pythagoras : on both 
which our author enlarges ; and which are the most 
learned and beautiful parts of the Metamorphoses. 

A kino is sought to guide the growing state, 
One able to support the public weight, 
And fill the throne where Romulus had sate. 
Renown, which oft bespeaks the public voice, 
Had recommended Numa to their choice : c 

A peaceful, pious prince ; who, not content 
To know the Sabine rites, his study bent 
To cultivate his mind : to learn the laws 
Of nature, and explore their hidden cause. 
Urged by this care, his country he forsook, 10 
And to Crotona thence his journey took. 
Arrived, he first inquired the founder's name 
Of this new colony, and whence he came. 
Then thus a senior of the place replies, 
(Well read, and curious of antiquities,) 15 

'Tis said, Alcides hither took his way 
From Spain, and drove along his conquer'd prey ; 
Then, leaving in the fields his grazing cows, 
He sought himself some hospitable house. 
Good Croton eutertain'd Ins godlike guest ; ' M 

While he repair'd his weary limbs with rest. 
The hero, thence departing, bless'd the place ; 
And here, he said, in Time's revolving race, 
A rising town shall take its name from thee. 
Revolving Time fulfill'd the prophecy : a5 

For Myscelos, the justest man on earth, 
Alemon's son, at Argos had his birth : 
Him Hercules, arm'd with his club of oak, 
O'ershadow'd in a dream, and thus bespoke : 
Go, leave thy native soil, and make abode ' M 

Where iEsaris rolls down his rapid flood. 
He said ; and sleep forsook him, and the god. 
Trembling he waked, and rose with anxious 

heart ; 
His country laws forbade him to depart : 
What should he do? 'Twas death to go away; :<5 
And the god menaced if he dared to stay : 
All day ho doubted, and, when night came on, 
Sleep, and the same forewarning dream, begun : 
Once more the god stood threatening o'er his 

head; 
With added curses if he disobey'd. ,0 

Twice warn'd, ho studied flight ; but would con- 
vey, 
At once, his person and his wealth away. 
Thus while he lingor'd, his design was heard ; 
A speedy process form'd, and death declared. 



* It is a singular circumstance, that neither 1 
nor Popr finished their philosophical poems. Ovid has not 
■el forth the Pythagorean philosophy so well as Lucretius 
the Epicurean. Dr. J. Wabtok. 



Witness there needed none of his offence, ** 

Against himself the wretch was evidence : 
Condemn'd, and destitute of human aid, 
To him, for whom hesuffer'd, thus he prayM: 

Power, who lias deserved in heaven a throne, 
Not given, but by thy labours made thy own, M 
1'ity thy suppliant, and protect his cause, 
Whom thou hast made obnoxious to the laws. 

A custom was of old, and still remains, 
Which life or death by suffrages ordains; 
White stones and black within an urn are cast; M 
The first absolve, but fate is in the last. 
The judges to the common urn bequeath 
Their votes, and drop the sable signs of death ; 
The box receives all black ; but pour'd from 

thence 
The stones came candid forth, the liuo of inno- 
cence. &> 
Thus Alimouides his safety won, 
Preserved from death by Alcuinena's son : 
Then to his kinsman god his vows he pays, 
And cuts with prosperous gales th' Ionian seas: 
He leaves Tarentum, favour'd by the wind, " 
And Thurine bays, and Teiuiscs, behind ; 
SoftSibaris, and all the capes that stand 
Along the shore, he makes in sight of land : 
Still doubling, and still coasting, till he found 
The mouth of iEsaris, and promised ground : '" 
Then saw where, on the margin of the flood, 
The tomb that held the bones of Croton stood : 
Here, by the god's command, he built and wall'd 
The place predicted ; and Crotona call'd : 
Thus fame, from time to time, delivers down <"' 
The sure tradition of th' Italian town. 

Here dwelt the man divine whom SamoB bore, 
But now sclf-banish'd from his native shore, 
Because he hated tyrants, nor could bear 
The chains which none but servile souls will 
wear : * 

Ho, though from heaven remote, to heaven could 

move, 
With strength of mind, and tread th' abyss above ; 
And penetrate, with his interior light, 
Those upper depths, which Nature hid from sight: 
And what he had observed, and lcarn'd from 
thence, *" 

Loved in familiar language to dispense. 

The crowd with silent admiration stand, 
And heard him, as they heard their god's com- 
mand ; 
While he discoursed of heaven's mysterious laws. 
The world's original, and nature's i 
And what was God, and why the fleecy snows 
In silence fell, and rattling winds arose ; 
What shook the steadfast earth, and whence 

begun 
The dance of planets round the radiant sun ; 
If thunder was the voice of angry Jove, 
Or clouds, with nitre pregnant, burst above : 
Of these, and things beyond the common reach, 
He spoke, aud charm'd his audienco with his 
speech. 
He first the taste of flesh from tables drove. 
And argued well, if arguments could move. "" 
mortals ! from your fellows' blood abstain, 
Nor taint your bodies with a food profane : 
While corn and pulse by nature are he-tow d. 
And planted orchards bend their willing load : 
While Iabour'd gardens wholesome herbs pri 
And teeming vines afford their pnerouajuii 



328 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY. 



Nor tardier fruits of cruder kind are lost, 
But tamed with fire, or mellow' d by the frost ; 
While kine to pails distended udders bring, 
And bees their honey redolent of spring ; llu 

While earth not only can your needs supply, 
But, lavish of her store, provides for luxury ; 
A guiltless feast administers with ease, 
And without blood is prodigal to please. 
Wild beasts their maws with their slain brethren 
fill, 115 

And yet. not all, for some refuse to kill : 
Sheep, goats, and oxen, and the nobler steed, 
On browse, and corn, the flowery meadows feed. 
Bears, tigers, wolves, the lion's angry brood, 
Whom Heaven indued with principles of blood, 120 
He wisely sunder'd from the rest, to yell 
In forests, and in lonely caves to dwell, 
Where stronger beasts oppress the weak by might, 
And all in prey and .purple feasts delight. 

O impious use ! to Nature's laws opposed, 125 
Where bowels are in other bowels closed : 
Where, fatten'd by their fellows' fat, they thrive; 
Maintain'd by murder, and by death they live. 
Tis then for nought that mother earth provides 
The stores of all she shows, and all she hides, 130 
If men with fleshy morsels must be fed, 
And chew with bloody teeth the breathing bread : 
What else is this but to devour our guests, 
And barb'rously renew Cyclopean feasts ! 
We, by destroying life, our life sustain ; 135 

And gorge th' ungodly maw with meats obscene. 

Not so the golden age, who fed on fruit, 
Nor durst with bloody meals their mouths 

pollute. 
Then birds in airy space might safely move, 
And timorous hares on heaths securely rove : ,4 ° 
Nor needed fish the guileful hooks to fear, 
For all was peaceful, and that peace sincere. 
AVhoever was the wretch (and cursed be he) 
That envied first our food's simplicity ; 
Th' essay of bloody feasts on brutes began, 146 
And after forged the sword to murder man. 
Had he the sharpen'd steel alone employ'd' 
On beasts of prey that other beasts destroy'd, 
Or men invaded with their fangs and paws, 
This had been justified by Nature's laws, 15 ° 

And self-defence : but who did feasts begin 
Of flesh, he stretch'd necessity to sin. 
To kill man-killers, man has lawful power, 
But not th' extended licence to devour. 

Ill habits gather by unseen degrees, 155 

As brooks make rivers, rivers ran to seas. 
The sow, with her broad snout for rooting up 
Th' entrusted seed, was judged to spoil the crop, 
And intercept the sweating farmer's hope : 
The covetous churl, of unforgiving kind, 1G0 

Th' offender to the bloody priest resign'd : 
Her hunger was no plea ; for that she died. 
The goat came next in order, to be tried : 
The goat had cropp'd the tendrils of the vine : 
In vengeance laity and clergy join, 165 

Where one has lost his profit, one his wine. 
Here was, at least, some shadow of offence : 
The sheep was sacrificed on no pretence, 
But meek and unresisting innocence : 
A patient, useful creature, born to bear W 

The warm and woolly fleece, that clothed her 

murderer, 
And daily to give down the milk she bred, 
A tribute for the grass on which she fed. 



175 



Living, both food and raiment she supplies, 
And is of least advantage when she dies. 

How did the toiling ox his death deserve, 
A downright simple drudge, and born to serve ? 
O tyrant ! with what justice canst thou hope 
The promise of the year, a plenteous crop ; 
When thou destroy'st thy labouring steer, who 

till'd, 180 

And plough'd with pains, thy else ungrateful field ? 
From his yet reeking neck to draw the yoke, 
(That neck with which the surly clods he broke), 
And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman, 
Who finish'd autumn, and the spring began ! 1S5 
Nor this alone ; but, heaven itself to bribe, 
We to the gods our impious acts asci'ibe : 
First recompense with death their creatures' toil, 
Then call the bless'd above to share the spoil : 
The fairest victim must the powers appease : 1M 
(So fatal 'tis sometimes too much to please !) 
A purple fillet his broad brows adorns, 
With flowery garlands crown'd, and gilded 

horns : 
He hears the murderous prayer the priest prefers, 
But understands not 'tis his doom he hears : 195 
Beholds the meal betwixt his temples cast, 
(The fruit and product of his labours past ;) 
And in the water views, perhaps, the knife 
Uplifted, to deprive him of his life ; 
Then, broken up alive, his entrails sees 20 ° 

Torn out, for priests to inspect the gods' decrees. 
From whence, O mortal men ! this gust of 

blood 
Have you derived, and interdicted food? 
Be taught by me this dire delight to shun, 
Wam'd by my precepts, by my practice won : 205 
And when you eat the well-deserving beast, 
Think, on the labourer of your field you feast ! 

Now since the god inspires me to proceed, 
Be that, whate'er inspiring power, obey'd. 
For I will sing of mighty mysteries, 210 

Of truths conceal'd before from human eyes, 
Dark oracles unveil, and open all the skies. 
Pleased as I am to walk along the sphere 
Of shining stars, and travel with the year, 
To leave the heavy earth, and scale the height 215 
Of Atlas, who supports the heavenly weight : 
To look from upper light, and thence survey 
Mistaken mortals wandering from the way, 
And, wanting wisdom, fearful for the state 
Of future things, and trembling at their fate. 22 ° 
Those I would teach ; and by right reason 

bring 
To think of death, as but an idle thing. 
Why thus affrighted at an empty name, 
A dream of darkness, and fictitious flame 1 
Vain themes of wit, which but in poems pass, w 
And fables of a world that never was ! 
What feels the body when the soul expires, 
By time corrupted, or consumed by fires ? 
Nor dies the spirit, but new life repeats 
In other forms, and only changes seats. 

Ev'n I, who these mysterious truths declare, 
Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war ; 
My name and lineage I remember well, 
A nd how in fight by Sparta's king I fell. 
In Argive Juno's fane I late beheld 
My buckler hung on high, and own'd my former 

shield. 
Then death, so call'd, is but old matter dress'd 
In some new figure, and a varied vest : 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY. 



329 



Thus all things are but altered, nothing dies ; 
And here and there th' unbodied spirit flies, 2I ° 
By time, or force, or sickness dispossess'd, 
And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast ; 
Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find, 
And actuates those according to their kind ; 
From tenement to tenement is toss'd ; 246 

The soul is still the same, the figure only lost : 
And as the soften'd wax new seals receives, 
This face assumes, and that impression leaves ; 
Now call'd by one, now by another name ; 
The form is only changed, the wax is still the 
same : S6 ° 

So death, so call'd, can but the form deface, 
Th' immortal soul flics out in empty space, 
To seek her fortune in some other place. 

Then let not piety be put to flight, 
To please the taste of glutton appetite ; ^ 

But suffer inmate souls secure to dwell, 
Lest from their seats your parents you expel ; 
With rabid hunger feed upon your kind, 
Or from a beast dislodge a brother's mind 

And since, like Tiphys, parting from the shore, 
In ample seas I sail, and depths untried before, 261 
This let me further add, that nature knows 
No steadfast station, but or ebbs or flows : 
Ever in motion ; she destroys her old, 
And casts new figures in another mould. 265 

Ev'n times are in perpetual flux ; and run, 
Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on ; 
For time, no more than streams, is at a stay : 
The flying hour is ever on her way ; 
And as the fountain still supplies her store, T,(> 
The wave behind impels the wave before ; 
Tims in successive course the minutes run, 
And urge their predecessor minutes on, 
Still moving, ever new : for former things 
Are set aside, like abdicated kings : ^ 

And every moment alters what is done, 
And innovates some act till then imknown. 

Darkness, we see, emerges into light, 
And shining suns descend to sable night ; 
Ev'n heaven itself receives another dye, 280 

When wearied animals in slumbers lie 
Of midnight ease ; another, when the grey 
Of mom preludes the splendour of the day. 
The disk of Phoebus, when he climbs on high, 
Appears at first but as a bloodshot eye ; ^ 

And when his chariot downward drives to bed, 
His ball is with the same suffusion red ; 
But mounted high in his meridian race 
All bright he shines, and with a better face : 
For there, pure particles of ether flow, M0 

Far from th' infection of the world below. 

Nor equal light th' unequal moon adorns, 
Or in her waxing or her waning horns ; 
For every day sho wanes, her face is less, 
But, gathering into globe, she fattens at increase. 

Perceiv'st thou not the process of the year, aaB 
How the four seasons in four forms appear, 
Resembling human lifo in every shape they wear? 
Spring first, like infancy, shoots out her head, 
With milky juice requiring to be fed : 3C0 

Helpless, though fresh, ami wanting to be led. 
The green stem grows in stature and in size, 
But only feeds with hope tho farmer's eyes ; 

Ver. 261. In ample sr.as I sail , ami depths untried I 
Pythagoras, it is said, wrote a poem on the universe, in 
hexameter verses, mentioned by Diog. Laertius, viii. 7. Ur. 
J. Waktok. 



Then laughs tho childish year with flowerets 

crown'd, 
And lavishly perfumes the fields around, ■* 

But no substantial nourishment receives; 
Infirm tho stalks, unsolid are the leaves. 

Proceeding onward whence the year began, 
The Summer grows adult, and ripens into man. 
This season, as in men, is most replete s '° 

With kindly moisture, and prolific heat. 

Autumn succeeds, a sober tepid age, 
Not froze with fear, nor boiling into rage ; 
More than mature, and tending to decay, 
When our brown locks repine to mix with odious 
grey. 3IS 

Last, Winter creeps along with tardy pace, 
Sour is his front, and furrow'd is his face. 
His scalp, if not dishonour'd quite of hair, 
The ragged fleece is thin, and thin is worse than 
bare. 

Ev'n our own bodies daily change receive, 3X 
Some part of what was theirs before they leave ; 
Nor arc to-day what yesterday they were : 
Nor the whole same to-morrow will appear. 

Time was when we were sow'd, and just began, 
From some few fruitful drops, the promise of a 
man ; ;tir> 

Then Nature's hand (fermented as it was) 
Moulded to shape the soft coagulated mass; 
And when the little man was fully form'd, 
The breathless embryo with a spirit warm'd ; 
But when the mother's throes begin to conic, M " 
The creature, pent within the narrow room, 
Breaks his blind prison, pushing to repair 
His stifled breath, and draw the living air; 
Cast on the margin of the world he lies, 
A helpless babe, but by instinct he cries. 334 

He next essays to walk, but, downward prcss'd, 
On four feet imitates his brother beast : 
By slow degrees he gathers from the ground 
His legs, and to the rolling chair is bound ; 
Then walks alone ; a horseman now become, 3J0 
He rides a stick, and travels round the room. 
In time he vaunts among his youthful peers; 
Strong-boned, and strung with nerves, in pride of 

years, 
He runs with mettle Iris first merry stage ; 
Maintains tho next, abated of his rage, W3 

But manages his strength, and spares his age. 
Heavy the third, and stiff, he sinks apace, 
And, though 'tis down-hill all, but creeps along 

the race. 
Now sapless on the verge of death he stands, 
Contemplating his former feet and hands; 350 

And, Milo-like, his slacken'd sinew. 
And wither'd arms, once fit to cope with Hercules, 
Unable now to shake, much less to tear, the trees. 

So Helen wept, when her too faithful glass 
Reflected to her eyes the ruins of her face : 3ai 
Wondering what charms her ravishers could spy, 
To force her twice, or ev'n but once enjoy ! 

Thy teeth, devouring Time, thine, envious Age. 
On things below still exercise your rage : 
Withvcnoui'd grinders you corrupt your meat, •'*■" 
And then, at lingering meals, the morsels cat 

Nor those, which elements we call, abide. 
Nor to this figure, nor to tint, are tied : 
For this eternal world is said of old 
But four prolific principles t" hold, 
Four different bodies ; two to hen' 
And other two down to the centre tend: 



330 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY. 



Fire, first, with wings expanded, mounts on high, 
Pure, void of weight, and dwells in upper sky ; 
Then Air, because unclogg'd in empty space, 3?0 
Flies after fire, and claims the second place : 
But weighty Water, as her nature guides, 
Lies on the lap of Earth, and mother Earth subsides. 

All things are mix'd with these, which all con- 
tain, 
And into these are all resolved again ; 3 ' 5 

Earth rarefies to dew; expanded more 
The subtle dew in air begins to soar ; 
Spreads as she flies, and weary of her name 
Extenuates still, and changes into flame ; 
Thus having by degrees perfection won, 38U 

Restless they soon untwist the web they spun, 
And fire begins to lose her radiant hue, 
Mix'd with gross air, and air descends to dew ; 
And dew, condensing, does her form forego, 
And sinks, a heavy lump of earth, below. 385 

Thus are their figures never at a stand, 
But changed by Nature's innovating hand ; 
All things are alter' d, nothing is destroy' d, 
The shifted scene for some new show employ'd. 

Then, to be born, is to begin to be 390 

Some other thing we were not formerly : 
And what we call to die, is not to appear, 
Or be the thing that formerly we were. 
Those very elements which we partake 
Alive, when dead, some other bodies make : 395 
Translated grow, have sense, or can discourse ; 
But death on deathless substance has no force. 

That forms are changed I grant, that nothing 
can 
Continue in the figure it began : 
The golden age to silver was debased : m 

To copper that ; our metal came at last. 

The face of places, and their forms, decay ; 
And that is solid earth that once was sea : 
Seas, in their turn, retreating from the shore, 
Make solid land what ocean was before ; 4(l5 

And far from strands are shells of fishes found, 
And rusty anchors fix'd on mountain ground : 
And what were fields before, now wash'd and worn 
By falling floods from high, to valleys turn, 
And, crumbling still, descend to level lands ; 410 
And lakes, and trembling bogs, are barren sands : 
And the parch'd desert floats in streams unknown; 
Wondering to drink of waters not her own. 

Here Nature living fountains opes ; and there, 
Seals up the wombs where living fountains were ; 
Or earthquakes stop their ancient course, and 
bring 416 

Diverted streams to feed a distant spring. 
So Lycus, swallow'd up, is seen no more, 
But far from thence knocks out another door. 
Thus Erasmus dives ; and blind in earth 42 ° 

Runs on, and gropes his way to second birth ; 
Starts up in Argos' meads, and shakes his locks 
Around the fields, and fattens all the flocks. 
So Mysus by another way is led, 
And, grown a river,- now disdains his head : 423 
Forgets his humble birth, his name forsakes, 
And the proud title of Ca'icus takes. 
Large Amenane, impure with yellow sands, 
Runs rapid often, and as often stands ; 
And here he threats the drunken fields to drown, 
And there his dugs deny to give their liquor 
down. 431 

Anigros once did wholesome draughts afford, 
But now his deadly waters are abhorr'd : 



Since, hurt by Hercules, as fame resounds, 

The Centaur in his current wash'd his wounds. 4S5 

The streams of Hypanis are sweet no more, 

But, brackish, lose their taste they had before. 

Antissa, Pharos, Tyre, in seas were pent, 

Once isles, but now increase the continent ; 

While the Leucadian coast, mainland before, 44 ° 

By rushing seas is sever'd from the shore. 

So Zancle to th' Italian earth was tied, ■ 

And men once walk'd where ships at anchor 

ride ; 
Till Neptune overlook'd the narrow way, 
And in disdain pour'd in the conquering sea. 4 * 

Two cities that adorn'd th' Achaian ground, 
Buiis and Helice, no more are found, 
But whelm'd beneath a lake, are sunk and drown'd; 
And boatmen through the crystal water show, 
To wondering passengei-s, the walls below. 

Near Trsezen stands a hill, exposed in air 
To winter winds, of leafy shadows bare : 
This once was level ground : but (strange to tell) 
Th' included vapours, that in caverns dwell, 
Labouring with colic pangs, and close confined, 4r ' 5 
In vain sought issue from the rumbling wind : 
Yet still they heaved for vent, and heaving still 
Enlarged the concave, and shot up the hill ; 
As breath extends a bladder, or the skins 
Of goats are blown to enclose the hoarded wines : 
The mountain yet retains a mountain's face, 461 
And gather'd rubbish heals the hollow space. 

Of many wonders, which I heard or knew, 
Retrenching most, I will relate but few : 
What, are not springs with qualities opposed 4M 
Indued at seasons, and at seasons lost ? 
Thrice in a day thine, Ammon, change their form, 
Cold at high noon, at morn and evening warm : 
Thine, Athaman, will kindle wood, if thrown 
On the piled earth, and in the waning moon. 4 "° 
The Thracians have a stream, if any try 
The taste, his harden'd bowels petrify ; 
Whate'er it touches it converts to stones, 
And makes a marble pavement where it runs. 

Grathis, and Sibaris her sister flood, m 

That shde through our Calabrian neighbour wood, 
With gold and amber dye the shining hair, 
And thither youth resort ; (for who would not be 

fair?) 
But stranger virtues yet in streams we find ; 
Some change not only bodies, but the mind : 4S0 
Who has not heard of Salmacis obscene, 
Whose waters into women soften men ? 
Of ^Ethiopian lakes, which turn the brain 
To madness, or in heavy sleep constrain ? 
Clytorean streams the love of wine expel, 
(Such is the virtue of th' abstemious well,) 
Whether the colder nymph that rules the flood 
Extinguishes, and balks the drunken god ; 
Or that Melampus (so have some assured) 
When the mad Prcetides with charms he cured, 49 ° 
And powerful herbs, both charms and simples 

cast 
Into the sober spring, where still their virtues last. 

Unlike effects Lyncestis will produce ; 
Who drinks his waters, though with moderate use, 
Reels as with wine, and sees with double sight : 496 
His heels too heavy, and his head too light. 
Ladon, once Pheneos, an Arcadian stream, 
(Ambiguous in th' effects, as in the name) 
I By day is wholesome beverage ; but is thought 
' By night infected, and a deadly draught. 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY. 



331 



Thus running rivers, and the standing lake, 
Now of these virtues, now of those partake : 
Time was (and all things time and fate obey) 
When fast Ortygia floated on the sea; 
Such were Cyanean isles, when Typhis steer'd :Mb 
Betwixt their straits, and their collision fear'd ; 
They swam where now they sit ; and, firmly j oin'd, 
Secure of rooting up, resist the wind. 
Nor iEtna vomiting sulphureous fire 
Will ever belch ; for sulphur will expire, B1 ° 

(The veins exhausted of the lkp-iid store :) 
Time was she cast no flames ; in time will cast no 
more. 
For whether earth 's an animal, and air 
Imbibes, her lungs with coolness to repair, 
And what she sucks remits ; she still requires 615 
Inlets for air, and outlets for her fires ; 
When tortured with convulsive fit's she shakes, 
That motion chokes the vent, till other vent she 

makes : 
Or when the winds in hollow caves are closed, 
And subtle spirits find that way opposed, 6S0 

They toss up flints in air ; the flints that hide 
The seeds of fire, thus toss'd in air, collide, 
Kindling the sulphur, till, the fuel spent, 
The cave is cool'd, and the fierce winds relent. 
Or whether sulphur, catching fire, feeds on 525 
Its unctuous parts, till, all the matter gone, 
The flames no more ascend ; for earth supplies 
The fat that feeds them ; and when earth denies 
That food, by length of time consumed, the fire 
Famish'd for want of fuel must expire. 530 

A race of men there are, as fame has told, 
Who shivering suffer Hyperborean cold, 
Till, nine times bathing in Minerva's lake, 
Soft feathers to defend their naked sides they take. 
'Tis said the Scythian wives (believe who will) 536 
Transform themselves to birds by magic skill ; 
Smear'd over with an oil of wondrous might, 
That adds new pinions to their airy flight. 

But this by sure experiment we know, 
That living creatures from corruption grow : 54 ° 
Hide in a hollow pit a slaughter'd steer, 
Bees from his putrid bowels will appear ; 
Who like their parents haunt the fields, and bring 
Their honey-harvest home, andhopeanotherspriug. 
The warlike steed is multiplied, we find, Ms 

To wasps and hornets of the warrior kind. 
Cut from a crab his crooked claws, and hide 
The rest in earth, a scorpion thence will glide, 
And shoot his sting, his tail in circles toss'd 
Refers the limbs his backward father lost. 5S0 

And worms, that stretch on leaves their filmy loom, 
Crawl from their bags, and butterflies become. 
Ev'n slime begets the frogs' loquacious race : 
Short of their feet at first, in little space 
With arms andlegs indued, longleaps they take, 65S 
Raised on their hinder part, and swim the lake, 
And waves repel : for nature gives their kind, 
To that intent, a length of legs behind. 

The cubs of bears a living lump appear, 
When whelp'd, and no determined figure wear. M0 
Their mother licks them into shape, and gives 
As much of form as she herself receives. 

The grubs from their sexangular abode 
Crawl out unfinish'd, like the maggot's brood: 
Trunks without limbs; till time at leisure brings iu 
The thighs they wanted, and their tardy wings. 

Tho bird who draws the car of Juno, vain 
Of her crown'd head, and of her starry train ; 



And he that bears th' artillery of Jove, 

The strong pounced eagle,and the billing dove; 4 '° 

And all the feather'd kind, who could SU] 
(But that from sight, the Barest sense, be bun 
They, from th' included yolk, not ambient white 
arose. 

There are who think the marrow of a man, 
(Which in the spine, while he was living, ran) "* 
When dead, the pith corrupted, will become 
A snake, and bias within the hollow tomb. 

All these receive their birth from other things; 
But from himself the phoenix only springs: 
Self-born, begotten by the parent flame ■ '"" 

In which he burn'd, another and the same : 
Who not by corn or herbs his life sustains, 
But the sweet essence of amomum drains; 
And watches the rich gums Arabia bears, 
While yet in tender dew they drop their tea) 
He (Ids five centuries of life mlfill'd) 
His nest on oaken boughs begins to build, 
Or trembling tops of palm ; and first he draws 
The plan with his broad bill and crooked claws, 
Nature's artificers ; on this the pile 
Is form'd, and rises round ; then with the spoil 
Of cassia, cinnamon, and stems of Hard, 
(For softness strew'd beneath) his funeral bed is 

rear'd : 
Funeral and bridal both; and all around 
The borders with corruptlcss myrrh arc crown'd : 
On this incumbent ; till ethereal flame 
First catches, then consumes tho costly frame ; 
Consumes him too, as on the pile he lies ; 
He lived on odours, and in odours dies. 

An infant phoenix from the former springs, 6l " 
His father's heir, and from his tender wings 
Shakes off his parent dust ; his method he pursues. 
And the same lease of life on the same terms 

renews : 
When grown to manhood he begins his reign, 
And with stiff pinions can his flight sustain, '"' 
He lightens of its load the tree that bore 
His father's royal sepulchre before, 
And his own cradle : this with pious care 
Placed on his back, he cuts the buxom air, 
Seeks tho sun's city, and his sacred church, (i, ° 
And decently lays down his burden in the porch. 

A wonder more amazing would we find ! 
Th' hyaena shows it, of a double kind, 
Varying tho sexes in alternate years, 
In one begets, and in another bears. 
The thin camcleon, fed with air, i-cceives 
The colour of tho thing to which ho cleaves. 

India, when conqucr'd, on the conquering god 
For planted vines the sharp-eyed lynx bestow'd, 
Whose urine, shed before it touches earth, ■■ 
Congeals in air, and gives to gems their birth. 
So coral, soft and white in ocean's bed, 
Comes harden'd up in air, and glows with red. 

All changing species should my song recite, 
Before I ceased, would change the day to night. ''-'* 
Nations and empires flourish and decay. 
By turns command, and in their turns obi y : 
Time softens hardy people ; time again 
Hardens to war a soft, unwarlikc train. 
Thus Troy, for ten long years, her foe- withstood, r;c 

And dailybleeding bore thi of blood : 

Now for thick streets it shows an empty space, 
Or, only fill'd with tombs of her own perish'd 

raco, 
Horsclf becomes the sepulchre of what she \\;i-. 



332 



PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY. 



Mycenas, Sparta, Thebes of mighty fame. 635 
Are vanish'd out of substance into name, 
And Dardan Eome, that just begins to rise 
On Tiber's banks, in time shall mate the skies ; 
Widening her bounds, and working on her way, 
Ev'n now she meditates imperial sway : 64 ° 

Yet this is change, but she by changing thrives, 
Like moons new bom, and in her cradle strives 
To fill her infant-homs ; an hour shall come 
When the round world shall be contain'd in 

Borne. 
For thus old saws foretel ; and Helenus 6 ' 15 
Anchises' drooping son enliven'd thus, 
When Ilium now was in a sinking state, 
And he was doubtful of his future fate : 
goddess-born, with thy hard fortune strive ; 
Troy never can be lost, and thou alive. 650 

Thy passage thou shalt free through fire and 

sword, 
And Troy in foreign lands shall be restored. 
In happier fields a rising town I see, 
Greater than whate'er was, or is, or e'er shall be : 
And heaven yet owes the world a race derived 

from thee. 655 

Sages and chiefs, of other lineage born, 
The city shall extend, extended shall adorn : 
But from lulus he must draw his birth, 
By whom thy Rome shall rule the conquer'd earth : 
Whom heaven will lend mankind on earth to 

reign, 66n 

And late require the precious pledge again. 
This Helenus to great iEneas told, 
Which I retain, e'er since in other mould 
My soul was clothed; and now rejoice to view 
-My country walls rebuilt, and Troy revived anew, 
Raised by the fall ; decreed by loss to gain; 666 
Enslaved but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign. 

'Tis time my hard-mouth'd coursers to control, 
Apt to run riot, and transgress the goal ; 
And therefore I conclude : whatever lies wo 

In earth, or flits in air, or fills the skies, 
All suffer change, and we, that are of soul 
And body mix'd, are members of the whole. 
Then when our sires, or grandsires, shall forsake 
The forms of men, and brutal figures take, 675 
Thus housed, securely let their spirits rest, 
Nor violate thy father in the beast, 
Thy friend, thy brother, any of thy kin ; 
If none of these, yet there 's a man within : 



Oh, spare to make a Thyestean meal, 6S0 

To enclose his body, and his soul expel. 

Ill customs by degrees to habits rise, 
111 habits soon become exalted vice : 
What more advance can mortals make in sin, 
So near perfection, who with blood begin? 686 
Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knife, 
Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life : 
Deaf to the harmless kid, that, ere he dies, 
All methods to procure thy mercy tries, 
And imitates in vain thy children's cries. 69n 

Where will he stop, who feeds with household 

bread, 
Then eats the poultry which before he fed ? 
Let plough thy steers ; that when they lose their 

breath, 
To Nature, not to thee, they may impute their 

death. 
Let goats for food their loaded udders lend, 605 
And sheep from winter-cold thy sides defend : 
But neither springes, nets, nor snares employ, 
And be no more ingenious to destroy. 
Free as in air, let birds on earth remain, 
Nor let insidious glue their wings constrain ; 70 ° 
Nor opening hounds the trembling stag affright, 
Nor purple feathers intercept his flight ; 
Nor hooks conceal'd in baits for fish prepare, 
Nor lines to heave 'em twinkling up in air. 

Take not away the life you cannot give : 705 
For all things have an equal right to live. 
Kill noxious creatures, where 'tis sin to save ; 
This only just prerogative we have : 
But nourish life with vegetable food, 
And shun the sacrilegious taste of blood. 71 ° 

These precepts by the Samian sage were taught, 
Which godlike Numa to the Sabines brought, 
And thence transferr'd to Rome, by gift his 

own : 
A willing people, and an offer'd throne. 
Oh, happy monarch, sent by heaven to bless 715 
A savage nation with soft arts of peace, 
To teach religion, rapine to restrain, ' 
Give laws to lust, and sacrifice ordain : 
Himself a saint, a goddess was his bride, 
And all the Muses o'er his acts preside. 72 ° 



Ver. 715. Oh, happy monarch,'] It is impossible not to be 
struck with the elegance and harmony of these six last 
lines. Dr. J. Waeton. 



PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLE& 



TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S EPISTLES. 



PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES. 



The life of Ovid being already written in our language before the translation of his Metamorphoses, 
I will not presume so far upon myself, to think I can add any thing to Mr. Sandys his undertaking. 
The English reader may there be satisfied, that he flourished in the reign of Augustus Cffisar ; that ho 
was extracted from an ancient family of Roman Knights ; that he was born to the inheritance of a 
splendid fortune ; that he was designed to the study of the law, and had made considerable progress 
in it before he quitted that profession for this of Poetry, to which he was more naturally formed. 
The cause of his banishment is unknown ; because he was himself unwilling further to provoke the 
emperor, by ascribing it to any other reason than what was pretended by Augustus, which was, the 
lasciviousness of his Elegies and his Art of Love. It is true, they are not to be excused in the 
severity of manners, as being able to corrupt a larger empire, if there were any, than that of Rome ; 
yet this may be said in behalf of Ovid, that no man has ever treated the passion of love with so much 
delicacy of thought and of expression, or searched into the nature of it more philosophically than he. 
And the emperor, who condemned him, had as little reason as another man to punish that fault with 
bo much severity, if at least he were the author of a certain Epigram, which is ascribed to him, 
relating to the cause of the first civil war betwixt himself and Mark Antony the triumvir, which is 
more fulsome than any passage I have met with in our Poet. To pass by the naked familiarity of his 
expressions to Horace, which are cited in that author's life, I need only mention one notorious act of 
his in taking Livia to his bed, when she was not only married, but with child by her husband then 
living. But deeds, it seems, may be justified by arbitrary power, when words are quc.-tioned in a 
Poet. There is another guess of the grammarians, as far from truth as the first from reason : they 
will have him banished for some favours which, they say, he received from Julia, the daughter of 
Augustus, whom they think he celebrates under the name of Corinna in his Elegies : but he who will 
observe the verses, which are made to that mistress, may gather from the whole contexture of them, 
that Corinna was not a woman of the highest quality. If Julia were then married to Agrippa, why 
should our Poet make his petition to Isis for her safe delivery, and afterwards condole her mis- 
carriage ; which, for aught he knew, might be by her own husband ? Or, indeed, how durst he be so 
bold to make the least discovery of such a crime, which was no less than capital, especially committed 
against a person of Agrippa's rank? Or, if it were before her marriage, he would sure have b 
more discreet than to have published an accident which must have been fatal 'to them both. But 
what most confirms mo against this opinion is, that Ovid himself complains, that the true 
Corinna was found out by the fame of his verses to her : which if it had been Julia, he durst not 
have owned; and, besides, an immediate punishment must have followed. He seems himsclt more 
truly to have touched at the cause of his exile in those obscure verses ; 

" Cur Illiquid villi, cur noxia lamina feci 1 " &c. 

Namely, that he had cither seen, or was conscious to somewhat, which had procured him his dugl 
But neither am I satisfied that this ,vas the incest of the emperor with his own daughter : 
Augustus was of a nature too vindictive to havo contented himself with BO Bmall a fl 



33-4 PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES. 

unsafe to himself, as that of simple banishment ; but would certainly have secured his crimes from 
public notice by the death of him who was witness to them. Neither have historians given us any 
light into such an action of this emperor : nor would he (the greatest politician of his time) in all 
probability, have managed his crimes with so little secresy, as not to shun the observation of any man. 
It seems more probable that Ovid was either the confidant of some other passion, or that he had 
stumbled by some inadvertency upon the privacies of Livia, and seen her in a bath : for the words 

" Sine veste Dianam " 

agree better with Livia, who had the fame of chastity, than with either of the Julias, who were both 
noted of incontinency. The first verses, which were made by him in his youth, and recited publicly, 
according to the custom, were, as he himself assures us, to Corinna : his banishment happened not till 
the age of fifty : from which it may be deduced, with probability enough, that the love of Corinna did 
not occasion it ; nay, he tells us plainly, that his offence was that of error only, not of wickedness ; 
and in the same paper of verses also, that the cause was notoriously known at Rome, though it be left 
so obscure to after ages. 

But to leave conjectures on a subject so uncertain, and to write somewhat more authentic of this 
Poet : that he frequented the court of Augustus, and was well received in it, is most undoubted : all 
his Poems bear the character of a court, and appear to be written, as the French call it, Cavalierement : 
add to this, that the titles of many of his Elegies, and more of his Letters in his banishment, are 
addressed to persons well known to us, even at this distance, to have been considerable in that court. 

Nor was his acquaintance less with the famous Poets of his age, than with the noblemen and ladies. 
He tells you himself, in a particular account of his own life, that Macer, Horace, Tibullus, Propertius, 
and many others of them, were his familiar friends, and that some of them communicated their 
writings to him ; but that he had only seen Virgil. 

If the imitation of nature be the business of a Poet, I know no author, who can justly be compared 
with ours, especially in the description of the passions. And to prove this, I shall need no other judges 
than the generality of his readers ; for all passions being inborn with us, we are almost equally judges, 
when we are concerned in the representation of them. Now I will appeal to any man who has read 
this Poet, whether he finds not the natural emotion of the same passion in himself, which the Poet 
describes in his feigned persons 1 His thoughts, which are the pictures and results of those passions, 
are generally such as naturally arise from those disorderly motions of our spirits. Yet, not to speak 
too partially in his behalf, I will confess, that the copiousness of his wit was such, that he often writ 
too pointedly for his subject, and made his persons speak more eloquently than the violence of their 
passion would admit ; so that he is frequently witty out of season ; leaving the imitation of nature, 
and the cooler dictates of his judgment, for the false applause of fancy. Yet he seems to have found 
out this imperfection in his riper age : for why else should he complain, that his Metamorphoses 
was left unfinished 1 Nothing, sure, can be added to the wit of that Poem, or of the rest : but many 
things ought to hare been retrenched ; which I suppose would have been the business of his age, if 
his misfortunes had not come too fast upon him. But take him uncorrected, as he is transmitted to 
us, and it must be acknowledged, in spite of his Dutch friends, the commentators, even of Julius 
Scaliger himself, that Seneca's censure will stand good against him ; 

" Nescivit quod bene cessit relinquere ;" 

he never knew how to give over, when he had done well ; but continually varying the same sense an 
hundred ways, and taking up in another place, what he had more than enough inculcated before, he 
sometimes cloys his readers, instead of satisfying them ; and gives occasion to his translators, who dare 
not cover him, to blush at the nakedness of their father. This, then, is the allay of Ovid's writings, 
which is sufficiently recompensed by his other excellencies : nay, this very fault is not without its 
beauties ; for the most severe censor cannot but be pleased with the prodigality of his wit, though, at 
the same time, he could have wished that the master of it had been a better manager. Every tiling 
which he does becomes him ; and, if sometimes he appears too gay, yet there is a secret gracefulness 
of youth which accompanies his writings, though the staidness and sobriety of age be wanting. In 
the most material part, which is the conduct, it is certain that he seldom has miscarried ; for if his 
Elegies be compared with those of Tibullus and Propertius, his contemporaries, it will be found, that 



PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES. 33C 

those poets seldom designed before they writ ; and though the language of Tibullus be more pol 
and the learning of Propertius, especially in his fourth book, more set out to ostentation ; yet their 
common practice was to look no farther before them than the next line ; whence it will inevitably 
follow, that they can drive to no certain point, but ramble from one subject to auother, and conclude 
with somewhat, which is not of a piece with their beginning : — 

"Purpureus lat6 qui splendcat, unun et alter 
Assuitur pannus," 

as Horace says : though the verses are golden, they are but patched into the garment. But our Poet 
has always the goal in his eye, which directs him in his race : some beautiful design, which he first 
establishes, and then contrives the means, which will naturally conduct him to his end. This will be 
evident to judicious readers in his Epistles, of which somewhat, at least in general, will be cxp< 

The title of them in our late editions is Epistolaj Heroidum, the Letters of the Heroines. But 
Heinsius has judged more truly, that the inscription of our author was barely. Epistles : which he 
concludes from his cited versos, where Ovid asserts this work as his own invention, and not borrowed 
from the Greeks, whom (as the masters of their learning) the Romans usually did imitate. But it 
appears not from their writings that any of the Grecians ever touched upon this way, which our Poet 
therefore justly has vindicated to himself. I quarrel not at the word Horoiduru, because it is used by 
Ovid in his Art of Love : — 

"Jupiter ad veteres supplex Heroidas ibat." 

But, sure, he could not be guilty of such an oversight, to call his work by the name of Heroines, 
when there are divers men, or heroes, as, namely, Paris, Leander, and Acontius, joined in it. Except 
Sabinus, who writ some answers to Ovid's letters, 

(" Quam celer 6 toto rediit meus orbe Sabinus ") 

I remember not any of the Romans, who have treated on this subject, save only Propertius ; and that 
but once, in his Epistle of Arethusa to Lycotas, which is written so near the style of Ovid, that it 
seems to be but an imitation, and therefore ought not to defraud our Poet of the glory of his 
invention. 

Concerning the Epistles, I shall content myself to observe these few particulars : first, that they 
are generally granted to be the most perfect pieces of Ovid, and that the style of them is tenderly 
passionate and courtly ; two properties well agreeing with the persons, which were heroines and 
lovers. Yet, where the characters were lower, as in ffiuone and Hero, he has kept close to nature, in 
drawing his images after a country life, though, perhaps, he has romanised his Grecian dames too 
much, and made them speak, sometimes, as if they had been born in the city of Rome, and under the 
empire of Augustus. There seems to be no great variety in the particular subjects which he has 
chosen; most of the Epistles being written from ladies who were forsaken by their lovers : which is 
the reason that many of the same thoughts come back upon us in divers letters ; but of the general 
character of women, which is modesty, he has taken a most becoming care ; for liis amorous expressions 
go no further than virtue may allow, and therefore may be read, as he intended them, by matrons 
without a blush. 

Thus much concerning the Poet: it remains that I should say somewhat of poetical translations 
in general, and give my opinion (with submission to better judgments) which way of version seems to 
be the most proper. 

All translation, I suppose, may be reduced to these three heads : — 

First, that of Metaphrase, or turning an author word by word, and lino by line, from one language 
into another. Thus, or near this manner, was Horaco his Art of Poetry translated by Bon J 
The second way is that of Paraphrase, or translation with latitude, where the author is kepi in view 
by the translator - , so as never to be lost, but his words are not so strictly followed as his sense ; and 
that too is admitted to be amplified, but not altered. Such is Mr. Waller's translation of v 
Fourth ./Eneid. Tho third way is that of imitation, whore the translator (if now he has D0< lost that 
name) assumes the liberty, not only to vary from the words and sense, but to forsako them both h 



336 PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES. 

lie sees occasion ; and taking only some general hints from the original, to ran divisions on the ground- 
work, as he pleases. Such is Mr. Cowley's practice in turning two odes of Pindar, and one of Horace, 
into English. 

Concerning the first of these methods, our master Horace has given us this caution : — 

" Nee verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus 
Interpres " 

" Nor word for word too faithfully translate," 

as the Earl of Roscommon has excellently rendered it. Too faithfully is, indeed, pedantically : it is a 
faith, like that which proceeds from superstition, blind and zealous. Take it in the expression of 
Sir John Denham to Sir Richard Fanshaw, on his version of the Pastor Fido : — 

" That servile path thou nobly dost decline, 
Of tracing word by word, and line by line. 
A new and nobler way thou dost pursue, 
To make translations and translators too : 
They but preserve the ashes, thou the flame; 
True to his sense, but truer to his fame." 

It is almost impossible to translate verbally and well at the same time ; for the Latin (a most severe 
and compendious language) often expresses that in one word, which either the barbarity or the narrow- 
ness of modern tongues cannot supply in more. It is frequent, also, that the conceit is couched in 
some expression which will be lost in English. ' 

" Atcme iidem venti vela fidemque ferent." 

What Poet of our nation is so happy as to express this thought literally in English, and to strike wit, 
or almost sense, out of it ? 

In short, the verbal copier is incumbered with so many difficulties at once, that he can never 
disentangle himself from all. He is to consider, at the same time, the thought of his author, and his 
words, and to find out the counterpart to each in another language ; and, besides this, he is to confine 
himself to the compass of numbers, and the slavery of rhyme. It is much like dancing on ropes with 
fettered legs : a man can shun a fall by using caution ; but the gracefulness of motion is not to be 
expected ; and when we have said the best of it, it is but a foolish task ; for no sober man would put 
himself into a danger for the applause of escaping without breaking his neck. We see Ben Jonson 
could not avoid obscurity in his literal translation of Horace, attempted in the same compass of lines : 
nay, Horace himself could scarce have done it to a Greek poet : — 

"Brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio :" 

either perspicuity or gracefulness will frequently be wanting. Horace has, indeed, avoided both 
these rocks in his translation of the three first lines of Homer's Odyssey, which he has contracted 
into two : — 

" Die mihi, musa, virum, captae post tempora Troja? 
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes." 

" Muse, speak the man, who, since the siege of Troy, 
So many towns, such change of manners saw." — Roscommon. 

But then the sufferings of Ulysses, which are a considerable part of that sentence, are omitted : — 

[*Os fJ>u.\cc crokXcc ?r\ciy%6'f)^] 

The consideration of these difficulties, in a servile, literal, translation, not long since made two of 
our famous wits, Sir John Denham, and Mr. Cowley, to contrive another way of turning authors into 
our tongue, called, by the latter of them, Imitation. As they were friends, I suppose they com- 
municated their thoughts on this subject to each other ; and, therefore, their reasons for it are little 
different. Though the practice of one is much more moderate. I take imitation of an author, in their 



PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES. 

sense, to be an endeavour of a later Poet to write like one who has written before him on the 
same subject; that is, not to translate his words, or to be confined to his sense, but only to set him as 
a pattern, and to write as he supposes that author would have done, had he lived in our age, and in 
our country. Yet I dare not say that either of them have carried this libertine way of rendering 
authors (as Mr. Cowley calls it) so far as my definition reaches. For in the Pindaric Odes, the 
customs and ceremonies of ancient Greece are still preserved. But I know not what mischief may 
arise hereafter from the example of such an innovation, when writers of unequal parts to him shall 
imitato so bold an undertaking. To add and to diminish what wo please, which is the way avowed 
by him, ought only to be granted to Mr. Cowley, and that too only in his translation of Pindar ; 
because he alone was able to make him amends, by giving him better of his own, whenever ho refused 
his author's thoughts. Pindar is generally known to be a dark writer, to want connexion, (I mean as 
to our understanding,) to soar out of sight, and leave his reader at a gaze. So wild and ungovernable 
a Poet cannot be translated literally ; his genius is too strong to bear a chain, and, Samson-like, ho 
shakes it off. A genius so elevated and unconfined as Mr. Cowley's was but necessary to mako 
Pindar speak English, and that was to be performed by no other way than imitation. But if Virgil, 
or Ovid, or any regular intelligible authors be thus used, it is no longer to bo called their work, when 
neither the thoughts nor words are drawn from the original ; but instead of them there is something 
new produced, which is almost the creation of another hand. By this way, it is true, somewhat that 
is excellent may be invented, perhaps more excellent than the first design ; though Virgil must bo 
still excepted, when that perhaps takes place. Yet he who is inquisitive to know an author's thoughts 
will be disappointed in his expectation. And it is not always that a man will bo contented to have 
a present made him, when he expects the payment of a debt. To state it fairly : imitation of an 
author is the most advantageous way for a translator to show himself, but the greatest wrong which 
can be done to the memory and reputation of the dead. Sir John Denham (who advised more 
liberty than he took himself) gives his reason for his innovation, in his admirable preface before the 
translation of the second iEneid : " Poetry is of so subtle a spirit, that, in pouring out of one 
language into another, it will all evaporate ; and, if a new spirit be not added in the transfusion, 
there will remain nothing but a Caput Mortuum." I confess this argument holds good against 
a literal translation ; but who defends it? Imitation and verbal version are, in my opinion, the two 
extremes, which ought to bo avoided ; and, therefore, when I have proposed the mean betwixt them, 
it will be seen how far his argument will reach. 

No man is capable of translating Poetry who, besides a genius to that art, is not a master both of 
his author's language and of his own : nor must we understand the language only of the Poet, but his 
particular turn of thoughts and expression, which are the characters that distinguish and, as it were, 
individuate him from all other writers. When we are come thus far, it is time to look into ourselves, 
to conform our genius to his, to give his thought either the same turn, if our tongue will bear it, or, 
if not, to vary but the dress, not to alter or destroy the substance. The like care must be taken of 
the more outward ornaments, the words. When they appear (which is but seldom) literally graceful, 
it were an injury to the author that they should be changed : but since every language is so full of its 
own proprieties, that what is beautiful in one, is often barbarous, nay sometimes nonsense, in another, 
it would be unreasonable to limit a translator to the narrow compass of his author's words. It is 
enough if he choose out some expression which does not vitiate tho sonse. I suppose ho may stretch 
his chain to such a latitude; but, by innovation of thoughts, mothinks, he breaks it. By this means 
the spirit of an author may be transfused, and yet not lost : and thus it is plain, that the reason 
alleged by Sir John Denham lias no farther force than to expression : for thought, if it be tran I 
truly, cannot bo lost in another language ; but the words that convey it to our apprehension (whiefa 
are tho image and ornament of that thought) may be so ill chosen, as to make it appear in an 
unhandsome dress, and rob it of its native lustre. There is, therefore, a liberty to be allowed for the 
expression; neither is it necessary that words and lines should be confined to the measure of their 
original. The sense of an author, generally speaking, is to be sacred and inviolable. If the fancy of 
Ovid be luxuriant, it is his character to be so ; and if I retrench it, ho is no longer Ovid. It will bo 
replied, that he receives advantage by this lopping of his superfluous branches; but I rejoin, t 
translator has no such right. Wheu a painter copies from the life, I suppose he has no privile - 
alter features, and lineaments, under pretence that his picture will look better: perhaps the face, 
which he has drawn would be more exact, if tho eyes or nose were altered ; but it is In-- bofiinees to 

z 



338 



CANACE TO MACAREUS. 



make it resemble the original. In two cases only there may a seeming difficulty arise ; that is, if the 
thought be notoriously trivial, or dishonest : but the same answer will serve for both, that then they 
ought not to be translated : 

" Et quae 

Desperes tractata nitescere posse, relinquas." 

Thus I have ventured to give my opinion on this subject against the authority of two great men, 
but I hope without offence to either of their memories ; for I both loved them living, and reverence 
them now they are dead. But if, after what I have urged, it be thought by better judges, that the 
praise of a translation consists in. adding new beauties to the piece, thereby to recompense the loss 
which it sustains by change of language, I shall be willing to be taught better, and to recant. In the 
meantime, it seems to me, that the true reason why we have so few versions which are tolerable,- 
is not from the too close pursuing of the author's sense, but because there are so few who have all 
the talents which are requisite for translation, and that there is so little praise, and so small 
encouragement, for so considerable a part of learning. 



CANACE TO MACAREUS. 

EPISTLE XI. 



THE ABGUMENT. 

Macareus and Canace, son and daughter to jEolus, god of 
the Winds, loved each other incestuously : Canace was 
delivered of a son, and committed him to her nurse, to 
he secretly conveyed away. The infant crying out, by 
that means was discovered to Mollis, who, enraged at 
the wickedness of his children, commanded the habe to 
be exposed to wild beasts on the mountains : and withal 
sent a sword to Canace, with this message, That her 
crimes would instruct her how to use it. With this sword 
she slew herself : but before she died, she writ the fol- 
lowing letter to her brother Macareus, who had taken 
sanctuary in the temple of Apollo. 

If streaming blood my fatal letter stain, 

Imagine, ere you read, the writer slain ; 

One hand the sword, and one the pen employs, 

And in my lap the ready paper lies. 

Think in this posture thou behold'st me write : 5 

In this my cruel father would delight. 

Oh ! were he present, that his eyes and hands 

Might see, and urge, the death whichhe commands ! 

Than all the raging winds more dreadful, he, 

Unmoved, without a tear, my wounds would see. 

Jove justly placed him on a stormy throne, u 

His people's temper is so like his own. 

The North and South, and each contending blast, 

Are underneath his wide dominion cast : 

Those he can rule ; but his tempestuous mind 15 

Is, like his airy kingdom, uneonfined. 

Ah ! what avail my kindred gods above, 

That in their number I can reckon Jove ! 

What help will all my heavenly friends afford, 

When to my breast I lift the pointed sword ? 20 

That hour which join'd us came before its time : 

In death we had been one without a crime. 

Why did thy flames beyond a brother's move ? 

Why loved I thee with more than sister's love 1 

For I loved too ; and, knowing not my wound, 2S 

A secret pleasure in thy kisses found : 



My cheeks no longer did their colour boast, 
My food grew loathsome, and my strength I lost: 
Still ere I spoke, a sigh would stop my tongue ; 
Short were my slumbers, and my nights were long. 30 
I knew not from my love these griefs did grow, 
Yet was, alas ! the thing I did not know. 
My wily nurse, by long experience, found, 
And first discover'd to my soul its wound. 
'Tis love, said she ; and then my downcast eyes, x 
And guilty dumbness, witness'd my surprise. 
Forced at the last, my shameful pain I tell : 
And, oh, what follow'd we both know too well ! 
" When half denying, more than half content, 
" Embraces warm'd me to a full consent, 
" Then with tumultuous joys my heart did beat, 
" And guilt, that made them anxious, made them 

great." 
But now my swelling womb heaved up my breast, 
And rising weight my sinking limbs oppress'd. 
What herbs, what plants, did not my nurse pro- 
duce, w 
To make abortion by their powerful juice ? 
What med'cines tried we not, to thee unknown ? 
Our first crime common ; this was mine alone. 
But the strong child, secure in his dark cell, 
With nature's vigour did our arts repel. 
And now the pale-faced empress of the night 
Nine times had fill'd her orb with borrow'd light : 
Not knowing 'twas my labour, I complain 
Of sudden shootings, and of grinding pain : 
My throes came thicker, and my cries increased, 55 
Which with her hand the conscious nurse sup- 

press'd. 
To that unhappy fortune was I come, 
Pain urged my clamours, but fear kept me dumb. 
With inward struggling I restrain'd my cries, 
And drunk the tears that trickled from my eyes. 60 
Death was in sight ; Lucina gave no aid ; 
And eVn my dying had my guilt betra/d. 
Thou cam'st, and in thy countenance sate despair; 
Rent were thy garments all, and torn thy hair : 



HELEN TO PARIS. 






Yet feigning comfort, which thou could'st not 
give, 6s 

(Press'd in thy arms, and whispering me to live :) 
For both our sakes (said'st thou) preserve thy life ; 
Live, my dear sister, and my dearer wife. 
Raised by that name, with my last pangs I strove : 
Such power have words, when spoke by those we 

love. m 

The babe, as if he heard what thou hadst sworn, 
With hasty joy sprung forward to be born. 
What helps it to have weathcr'd out one storm? 
Fear of our father does another form. 
High in his hall, rock'd in a chair of state, 75 

The king with his tempestuous council sate. 
Through this large room our only passage lay, 
By which we could the new-born babe convey. 
Swathed in her lap, the bold nurse bore him out, 
With olive branches cover'd round about ; w 

And muttering prayers, as holy rites she meant, 
Through the divided crowd unquestion'd went. 
Just at the door, th' unhappy infant cried : 
The grandsire heard him, and the theft he spied. 
Swift as a whirlwind to the nurse he flies, M 

And deafs his stormy subjects with his cries. 
With one fierce puff he blows the leaves away : 
Exposed, the self-discover'd infant lay. 
The noise reach'd me, and my presaging mind 
Too soon its own approaching woes divined. °° 
Not ships at sea with winds are shaken more, 
Nor seas themselves, when angry tempests roar, 
Than I, when my loud father's voice I hear : 
The bed beneath me trembled with my fear. 
He rush'd upon me, and divulged my stain ; M 
Scarce from my murder could his hands refrain. 
I only answer'd him with silent tears ; 
They flov/d : my tongue .vas frozen up with fears. 
His little grandchild he commands away, 
To mountain wolves and every bird of prey. 10 ° 
The babe cried out, as if he understood, 
And begg'd his pardon with what voice he could. 
By what expressions can my grief be shown ? 
(Yet you may guess my anguish by your own) 
To see my bowels, and, what yet was worse, 1M 
Your bowels too, condemn'd to such a curse ! 
Out went the king ; my voice its freedom found, 
My breasts I beat, my blubber'd cheeks I wound. 
And now appear'd the messenger of death ; 
Sad were his looks, and scarce he drew his 

breath, "° 

To say, " Your father sends you " — (with that word 
His trembling hands presented me a sword :) 
" Your father sends you this ; and lets you know, 
That your own crimes the use of it will show." 
Too well I know the sense those words impart : 
His present shall be treasured in my heart. Ilc 
Are these the nuptial gifts a bride receives 1 
And this the fatal dower a father gives 1 
Thou god of Marriage, shun thy own disgrace, 
And take thy torch from this detested place : m 
Instead of that, let furies light their brands, 
And fire my pile with their infernal hands. 
With happier fortune may my sisters wed; 
Warn'd by the dire example of the dead. 
For thee, poor babe, what crime could they 

pretend ? li5 

How could thy infant innocence offend ? 
A guilt there was; but, oh, that guilt was mine! 
Thou suffer'st for a sin that was not thine. 
'I'll \ mother's grief and crime ! but just enjoy 'd. 
Shown to my sight, and bom to be destroy 'd ! m 



Unhappy offspring of my teeming womb ! 

Dragg'd headlong from thy cradle to thy tomb ! 

Thy unoffending life I could not save, 

Nor weeping could I follow to thy grave : 

Nor on thy tomb could offer my shorn hair ; 

Nor show the grief which tender mot I 

Yet long thou shalt not from my arms bo lost ; 

For soon I will o'ertake thy infant ghost 

But thou, my love, and now my love's despair, 

Perform his funerals, with paternal care. "" 

His scatter'd limbs with my dead body burn; 

And once more join us in the pious urn. 

If on my wounded breast thou dropp'st a tear, 

Think for whose sake my breast that wound did 

bear ; 
And faithfully my last desires fulfil, '* 

As 1 perform my cruel father's will. 



HELEN TO PARIS. 

EPISTLE XVII. 



THE AF.GCMFNT. 

Helen, having received an epistle from Paris, returns the 
following answer: wherein she seems at first to chide 
him for his presumption in writing as he bad done, which 
could only proceed from his low opinion of her virtue : 
then owns herself to be sensible of the passion irhich he 
had expressed for her. though she much suspected his 
constancy; and at last discovers her inclination to be fa- 
vourable to him: the whole letter showing the extreme 
artifice of womankind. 

When loose epistles violate chaste eyes, 

She half consents who silently denies. 

How dares a stranger, with designs so vain, 

Marriage and hospitable rites profane 1 

Was it for this your fleet did shelter find 

From swelling seas, and every faithless wind I 

(For though a distant country brought you forth. 

Your usage here was equal to your worth.) 

Does this deserve to be rewarded so ? 

Did you come here a stranger or a foe ? 

Your partial judgment may perhaps complain, 

And think me barbarous for my just disdain. 

Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchaste, 

Nor my clear fame with any spot defaced. 

Though in my face there's no affected frown, 

Nor in my carriage a feign'd niceness shown, 

I keep my honour still without a stain. 

Nor has my love made any coxcomb vain. 

Your boldness I with ad nil ration see ; 

What hope had you to gain a queen like me 1 '■>< 

Because a hero forced me once away, 

Am I thought fit to be a second prey I 

Had I been won, I had deserved your 1 

But sure my part was nothing but the shame. 

Yet the base theft to him no fruit did bear, 

I 'scaped unhurt by anything but fear. 

Rude force might some unwilling kisses gain, 

But that was all he ever could obtain. 

You on such terms would ne'er have let me go ; 

Were he like you, we had not parti 

Ver. MA At Tptr/brm] Tho subject of It 
so very disgusting and offinsive, thai I could i 

mind to make any observation upon it. and supp • ■ i i 

translated it only to complete the rolume. Dr. J w 



340 



HELEN TO PARIS. 



Untouch'd the youth restored me to my friends, 

And modest usage made me some amends. 

'Tis virtue to repent a vicious deed ; 

Did he repent, that Paris might succeed 1 

Sure 'tis some fate that sets me above wrongs, 35 

Yet still exposes me to busy tongues. 

I '11 not complain ; for who 's displeased with 

love, 
If it sincere, discreet, and constant prove ? 
But that I fear ; not that I think you base, 
Or doubt the blooming beauties of my face ; 40 
But all your sex is subject to deceive, 
And ours, alas ! too willing to believe. 
Yet others yield ; and love o'ercomes the best : 
But why should I not shine above the rest ? 
Fair Leda's story seems at first to be 45 

A fit example ready form'd for me. 
But she was cozen'd by a borrowed shape, 
And under harmless feathers felt a rape. 
If I should yield, what reason could I use ? 
By what mistake the loving crime excuse ? 50 

Her fault was in her powerful lover lost ; 
But of what Jupiter have I to boast ? 
Though you to heroes and to kings succeed, 
Our famous race does no addition need ; 
And great alliances but useless prove 55 

To one that comes herself from mighty Jove. 
Go then, and boast in some less haughty place 
Your Phrygian blood, and Priam's ancient race ; 
Which I would show I valued, if I durst ; 
You are the fifth from Jove, but I the first. cu 
The crown of Troy is powerful, I confess ; 
But I have reason to think ours no less. 
Your letter, fill'd with promises of all 
That men can good, and women pleasant call, 
Gives expectation such an ample field, 65 

As would move goddesses themselves to yield. 
But if I e'er offend great Juno's laws, 
Yourself shall be the dear, the only cause : 
Either my honour I '11 to death maintain, 
Or follow you, without mean thoughts of gain. 70 
Not that so fair a present I despise ; 
We like the gift, when we the giver prize. 
But 'tis your love moves me, which made you take 
Such pains, and run such hazards for my sake. 
I have perceived (though I dissembled too) 75 
A thousand things that love has made you do. 
Your eager eyes would almost dazzle mine, 
In which, wild man, your wanton thoughts would 

shine. 
Sometimes you'd sigh, sometimes disorder'd stand, 
And with unusual ardour press my hand ; 80 

Contrive just after me to take the glass, 
Nor would you let the least occasion pass : 
When oft I fear'd, I did not mind alone, 
And blushing sate for things which you have done : 
Then murmur'd to myself, He '11 for my sake M 
Do anything ; I hope 'twas no mistake. 
Oft have I read within this pleasing grove, 
Under my name, those charming words, "I love." 
I, frowning, seem'd not to believe your flame ; 
But now, alas ! am come to write the same. 00 
If I were capable to do amiss, 
I could not but be sensible of this. 
For, oh ! your face has such peculiar charms, 
That who can hold from flying to your arms ! 
But what I ne'er can have without offence, 95 

May some blest maid possess with innocence. 
Pleasure may tempt, but virtue more should move; 
Oh, learn of me to want the thing you love. 



What you desire is sought by all mankind : 

As you have eyes, so others are not blind. m 

Like you they see, like you my charms adore ; 

They wish not less, but you dare venture more. 

Oh ! had you then upon our coasts been brought, 

My virgin-love when thousand rivals sought, 

You had I seen, you should have had my voice ; 

Nor could my husband justly blame my choice. 106 

For both our hopes, alas ! you come too late ; 

Another now is master of my fate. 

More to my wish I could have lived with you, 

And yet my present lot can undergo. u0 

Cease to solicit a weak woman's will, 

And urge not her you love to so much ill ; 

But let me live contented as I may, 

And make not my unspotted fame your prey. 

Some right you claim, since naked to your eyes 

Three goddesses disputed beauty's prize : 116 

One offer'd valour, t' other crowns ; but she 

Obtain'd her cause who, smiling, promised me. 

But first I am not of belief so light 

To think such nymphs would show you such a 

sight: I20 

Yet granting this, the other part is feign'd ; 
A bribe so mean your sentence had not gain'd. 
With partial eyes I should myself regard, 
To think that Venus made me her reward : 
I humbly am content with human praise ; 125 

A goddess's applause would envy raise. 
But be it as you say ; for, 'tis confess'd, 
The men who flatter highest please us best. 
That I suspect it, ought not to displease ; 
For miracles are not believed with ease. I30 

One joy I have, that I had Venus' voice ; 
A greater yet, that you confirmed her choice ; 
That proffer'd laurels, promised sovereignty, 
Juno and Pallas, you contemn'd for me. 
Am I your empire then, and your renown 1 135 
What heart of rock but must by this be won ? 
And yet, bear witness, you Powers above, 
How rude I am in all the arts of love ! 
My hand is yet untaught to write to men : 
This is th' essay of my unpractised pen. uo 

Happy those nymphs, whom use has perfect 

made ! 
I think all crime, and tremble at a shade. 
E'en while I write, my fearful conscious eyes 
Look often back, misdoubting a surprise. 
For now the rumour spreads among the crowd, 145 
At court it whispers, but in town aloud. 
Dissemble you, whate'er you hear 'em say : 
To leave off loving were your better way ; 
Yet if you will dissemble it, you may. 
Love secretly : the absence of my lord I5 " 

More freedom gives, but does not all afford : 
Long is his journey, long will be his stay; 
Call'd by affairs of consequence away. 
To go, or not, when unresolved he stood, 
I bid him make what swift return he could : lM 
Then kissing me, he said, " I recommend 
All to thy care, but most my Trojan friend." 
I smiled at what he innocently said, 
And only answer'd " You shall be obey'd." 
Propitious winds have borne him far from hence, 
But let not this secure your confidence. IH 

Absent he is, yet absent he commands : 
You know the proverb, "Princes have long 

hands." 
My fame 's my burden : for the more I 'in praised, 
A juster ground of jealousy is raised. l6i . 



Were I less fair, I might have been more blese'd : 

Great beauty through great danger is possess'd. 

To leave me here his venture was not hard, 

Because he thought my virtue was my guard. 

He fear'd my face, but trusted to my life ; ''° 

The beauty doubted, but believed the wife. 

You bid me use th' occasion while I can, 

Put in our hands by the good easy man. 

I would, and yet I doubt, 'twixt love and fear; 174 

One draws me from you, and one brings me near. 

Our flames are mutual, and my husband 's gone ; 

The nights are long ; I fear to lie alone. 

One house contains us, and weak walls divide, 

And you 're too pressing to be long denied. 

Let me not live, but every thing conspires 18 ° 

To join our loves, and yet my fear retires. 

You court with words, when you should force 

employ : 
A rape is requisite to shame-faced joy. 
Indulgent to the wrongs which we receive, 
Our sex can suffer what we dare not give. 1S5 

What have I said 1 for both of us 't were best, 
Our kindling fire if each of us suppress'd. 
The faith of strangers is too prone to change, 
And, like themselves, their wandering passions 

range. 
Hypsipile, and the fond Minonian maid, 10 ° 

Were both by trusting of their guests betray 'd. 
How can I doubt that other men deceive, 
When you yourself did fair (Enone leave? 
But lest I should upbraid your treachery, 
You make a merit of that crime to me. 195 

Yet grant you were to faithful love inclined, 
Your weary Trojans wait but for a wind. 
Should you prevail ; while I assign the night, 
Your sails are hoisted, and you take your flight : 
Some bawling mariner our love destroys, 20 ° 

And breaks asunder our unfinish'd joys. 
But I with you may leave the Spartan port, 
To view the Trojan wealth and Priam's court : 
Shown while I see, I shall expose my fame, 
And fill a foreign country with my shame. wh 

In Asia what reception shall I find ] 
And what dishonour leave in Greece behind 1 
What will your brothers, Priam, Hecuba, 
And what will all your modest matrons say] 
E'en you, when on this action you reflect, 210 

My future conduct justly may suspect ; 
And whate'er stranger lands upon your coast, 
Conclude me, by your own example, lost. 
I from your rage a strampet's name shall hear, 
While you forget what part in it you bear. 2,s 

You, my crime's author, will my crime upbraid : 
Deep under ground, oh, let me first be laid ! 
You boast the pomp and plenty of your land, 
Ami promise all shall be at my command : 
Your Trojan wealth, believe mo, I despise ; --'" 
My own poor native land has dearer ties. 
Should I bo injured on your Phrygian shore, 
help of kindred could I there implore? 
Medea was by Jason's flattery won : 
1 may, like her, believe, and be undone. !25 

Plain honest hearts, like initio, suspect no cheat, 
A]>i\ hive contributes to its own deceit. 
The ships, about whose sides loud tempests roar, 
With gentle winds were wafted from the shore. 

teeming mother dream 'd a (laming brand, B0 
Sprung from her womb, consumed the Trojan land. 
To second this, old prophecies conspire, 
That Ilium shall be burnt with Grecian fire. 



Both give me fear; nor is it much allay 'd, 
That Venus is obliged our lovee to aid." s>* 

For they, who lost their cause, revenge will ■ 
And for one friend two en< an .ike. 

Nor can I doubt, but, should I follow you, 
The sword would soon our fatal crime pursue. 
A wrong so great my husband's rage would rouse, 
And my relations would hi- use. -'" 

You boast your strength and courage ; but, alas ! 
Your words receive small credit from your ! 
Let heroes in the dusty field delight, 
Those limbs were fashion'd for another fight :l * 
Bid Hector sally from the walls of Troy ; 
A sweeter quarrel should your arms employ. 

Yet fears like these should not my mind perplex, 
Were I as wise as many of ruy sex. 
But time and you may bolder thoughts inspire; 
And I perhaps may yield to your de-ire. 
You last demand a private a nfer< I 
These are yourwords, but I can guess your sense. 
Your unripe hopes their harvest must attend : 
Bo ruled by me, and time may be your friend. 
This is enough to let you understand ; *• 

For now my pen has tired my tender hand : 
My woman knows the secret of my heart, 
And may hereafter better news impart 



DIDO TO jENEAS. 

EPISTLE VII. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

.(Eneas, the eon of Venus and Anchises, having, at (he 
destruction of Troy, saved his gods, Ins lather, and son 
Ascanius, from the fire, put to sea witli twenty sail of 
ships; and, having been long tossed will, tempests, was 
at last east upon the shore of Libya, where queen Didi>, 
(flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion, her brother, 
who had killed her husband Sicbans) had lately built 
Carthage. She entertained ./Eneas and his Beet with 
great civility, fell passionately In love with him, and In 
the end denied him not tin- last favours. But Mercury 
admonishing vEneas to go in search of Italy, (a kingdom 
promised him by the gods,] be readily prepared n> follow 
him. Dido soon perceived it. and having in vain tried 
all other means to engage him to stay, at last in despair 
writes to him as follows. 

So, on Mseander's banks, when death is nigh, 
The mournful swan sings her own elegy. 
Not that I hope (for, oh. that hope were vain !l 
By words your lost affection to regain : 

But, having lost whate'er was worth my > are, i 

Why should I fear to lose a dying pro 

'Tis then resolved poor Dido must lie left. 

Of life, of honour, and of love bereft ! 

While you. with loosen'd sails, and vows, prepare 

To seek a land that Hies the searcher's care. "' 

Nor can my rising towers your lli^lit restrain, 

Nor my new empire, offered you in vain. 

Built walls yon shun, unbuilt you seek : that land 

Is yet to conquer; but you this command. 

Suppose you landed where yon,- wish desigu'd, '* 
Think what reception foreigners would find. 

W hat people is so void of Common sense, 

To vote succession from a native pi 

Vet there new sceptres and new loves you seek; 

Now vowb to plight, and pli 



342 



DIDO TO .ENEAS. 



When will your towers the height of Carthage 

know ? 21 

Or when your eyes discern such crowds below ? 
If such a town and subjects you could see, 
Still would you want a wife who loved like me. 
For, oh ! I burn, like fires with incense bright : 25 
Not holy tapers flame with purer light : 
j33neas is my thoughts' perpetual theme ; 
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream. 
Yet he 's ungrateful and obdurate still : 
Fool that I am to place my heart so ill ! M 

Myself I cannot to myself restore ; 
Still I complain, and still I love him more. 
Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart, ' 

And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart. 
I rave : nor canst thou Venus' offspring be ; 3a 
Love's mother could not bear a son like thee. 
From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb, 
At least thou art from some fierce tigress come ; 
Or on rough seas, from their foundation torn, 
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born : ■ w 

Like that, which now thy trembling sailors fear ; 
Like that, whose rage should still detain thee here. 
Behold how high the foamy billows ride ! 
The winds and waves are on the juster side. 
To winter weather and a stormy sea * 5 

I '11 owe, what rather I would owe to thee. 
Death thou deserv'st from Heaven's avenging laws ; 
But I 'm unwilling to become the cause. 
To shun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate, 
'Tis a dear purchase, and a costly hate. 50 

Stay but a little, till the tempest cease, 
And the loud winds are lull'd. into a peace. 
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconstant prove ! 
And so it will, if there be power in love. 
Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain? 
So often wreck' d, how dar'st thou tempt the 

main? 56 

Which, were it smooth, were every wave asleep, 
Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep. 
In that abyss the gods their vengeance store, 
For broken vows of those who falsely swore. 60 
There winged storms on sea-born Venus wait, 
To vindicate-the justice of her state. 
Thus I to thee the means of safety show ; 
And, lost myself, would still preserve my foe. 
False as thou art, I not thy death design : 65 

Oh, rather live, to be the cause of mine ! 
Should some avenging storm thy vessel tear, 
(But Heaven forbid my words should omen bear !) 
Then in thy face thy perjured vows would fly ; 
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye. 70 
With threatening looks think thou behold'st me 

stare, 
Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair. 
Then, should fork'd lightning and red thunder 

fall, 
What could'st thou say, but, I deserved 'em all. 
Lest this should happen, make not haste away ; ' 5 
To shun the danger will be worth thy stay. 
Have pity on thy son, if not on me : 
My death alone is guilt enough for thee. 
What has his youth, what have thy gods deserved, 
To sink in seas, who were from fires preserved ? m 
But neither gods nor parent didst thou bear ; 
Smooth stories all to please a woman's ear, 
False as the tale of thy romantic life. 
Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife : 
Left to pursuing foes Creiisa staid, & 

By thee, base man, forsaken and betray'd. 



This, when thou told'st me, struck my tender heart, 
That such requital follow'd such desert. 
Nor doubt I but the gods, for crimes like these, 
Seven winters kept thee wandering on the seas. 90 
Thy starved companions, cast ashore, I fed, 
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed. 
To harbour strangers, succour the distress'd, 
Was kind enough ; but, oh, too kind the rest ! 
Cursed be the cave which first my ruin brought, 9S 
Where, from the storm, we common shelter 

sought ! 
A dreadful howling echoed round the place : 
The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials 

grace. 
I thought so then, but now too late I know 
The furies yell'd my funerals from below. 10 ° 

chastity and violated fame, 

Exact your dues to my dead husband's name ! 

By death redeem my reputation lost, 

And to his arms restore my guilty ghost. 

Close by my palace, in a gloomy grove, ,05 

Is raised a chapel to my murder'd love ; 

There, wreath'd with boughs and wool, his statue 

stands, 
The pious monument of artful hands. 
Last night, methought, he call'd me from the 

dome, 
And thrice, with hollow voice, cried, Dido, come. 
She comes; thy wife thy lawful summons hears; m 
But comes more slowly, clogg'd with conscious 

fears. 
Forgive the wrong I offer'd to thy bed ; 
Strong were his charms who my weak faith misled. 
His goddess mother, and his aged sire lw 

Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire. 
Oh ! such he was, and is, that, were he true, 
Without a blush I might his love pursue. 
But cruel stars my birthday did attend ; 
And as my fortune open'd, it must end. 12 ° 

My plighted lord was at the altar slain, 
Whose wealth was made my bloody brother's gain. 
Friendless, and follow'd by the murderer's hate, 
To foreign countries I removed my fate ; 
And here, a suppliant, from the natives' hands 12S 

1 bought the ground on which my city stands, 
With all the coast that stretches to the sea ; 
E'en to the friendly port that shelter'd thee : 
Then raised these walls, which mount into the air, 
At once my neighbours' wonder and their fear. 13 ° 
For now they arm ; and round me leagues are made, 
My scarce establish'd empire to invade. 

To man my new-built walls I must prepare, 
An helpless woman, and unskili'd in war. 
Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend ; 136 

And for my person would my crown defend : 
Whose jarring votes in one complaint agree, 
That each unjustly is disdahi'd for thee. 
To proud Hyarbas give me up a prey ; 
(For that must follow, if thou goest away :) 140 
Or to my husband's murderer leave my life, 
That to the husband he may add the wife. 
Go then, since no complaints can move thy mind : 
Go, perjured man, but leave thy gods behind. 
Touch not those gods, by whom thou art for- 
sworn, 145 
Who will in impious hands no more be borne : 
Thy sacrilegious worship they disdain, 
And rather would the Grecian fires sustain. 
Perhaps my greatest shame is still to come, 
And part of thee lies hid within my womb. l5 ° 



THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S ART OF LOVE. 



343 



The babe unborn must perish by thy hate, 

And perish guiltless in his mother's fate. 

Some god, thou say'st, thy voyage does command : 

Would the same god had barr'd thee from my lam 1 ! 

The same, I doubt not, thy departure steers, IM 

Who kept thee out at sea so many years ; 

While thy long labours were a price so great, 

As thou to purchase Troy would'st not repeat. 

But Tyber now thou seek'st, to be at best, 

When there arrived, a poor precarious guest. lco 

Yet it deludes thy search : perhaps it will 

To thy old age lie undiscover'd still. 

A ready crown and wealth in dower I bring, 

And, without conquering, here thou art a king. 

Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy Troy : 165 

Here young Ascanius may his arms employ ; 

And, while we live secure in soft repose, 

Bring many laurels home from coirquer'd foes. 

By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee stay ; 

By all the gods, companions of thy way. 17 ° 

So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive, 

Live still, and with no future fortune strive ; 

So may thy youthful son old age attain, 

And thy dead father's bones in peace remain ; 

As thou hast pity on unhappy me, J ' 5 

Who knew no crime but too much love of thee. 

I am not born from fierce Achilles' line, 

Nor did my parents against Troy combine. 

To be thy wife if I unworthy prove, 

By some inferior name admit my love. 180 

To be secured of still possessing thee, 

What would I do, and what would I not be ! 



Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons know, 
When free from tempests passengers ms 
But now with northern blasts the billoi 

And drive the floating seaweed to tlio shore. 

Leave to my care the time to sail away ; 

When safe, I will not sutler thee to stay. 

Thy weary men would be with ease content ; 

Their sails are tattor'd, and their masts are spent. 

If by no merit I thy mind can move, lsl 

What thou deniest my merit, give my love. 

Stay, till I learn my loss to undergo ; 

And give me time to struggle with my woe. 

If not, know this, I will not suffer long ; I9S 

My life 's too loathsome, and my love too strong. 

Death holds my pen, and dictates what I say, 

While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay. 

My tears flow down ; the sharp edge cuts their 

flood, 
And drinks my sorrows, that must drink my 

blood. *» 

How well thy gift does with my fate agree ! 
My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee. 
To no new wounds my bosom I display : 
The sword but enters where love made the way. 
But thou, dear sister, and yet dearer friend, 
Shalt my cold ashes to their urn attend. 
SicliKus' wife let not the marble boast ; 
I lost that title, when my fame I lost. 
This short inscription only let it bear : 
" Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here. 
The cause of death, and sword by which she died, 
iEneas gave : the rest her arm supplied." 



TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S ART OF LOVE. 



THE FIRST BOOK OF 



OVID'S ART OF LOVE. 



In Cupid's school whoe'er would take degree, 

Must learn his rudiments, by reading me. 

Seamen with sailing arts their vessels move ; 

Art guides the chariot ; art instructs to love. 

Of ships and chariots others know the rule; s 

But I am master in Love's mighty school. 

Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild, 

A stubborn god ; but yet the god 's a child : 

Easy to govern in his tender ago, 

Like fierce Achilles in his pupilago: 10 

That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood 

Before the Centaur, and received the rod. 

As Chiron mollified his cruel mind 

With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind 

Vor. 1. In Cupid's school] We cannot see, without roul 

regret and mortification, such a waste oftim d talent as 

w ]i;it our author has Hunt; away in translating so loose and 
flagitious, us well as trifling work of his favourite Ovid, 
full of some of the most exceptionable and nauseous cir- 
cumstances of ancient mythology. 1 most undoubtedly 
Shall make no comment on it, nor on the two succeeding 
translations Dr J. Waiiton. 



The silver strings of his melodious lyre : 
So love's fair goddess does my soul inspire, 
To teach her softer arts ; to soothe the mind. 
And smooth the rugged breasts of human kind. 

Yet Cupid and Achilles, each with scorn 
And rage were fill'd; and both were goddess- 
born. : " 
The bull, reclaim'd and yoked, the burden 

draws : 
The horse receives the bit within his jaws; 
And stubborn Love shall bend beneath my sway, 
Though struggling oft he strives to disobey. 
He shakes his torch, ho wounds me with his 
darts ; " 

But vain his force, and vainer aro his arts. 
The more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight, 
The more he teaches to revenge the spite. 

I boost ii" aid the I lelphi i irds, 

Nor auspice from the flight of chattering birds; 
Nor Clio, nor her sisters hai 
As Hesiod saw them on the shad] 
Experience make-' my work ; a truth bo tried 
You may believe ; and Venus be my guide. 

Far hence, ye vestals, be, who bind . 
hair ; 
And wives, who gowns below your ancles wear. 



344 



THE FIRST BOOK OP 



I sing the brothels loose and unconfmed, 
Th' unpunishable pleasures of the kind ; 
Which all alike,. for love, or money, find. 

You, who in Cupid's rolls inscribe your name, 
First seek an object worthy of your flame ; 41 
Then strive, with art, your lady's mind to gain : 
And, last, provide your love may long remain. 
On these three precepts all my work shall move : 
These are the rules and principles of love. 45 

Before your youth with marriage is oppress'd, 
Make choice of one who suits your humour best : 
And such a damsel drops not from the sky ; 
She must be sought for with a curious eye. 

The wary angler in the winding brook, 50 

Knows what the fish, and where to bait his 

hook. 
The fowler and the huntsman know by name 
The certain haunts and harbour of their game. 
So must the lover beat the likeliest grounds ; 
Th' assembly where his quarry most abounds. 55 
Nor shall my novice wander far astray ; 
These rules shall put him in the ready way. 
Thou shalt not sail around the continent, 
As far as Perseus, or as Paris went : 
For Rome alone affords thee such a store, M 

As all the world can hardly show thee more. 
The face of heaven with fewer stars is crown'd, 
Than beauties in the Roman sphere are found. 
Whether thy love is bent on blooming youth, 
On dawning sweetness in unartful truth ; 65 

Or courts the juicy joys of riper growth; 
Here may'st thou find thy full desires in both. 
Or if autumnal beauties please thy sight 
(An age that knows to give and take delight) 
Millions of matrons of the graver sort, 70 

In common prudence, will not balk the sport. 

In summer heats thou need'st but only go 
To Pompey's cool and shady portico ; 
Or Concord's fane ; or that proud edifice. 
Whose turrets near the bawdy suburb rise : ' 6 
Or to that other portico, where stands 
The cruel father urging his commands, 
And fifty daughters wait the time of rest, ' 
To plunge their poniards in the bridegroom's 

breast : 
Or Venus' temple ; where, on annual nights, ^ 
They mourn Adonis with Assyrian rites. 
Nor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul drove, 
On Sabbaths, rest from every thing but love : 
Nor Isis' temple ; for that sacred whore 
Makes others, what to Jove she was before. 85 
And if the hall itself be not belied, 
E'en there the cause of love is often tried ; 
Near it at least, or in the palace-yard, 
From whence the noisy combatants are heard. 
The crafty counsellors, in formal gown, 90 

There gain another's cause, but lose their own. 
There eloquence is nonpluss'd in the suit ; 
And lawyers, who had words at will, are mute. 
Venus, from her adjoining temple, smiles, 
To see them caught in their litigious wiles. 95 
Grave senators lead home the youthful dame, 
Returning clients, when they patrons came. 
But, above all, the playhouse is the place; 
There 's choice of quarry in that narrow chace. 
There take thy stand, and sharply looking out, Ul ° 
Soon may'st thou find a mistress in the rout, 
For length of time, or for a single bout. 
The theatres are berries for the fair : 
Like ants on mole-hills thither they repair ; 



Like bees to hives, so numerously they throng, 105 
It may be said, they to that place belong. 
Thither they swarm, who have the public voice : 
There choose, if plenty not distracts thy choice. 
To see, and to be seen, in heaps they run ; 
Some to undo, and some to be undone. "° 

From Romulus the rise of plays began, 
To his new subjects a commodious man ; 
Who, his unmarried soldiers to supply, 
Took care the commonwealth should multiply : 
Providing Sabine women for his braves, 115 

Like a true king, to get a race of slaves. 
His playhouse not of Parian marble made, 
Nor was it spread with purple sails for shade. 
The stage with rushes or with leaves they 

strew'd : 
No scenes in prospect, no machining god. 12 ° 

On rows of homely turf they sat to see, 
Crown'd with the wreaths of every common 

tree. 
There, while they sat in rustic majesty, 
Each lover had his mistress in his eye ; 
And whom he saw most suiting to his mind, I25 
For joys of matrimonial rape design'd. 
Scarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste ; 
But, ere the dances and the song were past, 
The monarch gave the signal from his throne ; 
And, rising, bade his merry men fall on. 1M 

The martial crew, like soldiers ready press'd, 
Just at the word (the word too was, " The Best ") 
With joyful cries each other animate; 
Some choose, and some at hazard seize their 

mate. 
As doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs, 
So from their lawless lovers fly the dames. 138 
Their fear was one, but not one face of fear ; 
Some rend the lovely tresses of their hair ; 
Some shriek, and some are struck with dumb de- 
spair. 
Her absent mother one invokes in vain ; '*> 

One stands amazed, not daring to complain ; 
The nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain. 
But nought availing, all are captives led, 
Trembling and blushing to the genial bed. 
She who too long resisted, or denied, M5 

The lusty lover made by force a bride ; 
And, with superior strength, compell'd her to his 

side. 
Then soothed her thus : — My soul's far better 

part, 
Cease weeping, nor afflict thy tender heart : 
For what thy father to thy mother was, I5 ° 

That faith to thee, that solemn vow I pass. 

Thus Romulus became so popular; 
This was the way to thrive in peace and war ; 
To pay his army, and fresh whores to bring : 
Who would not fight for such a gracious king ? 155 

Thus love in theatres did first improve ; 
And theatres are still the scenes of love : 
Nor shun the chariot's and the courser's race ; 
The Circus is no inconvenient place. 
No need is there of talking on the hand ; lm 

Nor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand. 
But boldly next the fair your seat provide ; 
Close as you can to hers, and side by side. 
Pleased or unpleased, no matter ; crowding sit : 
For so the laws of public shows permit. 165 

Then find occasion to begin discourse ; 
Inquire, whose chariot this, and whose that 

horse 1 



To whatsoever side she is inclined, 
Suit all your inclinations to her mind ; 
Like what she likes; from thence your court 
begin ; '7" 

And whom she favours, wish that ho may win. 
But when the statues of the deities, 
In chariots roll'd, appear before the prize ; 
When Venus comes, with deep devotion rise. 
If dust be on her lap, or grains of sand, l ' 5 

Brush both away with your officious hand. 
If nono be there, yet brush that nothing thence ; 
And still to touch her lap make some pretence. 
Touch any thing of hers ; and if her train 
Sweep on the ground, lot it not sweep in vain ; lli0 
But gently take it up, and wipe it clean ; 
And while you wipe it, with observing eyes, 
Who knows but you may see her naked thighs ! 
Observe who sits behind her ; and beware, 
Lest his encroaching knee should press the fair. 
Light service takes light minds : for some can 
tell 13 « 

Of favours won, by laying cushions well : 
By fanning faces some their fortune meet ; 
And some by laying footstools for their feet. 
These overtures of love the Circus gives ; 190 

Nor at the sword-play less the lover thrives : 
For there the son of Venus fights his prize ; 
And deepest wounds are oft received from eyes. 
One, while the crowd their acclamations make, 
Or while he bets, and puts his ring to stake, 195 
Is struck from far, and feels the flying dart ; 
And of the spectacle is made a part. 

Czesar would represent a naval fight, 
For his own honour, and for Rome's delight. 1M 
From either sea the youths and maidens come; 
And all the world was then contain'd in Rome. 
In this vast concourse, in this choice of game, 
What Roman heart but felt a foreign flame 1 
Once more our prince prepares to make us glad; 
And the remaining East to Rome will add. ' m 
Rejoice, ye Roman soldiers, in your urn; 
Your ensigns from the Parthians shall return ; 
And the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn. 
A youth is sent those trophies to demand, 
And bears his father's thunder in his hand : 21 ° 
Doubt not th' imperial boy in wars unseen ; 
In childhood all of Ca;sar's race are men. 
Celestial seeds shoot out before their day, 
Prevent their years, and brook no dull delay. 
Thus infant Hercules the snakes did press, 215 
And in his cradle did his sire confess. 
Bacchus, a boy, yet like a hero fought, 
And early spoils from conquer'd India brought. 
Thus you your father's troops shall lead to fight, 
And thus shall vanquish in your father's right. a2 ° 
Those rudiments you to your lineage owe ; 
Bom to increase your titles as you grow. 
Brethren you had, revenge your brethren slain ; 
You have a father, and his rights maintain. 
Arm'd by your country's parent, and your own, - ;5 
Redeem your country, and restore his throne. 
Your enemies assert an impious cause ; 
You fight both for divine and human laws. 
Already in their cause they are o'ereomo : 
Subject them, too, by force of arms, to Home. aao 
Great father Mars with greater C.esar join, 
To give a prosperous omen to your line : 
One of you is, and one shall be divine. 
I prophesy you shall, you shall o'ercome : 
My verse shall bring you back in triumph home. - - 



Speak in my verso, exhort to loud alarms : 
Oh, were my numbers equal to your arm* ! 
Then would I sing the 1'aithians' Overthrow; 
Their shot averse sent from a flying bow : 
The Parthians, who already flying fight, 
Already give an omen of their flight, 
Oh, when will conio the day, by Heaven design 'd, 
\\ 'In 'ii thou, the best and fairest of mankind, 
Drawn by white horses shalt in triumph ride. 
With conquer'd slaves attending on thy side; -'■' 
Slaves, that no longer ran be Safe in flight; 
glorious object, O surprising sight, 
day of public joy, too good to end in night ! 
On such a day, if thou, and, next to thee, 
Some beauty sits, the spectacle to see : - w 

If she inquire the names of conquer'd kings, 
Of mountains, rivers, and their hidden springs, 
Answer to all thou kuow'st ; and. if need be, 
Of things unknown seem to sp-.'ak knowingly; 
This is Euphrates, crown'd with reeds; and 
there - • 

Flows the swift Tigris with his sea-green hair. 
Invent new names of things unknown before ; 
Call this Armenia, that the Caspian shore ; 
Call this a Mode, and that a Parthian youth ; 
Talk probably ; no matter for the truth. 

In feasts, as at our shows, new means abound ; 
More pleasure there, than that of wine, is found. 
The Paphian goddess there her ambush lays ; 
And Love betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays : 
Desires increase at every swelling draught ; 2,;s 
Brisk vapours add new vigour to the thought. 
There Cupid's purple wings no flight afford ; 
But, wet with wine, he flutters on the board. 
He shakes his pinions, but he cannot move ; 
Fix'd he remains, and turns a maudlin Love. - ; " 
Wine warms the blood, and makes the spirits 

flow ; 
Care flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go : 
Exalts the poor, invigorates the weak ; 
Gives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek. 
Bold truths it speaks ; and, spoken, dares main- 
tain; 
And brings our old simplicity again. 
Love sparkles in the cup, and fills it higher: 
Wine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire. 
But choose no mistress in thy drunken lit ; 
Wine gilds too much their beauties and their 

wit. 
Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance; 
But sober, and by day, thy suit advance. 
By daylight Paris judged the beauteous three; 
And for the fairest did the prize decree. 
Night is a cheat, and all deformities 
Are hid, or lesscn'd in her dark disguise. 
The sun's fair light each error will confess, 
In face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress. 

Why name I every place where youths abound 1 
'Tis loss of lime, and a too fruitful ground. -"-"' 
The Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride, 
And wholesome streams from sulphur fountains 

glide ; 
Where wounded youth.-, are by experience taught) 
The waters are less healthful than they thought: 
Or Dian's lane, which near the Buburb lies, 
Where priests, for their promotion, fight a pr 
That maiden goddess is Love's mortal foe, 
And much iVom her his subjects ond< i 

Thus far the sportful Mils', with m\ rtle hound. 
Has sung where lovelj J be found, ■*" 



346 



THE FIRST BOOK OF 



Now let me sing, how she who wounds your 

mind, 
With art, may be to cure your wounds inclined. 
Young nobles, to my laws attention lend ; 
And all you vulgar of my school attend. 

First then believe, all women may be won ; 306 
Attempt with confidence, the work is done. 
The grasshopper shall first forbear to sing 
In summer season, or the birds in spring, 
Than women can resist your flattering skill : 
E'en she will yield, who swears she never will. 3 '° 
To secret pleasure both the sexes move ; 
But women most, who most dissemble love. 
'Twere best for us, if they would first declare, 
Avow their passion, and submit to prayer. 
The cow, by lowing, tells the bull her flame : 3I5 
The neighing mare invites her stallion to the game. 
Man is more temperate in his lust than they, 
And, more than women, can his passion sway. 
Biblis, we know, did first her love declare, 
And had recourse to death in her despair. 32 ° 

Her brother she, her father Myrrha sought, 
And loved, but loved not as a daughter ought. 
Now from a tree she stills her odorous tears, 
Which yet the name of her who shed 'em bears. 

In Ida's shady vale a bull appear' d, 325 

White as the snow, the fairest of the herd ; 
A beauty-spot of black there only rose, 
Betwixt his equal horns and ample brows : 
The love and wish of all the Cretan cows. 
The queen beheld him as his head he rear'd, 330 
And envied every leap he gave the herd. 
A secret fire she nourish'd in her breast, 
And hated every heifer he caress'd. 
A story known, and known for true, I tell ; 
Nor Crete, though lying, can the truth conceal. M5 
She cut him grass ; (so much can Love command) 
She stroked, she fed him with her royal hand : 
Was pleased in pastures with the herd to roam ; 
And Minos by the bull was overcome. 

Cease, queen, with gems t' adorn thy beauteous 
brows ; 3m 

The monarch of thy heart no jewel knows: 
Nor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes ; 
Secure from all thy charms thy lover lies : 
Yet trust thy mirror, when it tells thee true, 
Thou art no heifer to allure his view. 3M 

Soon would' st thou quit thy royal diadem 
To thy fair rivals, to be horn'd like them. 
If Minos please, no lover seek to find ; 
If not, at least seek one of human kind. 

The wretched queen the Cretan court for- 
sakes ; 35 ° 
In woods and wilds her habitation makes : 
She curses every beauteous cow she sees ; 
Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please ! 
And think'st, ungrateful creature as thou art, 
With frisking awkwardly, to gain his heart ! 355 
She said, and straight commands, with frowning 

look, 
To put her, undeserving, to the yoke ; 
Or feigns some holy rites of sacrifice, 
And sees her rival's death with joyful eyes ; 
Then, when the bloody priest has done his 
part, 36 ° 

Pleased, in her hand she holds the beating heart ; 
Nor from a scornful taunt can scarce refrain ; 
Go, fool, and strive to please my love again ! 

Now she would be Europa, Io now : 
(One bore a bull, and one was made a cow.) 365 



Yet she at last her brutal bliss obtain'd, 
And in a wooden cow the bull sustain'd ; 
Fill'd with his seed, accomplish'd her desire, 
Till by his form the son betray'd the sire. 

If Atreus' wife to incest had not run, 
(But, ah, how hard it is to love but one !) 
His coursers Phoebus had not driven away, 
To shun that sight, and interrupt the day. 
Thy daughter, Nisus, pull'd thy purple hair, 
And barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear. 3 ? 5 
At sea and land Atrides saved his life, 
Yet fell a prey to his adulterous wife. 
Who knows not what revenge Medea sought, 
When the slain offspring bore the father's fault? 
Thus Phoenix did a woman's love bewail ; 38U 

And thus Hippolytus by Phaedra fell. 
These crimes revengeful matrons did commit ; 
Hotter their lust, and sharper is their wit. 
Doubt not from them an easy victory : 
Scarce of a thousand dames will one deny. 385 
All women are content that men should woo ; 
She who complains, and she who will not do. 
Rest then secure, whate'er thy luck may prove, 
Not to be hated for declaring love. 
And yet how canst thou miss, since womankind 390 
Is frail and vain, and still to change inclined 1 
Old husbands and stale gallants they despise ; 
And more another's, than their own, they prize. 
A larger crop adorns our neighbour's field ; 
More milk his kine from swelling udders yield. 395 

First gain the maid : by her thou shalt be 
sure 
A free access and easy to procure ; 
Who knows what to her office does belong, 
Is in the secret, and can hold her tongue. 
Bribe her with gifts, with promises, and prayers ; 40 ° 
For her good word goes far in love affairs. 
The time and fit occasion leave to her, 
When she most aptly can thy suit prefer. 
The time for maids to fire their lady's blood, 
Is when they find her in a merry mood ; 40S 

When all things at her wish and pleasure move, 
Her heart is open then, and free to love. 
Then mirth and wantonness to lust betray, 
And smooth the passage to the lover's way. 
Troy stood the siege, when fill'd with anxious 
care : 410 

One merry fit concluded all the war. 

If some fair rival vex her jealous mind, 
Offer thy service to revenge in kind. 
Instruct the damsel, while she combs her hair, 
To raise the choler of that injured fair ; 4,s 

And, sighing, make her mistress understand, 
She has the means of vengeance in her hand ; 
Then, naming thee, thy humble suit prefer, 
And swear thou languishest and diest for her. 
Then let her lose no time, but push at all ; 42 ° 
For women soon are raised, and soon they fall. 
Give their first fury leisure to relent, 
They melt like ice, and suddenly repent. 

T' enjoy the maid, will that thy suit advance ? 
'Tis a hard question, and a doubtful chance. 425 
One maid, corrupted, bawds the better for 't ; 
Another for herself would keep the sport. 
Thy business may be further'd or delay'd ; 
But, by my counsel, let alone the maid : 
E'en though she should consent to do the feat; m 
The profit 's little, and the danger great. 
I will not lead thee through a rugged road ; 
But where the way lies open, safe, and broad. 



Yet if thou find'st her very much thy friend, 
And her good face her diligence commend, 435 
Let the fair mistress have thy first embrace, 
And let the maid come after in her place. 

But this I will advise, and mark my words; 
For 'tis the best advice my skill affords : 
If needs thou with the damsel wilt begin, 4lg 

Before th' attempt is made, make sure to win; 
For then the secret better will be kept ; 
And she can tell no tales when once she 's dipp'd. 
"Tis for the fowler's interest to beware, 
The bird entangled should not 'scape the snare. 445 
The fish, once prick'd, avoids the bearded hook, 
And spoils the sport of all the neighbouring brook. 
But if the wench be thine, she makes thy way, 
And, for thy sake, her mistress will betray ; 
Tell all she knows, and all she hears her say. 45 ° 
Keep well the counsel of thy faithful spy: 
So shalt thou learn whene'er she treads awry. 

All things the stations of their seasons keep, 
And certain times there are to sow and reap. 
Ploughmen and sailors for the season stay, 455 
One to plough land, and one to plough the sea : 
So should the lover wait the lucky day. 
Then stop thy suit, it hurts not thy design : 
But think, another hour she may be thine. 
And when she celebrates her birth at home, m 
Or when she views the public shows of Rome, 
Know, all thy visits then are troublesome. 
Defer thy work, and put not then to sea, 
For that 's a boding and a stormy day. 
Else take thy time, and, when thou canst, begin : 
To break a Jewish sabbath, think no sin : 4M 

Nor e'en on superstitious days abstain ; 
Not when the Romans were at Allia slain. 
Ill omens in her frowns are understood ; 
When she 's in humour, every day is good. '"° 
But than her birthday seldom comes a worse ; 
When bribes and presents must be sent of course; 
And that 's a bloody day, that costs thy purse. 
Be stanch ; yet parsimony will be vain : 
The craving sex will still the lover drain. 475 

No skill can shift them off, nor art remove ; 
They will be begging, when they know we love. 
The merchant comes upon th' appointed day, 
Who shall before thy face his wares display. 
To choose for her she craves thy kind advice ; 4S0 
Then begs again, to bargain for the price : 
But when she has her purchase in her eye, 
She hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy. 
'Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too ; 
In many years I will not trouble you. 485 

If you complain you have no ready coin ; 
No matter, 'tis but writing of a line, 
A little bill, not to be paid at sight ; 
Now curse the time when thou wert taught to 

write. 
She keeps her birthday ; you must send the 

cheer ; 49 ° 

And she '11 be born a hundred times a year. 
With daily lies she dribs thee into cost ; 
That earring dropp'd a stone, that ring is lost. 
They often borrow what they never pay ; 
Wh ato'eryou lend her, think it thrown away. 49S 
Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art, 
All would be wearied ore I told a part. 

By letters, not by words, thy love begin ; 
And ford the dangerous passage with thy pen. 
If to her heart thou aim'st to find the way, 60 ° 
Extremely flatter, and extremely pray. 



Priam by prayers did Hector's body gain ; 

Nor is an angry god invoked in vain. 

With promised gifts her easy mind bewitch ; 

For e'en the poor in promise may bo rich. 4a ' , 

Vain hopes awhile her appetite will stay ; 

'Tis a deceitful, but commodious way. 

Who gives is mad, but make her still believe 

'Twill come, and that 's the cheapest way to give. 

E'en barren lands fair promisee afford : 6 '° 

But the lean harvest cheats the starving lord. 

Buy not thy first enjoyment, lost it prove 

Of bad example to thy future love : 

But get it gratis ; and she '11 give thee more, 

For fear of losing what sbe gave before. "* 

The losing gamester shakes the box in vain, 

And bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain. 

Write then, and in thy letter, ;ls I said, 
Let her with mighty promises be fed. 
Cydippe by a letter was betray' 1, i: " 

Writ on an apple to th' unwary rnaid. 
She read herself into a marriage-vow ; 
(And every cheat in love the gods allow.) 
Leam eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome ; 
It will not only at the bar o'ercome : i:i 

Sweet words the people and the senate move ; 
But the chief end of eloquence is love. 
But in thy letter hide thy moving arts ; 
Affect not to be thought a man of parts. 
None but vain fools to simple women preach : 53 ° 
A learned letter oft has made a breach. 
In a familiar style your thoughts convey, 
And write such things as present you would say ; 
Such words as from the heart may seem to move : 
'Tis wit enough to make her think you love. b:ii 
If seal'd she seuds it back, and will not read, 
Yet hope, in time, the business may succeed. 
In time the steer will to the yoke submit ; 
In time the restive horse will bear the bit. 
E'en the hard ploughshare use will wear away ; 
And stubborn steel in length of time decay. M1 
Water is soft, and marble hard ; and yet 
We see soft water through hard marble eat. 
Though late, yet Troy at length in flames expired ; 
And ten years more Penelope had tired. 44i 

Perhaps thy lines unanswer'd she retain'd ; 
No matter ; there 's a point already g.iiu'd : 
For she, who reads, in time will answer too ; 
Tilings must be left by just degrees to grow. 
Perhaps she writes, but answers with disdain, "" 
And sharply bids you not to write again ; 
What she requires, she fears you should accord ; 
The jilt would not be taken at her word. 

Meantime, if she be carried in her chair, 
Approach, but do not seem to know she 's there. 
Speak softly to deludo the standcrs-by ; 
Or, if aloud, then speak ambiguously. 
If sauntering in the portico she walk. 
Move slowly too ; for that's a time for talk : 
And sometimes follow, sometimes be her guide: 
But, when the crowd permits, go side by side. M1 
Nor in the playhouse let her sit alone : 
For she 's the playhouse and the play in one. 
There thou may'st ogle, or by signs advance 
Thy suit, and seem to touch her band by eh 
Admire the dancer who her liking gains, 
And pity in the plaj the lover's pains ; 
For her sweet sake the loss of time ■!■ 
Sit while she >it-, and wher, she I 
Hut dress not like a top, DOr eurl your hair, " 

NOT with B pumice make your body bare. 



348 



THE FIRST BOOK OF 



Leave those effeminate and useless toys 
To eunuchs, who can give no solid joys. 
Neglect becomes a man : this Theseus found : 
UncurTd, uncomb'd, the nymph his wishes 
crown'd. 575 

The rough Hippolytus was Phaedra's care ; 
And Venus thought the rude Adonis fair. 
Be not too finical ; but yet be clean ; 
And wear well-fashion'd clothes, like other men. 
Let not your teeth be yellow, or be foul ; 680 

Nor in wide shoes your feet too loosely roll. 
Of a black muzzle, and long beard, beware ; 
And let a skilful barber cut your hair : 
Your nails be pick'd from filth, and even pared ; 
Nor let your nasty nostrils bud with beard. 685 
Cure your unsavoury breath, gargle your throat, 
And free your armpits from the ram and goat. 
Dress not, in short, too little or too much ; 
And be not wholly French nor wholly Dutch. 

Now Bacchus calls me to his jolly rites : M0 
Who would not follow when a god invites ? 
He helps the poet, and his pen inspires, 
Kind and indulgent to his former fires. 

Fair Ariadne wander'd on the shore, 
Forsaken now ; and Theseus loved no more : S95 
Loose was her gown, dishevell'd was her hair ; 
Her bosom naked, and her feet were bare : 
Exclaiming, on the water's brink she stood ; 
Her briny tears augment the briny flood. 
She shriek'd, and wept, and both became her 
face : 600 

No posture could that heavenly form disgrace. 
She beat her breast : The traitor 's gone, said she; 
What shall become of poor forsaken me ? 

What shall become she had not time for more, 

The sounding cymbals rattled on the shore. 605 
She swoons for fear, she falls upon the ground ; 
No vital heat was in her body found. 
The Mimallonian dames about her stood ; 
And scudding satyrs ran before their god. 
Silenus on his ass did next appear, 610 

And held upon the mane ; (the god was clear) 
The drunken sire pursues, the dames retire ; 
Sometimes the drunken dames pursiie the drunken 

sire. 
At last he topples over on the plain ; 
The satyrs laugh, and bid him rise again. 615 

And now the god of wine came driving on, 
High on his chariot by swift tigers drawn ; 
Her colour, voice, and sense forsook the fair ; 
Thrice did her trembling feet for flight prepare, 
And thrice affrighted did her flight forbear. 62 ° 
She shook, like leaves of corn when tempests 

blow, 
Or slender reeds that in the marshes grow. 
To whom the god : Compose thy fearful mind ; 
In me a truer husband thou shalt find. 
With heaven I will endow thee, and thy star 625 
Shall with propitious light be seen afar, 
And guide on seas the doubtful mariner. 
He said, and from his chariot leaping light, 
Lest the grim tigers should the nymph affright, 
His brawny arms around her waist he threw ; 63 ° 
(For gods, whate'er they will, with ease can do :) 
And swiftly bore her thence : th' attending throng 
Shout at the sight, and sing the nuptial song. 
Now in full bowls her sorrow she may steep : 
The bridegroom's liquor lays the bride asleep. 63s 

But thou, when flowing cups in triumph ride, 
And the loved nymph is seated by thy side ; 



Invoke the god, and all the mighty powers, 
That wine may not defraud thy genial hours. 
Then in ambiguous words thy suit prefer, 
Which she may know were all address'd to her, 
In liquid purple letters write her name, 
Which she may read, and reading find the flame. 
Then may your eyes confess your mutual fires ; 
(For eyes have tongues, and glances tell desires,) 646 
Whene'er she drinks, be first to take the cup ; 
And, where she laid her lips, the blessing sup. 
When she to carving does her hand advance, 
Put out thy own, and touch it as by chance. 
Thy service e'en her husband must attend : m ' 
(A husband is a most convenient friend.) 
Seat the fool cuckold in the highest place ; 
And with thy garland his dull temples grace. 
Whether below or equal in degree, 
Let him be lord of all the company, K5 

And what he says be seconded by thee. 
'Tis common to deceive through friendship's name: 
But, common though it be, 'tis still to blame : 
Thus factors frequently their trust betray, 
And to themselves their masters' gains convey. 66 ° 
Drink to a certain pitch, and then give o'er : 
Thy tongue and feet may stumble, drinking more, 
Of drunken quarrels in her sight beware ; 
Pot-valour only serves to fright the fair. 
Eurytion justly fell, by wine oppress'd, mb 

For his rude riot at a wedding-feast. 
Sing, if you have a voice ; and show your parts 
In dancing, if endued with dancing arts. 
Do anything within your power to please ; 
Nay, e'en affect a seeming drunkenness ; 
Clip every word ; and if by chance you speak 
Too home, or if too broad a jest you break, 
In your excuse the company will join, 
And lay the fault upon the force of wine. 
True drunkenness is subject to offend ; 6 ' 5 

But when 'tis feign'd 'tis oft a lover's friend. 
Then safely you may praise her beauteous face, 
And call him happy who is in her grace. 
Her husband thinks himself the man design'd ; 
But curse the cuckold in your secret mind. C80 
When all are risen, and prepare to go, 
Mix with the crowd, and tread upon her toe. 
This is the proper time to make thy court, 
For now she 's in the vein, and fit for sport. 
Lay bashfulness, that rustic virtue, by ; 
To manly confidence thy thoughts apply. 
On Fortune's foretop timely fix thy hold; 
Now speak and speed, for Venus loves the bold. 
No rules of rhetoric here I need afford : 
Only begin, and trust the following word ; C90 
It will be witty of its own accord. 

Act well the lover ; let thy speech abound 
In dying words, that represent thy wound : 
Distrust not her belief; she will be moved ; 
All women think they merit to be loved. I,J5 

Sometimes a man begins to love in jest, 
And, after, feels the torment he profess'd. 
For your own sakes be pitiful, ye fair ; 
For a feign'd passion may a true prepare. 
By flatteries we prevail on womankind ; 
As hollow banks by streams are undermined. 
Tell her, her face is fair, her eyes are sweet : 
Her taper fingers praise, and little feet. 
Such praises e'en the chaste are pleased to hear ; 
Both maids and matrons hold their beauty dear. '"''' 

Once naked Pallas with Jove's queen appear'd; 
And still they grieve that Venus was preferr'd. 



OVID'S ART OF LOVE. 



34D 



Praise the proud peacock, and he spreads his train : 

Be silent, and he pulls it in again. 

Pleased is the courser in his rapid race ; 71 ° 

Applaud his running, and he mends his pace. 

But largely promise, and devoutly swear; 

And, if need be, call every god to hear. 

Jove sits above, forgiving with a smile 

The perjuries that easy maids beguile. 715 

He swore to Juno by the Stygian lake : 

Forsworn, he dares not an example make, 

Or punish falsehood, for his own dear sake. 

'Tis for our interest that the gods should be ; 

Let us believe 'em : I believe, they see, 7;0 

And both reward and punish equally. 

Not that they live above like lazy drones, 

Or kings below, supine upon their thrones. 

Lead then your lives as present in their sight ; 

Be just in dealings, and defend the right; 7 - 5 

By fraud betray not, nor oppress by might. 

But 'tis a venial sin to cheat the fair ; 

All men have liberty of conscience there. 

On cheating nymphs a cheat is well design'd ; 

'Tis a profane and a deceitful kind. 73(l 

'Tis said, that Egypt for nine years was dry, 
Nor Nile did floods, nor heaven did rain supply. 
A foreigner at length inform'd the king 
That slaughter'd guests would kindly moisture 

bring. 
The king replied : On thee the lot shall fall ; 735 
Be thou, my guest, the sacrifice for all. 
Thus Phalaris Perillus taught to low, 
And made him season first the brazen cow. 
A rightful doom, the laws of nature cry, 
'Tis, the artificers of death should die. 74 ° 

Thus justly women suffer by deceit; 
Their practice authorises us to cheat. 
Beg her, with tears, thy warm desires to grant ; 
For tears will pierce a heart of adamant. 
If tears will not be squeezed, then nib your eye, 
Or 'noint the lids, and seem at least to cry. 7W 
Kiss, if you can : resistance if she make, 
And will not give you kisses, let her take. 
Fie, fie, you naughty man ! are words of course ; 
She struggles but to be subdued by force. 7M 

Kiss only soft, I charge you, and beware 
With your hard bristles not to brush the fair. 
He who has gain'd a kiss, and gains no more, 
Deserves to lose the bliss he got before. 
If once she kiss, her meaning is express'd ; 75S 
There wants but little pushing for the rest : 
Which if thou dost not gain, by strength or art, 
The name of clown then suits with thy desert ; 
'Tis downright dulness, and a shameful part. 
Perhaps, she calls it force ; but if she 'scape, 7C0 
She will not thank you for th' omitted rape. 
The sex is cunning to conceal their fires ; 
They would bo forced e'en to their own desires. 
They seem t' accuse you, witli a downcast sight, 
But in their souls confess you did them right. 7(a 
Who might be forced, and yet untouch'd depart, 
Thank with their tongues, but curse you with 

their heart. 
Fair Phoebe and her sister did prefer 
To their dull mates the noble ravisher. 

What Deidamia did, in days of yore, 77 ° 

The tale is old, but worth the reading o'er. 
When Venus had the golden apple gain'd, 
And the just judge fair Melon had obtain'd : 
When she witli triumph was at Troy receivod, 
The Trojans joyful whilo the Grecians grieved : 



They vow'd revenge of violated laws, 
And Greece was arming in the cuckold's cause : 
Achilles, by his mother warn'd from war, 
Disguised his sex, and lurk'd among the fair, 
What means ^Eacides to spin and 
With spear and sword in field thy valour show ; 
And, leaving this, the nobler Pallas know. 
Why dost thou in that hand the distaff wield, 
Which is more worthy to sustain the shield I 
Or with that other draw the woolly twine, 78S 

The same the fates for Hector's thread ;i 
Brandish thy falchion in thy powerful fa 
Which can alono the ponderous lance command. 
In the same room by chance the royal maid 
Was lodged, and, by his seeming sex bctray'd, ''" 
Close to her side the youthful hero laid. 
I know not how his courtship he began; 
But, to her cost, she found :*■ was a man. 
'Tis thought she struggled ; but withal 'tis thoi 
Her wish was to be conquer'd, when she fought. •'' 
For when disclosed, and hastening to the field, 
Ho laid his distall' down, and took the shield, 
With tears her humblo suit she did prefer, 
And thought to stay the grateful ravisher. 
She sighs, she sobs, she begs him not to part : ^ 
And now 'tis nature, what before was art. 
She strives by force her lover to detain, 
And wishes to be ravish'd once again. 
This is the sex ; they will not first begin, 
But, when compcll'd, are pleased to suffer sin. ■" 
Is there who thinks that women first Bhouli 1 woo! 
Lay by thy self-conceit, thou foolish beau. 
Begin, and save their modesty the shame ; 
'Tis well for thee if they receive thy flame. 
'Tis decent for a man to speak his mind ; 
They but expect th' occasion to be kind. 
Ask, that thou may'st enjoy ; she waits for this ; 
And on thy first advance depends thy bl 
E'en Jove himself was forced to sue for love ; 
None of the nymphs did first solicit Jove. "'■' 

But if you find your prayers increase her pride, 
Strike sail awhile, and wait another tide. 
They fly when we pursue ; but make delay, 
And, when they see you slacken, they will stay. 
Sometimes it profits to conceal your end ; 
Name not yourself her lover, but her friend. 
How many sluttish girls have thus been caught ! 
He proved a lover who a friend was thought. 

Sailors by sun and wind are swarthy m 
A tann'd complexion best becomes their trade. "^ 
'Tis a disgrace to ploughmen to be fair ; 
Bluff cheeks they have, and weather-beaten hair. 
Th' ambitious youth, who seeks an olive crown. 
Is sun-burnt with his daily toil, and brown. 
But if the lover hopes to be in grace, 
Wan be his looks, and meagre be his face. 
That colour from the fair compassion draws : 
She thinks you sick, and thinks herself the cause. 
Orion wander'd in the woods for love : 
His paleness did the nymphs to pity move ; w 
His ghastly visage argued hidden love. 
Nor fail a night cap, in full health, to wear : 
Neglect thy dross, and discompose thy hair. 
All things are decent that in love avail : 
Bead long by night, and study to be pale I 
Forsake your food, refuse your needful 
Bo miserable, that you may be blest 

Shall I complain, or shall 1 warn you most | 
Faith, truth, and friendship in the world an 
A little ami an empty name they 1 



350 



FROM OVID'S AMOUES. 



Trust not thy friend, much less thymistress praise: 
If he believe, thou may'st a rival raise. 
'Tis true, Patroelus, by no lust misled, 
Sought not to stain his dear companion's bed. 
Nor Pylades Hermione embraced ; m 

E'en Phtedra to Pirithous still was chaste. 
But hope not thou, in this vile age, to find 
Those rare examples of a faithful mind. 
The sea shall sooner with sweet honey flow, 
Or from the furzes pears and apples grow. M5 

We sin with gust, we love by fraud to gain ; 
And find a pleasure in our fellow's pain. 
From rival foes you may the fair defend ; 
But, would you ward the blow, beware your friend : 
Beware your brother, and your next of kin ; 860 
But from your bosom-friend your care begin. 

Here I had ended, but experience finds, 
That sundry women are of sundry minds ; 
With various crotchets fill'd, and hard to please : 
They therefore must be caught by various ways. 
All things are not produced in any soil ; 866 

This ground for wine is proper, that for oil. 
So 'tis in men, but more in womankind : 
Different in face, in manners, and in mind : 
But wise men shift their sails with every wind : m 
As changeful Proteus varied oft his shape, 
And did in sundry forms and figures 'scape ; 
A running stream, a standing tree became, 
A roaring lion, or a bleating lamb. 
Some fish with harpoons, some with darts are 
struck, 875 

Some drawn with nets, some hang upon the hook: 
So turn thyself ; and imitating them, 
Try several tricks, and change thy stratagem. 
One rule will not for different ages hold ; 
The jades grow cunning, as they grow more old. 
Then talk not bawdy to the bashful maid ; 8S1 
Broad words will make her innocence afraid. 
Nor to an ignorant girl of learning speak ; 
She thinks you conjure when you talk in Greek. 
And hence 'tis often seen, the simple shun 8S5 
The learn'd, and into vile embraces run. - 

Part of my task is done, and part to do : 
But here 'tis time to rest myself and you. 



FROM OVID'S AMOURS. 

BOOK I.— ELEG. 1. 



For mighty wars I thought to tune my lute, 
And make my measures to my subject suit. 
Six feet for every verse the Muse design'd : 
But Cupid, laughing, when he saw my mind, 
From every second verse a foot purloin'd. 5 

Who gave thee, boy, this arbitrary sway, 
On subjects, not thy own, commands to lay, 
Who Phoebus only and his laws obey 1 
'Tis more absurd than if the Queen of Love 
Should in Minerva's arms to battle move ; 10 

Or manly Pallas from that queen should take 
Her torch, and o'er the dying lover shake. 
In fields as well may Cynthia sow the corn, 
Or Ceres wind in woods the bugle-horn. 
As well may Phoebus quit the trembling string 15 
For sword and shield and Mars may learn to sing 



Already thy dominions are too large ; 

Be not ambitious of a foreign charge. 

If thou wilt reign o'er all, and everywhere, 

The god of Music for his harp may fear. 

Thus when with soaring wings I seek renown, 

Thou pluck'st my pinions, and I flutter down. 

Could I on such mean thoughts my Muse employ, 

I want a mistress, or a blooming boy. 

Thus I complain'd : his bow the stripling bent, 2i 

And chose an arrow fit for his intent. 

The shaft his purpose fatally pursues ; 

Now, poet, there 's a subject for thy Muse, 

He said : too well, alas ! he knows his trade ; 

For in my breast a mortal wound he made. m 

Far hence, ye proud hexameters, remove, 

My verse is paced and trammell'd into love. 

With myrtle wreaths my thoughtful brows enclose, 

While in unequal verse I sing my woes. 



FROM OVID'S AMOURS. 

BOOK I.— ELEG. i. 

♦ 

To his Mistress, whose Husband is invited to a feast with 
them. The Poet instructs her how to behave herself in 
his company. 

Your husband will be with us at the treat ; 
May that be the last supper he shall eat. 
And am poor I a guest invited there, 
Only to see, while he may touch the fair ? 
To see you kiss and hug your nauseous lord, 5 
While his lewd hand descends below the board 1 
Now wonder not that Hippodamia's charms, 
At such a sight, the Centaurs urged to arms ; 
That in a rage they threw their cups aside, 
Assail'd the bridegroom, and would force the 

bride. w 

I am not half a horse, (I would I were) 
Yet hardly can from you my hands forbear. 
Take then my counsel ; which, observed, may be 
Of some importance both to you and me. 
Be sure to come before your man be there ; ls 
There 's nothing can be done ; but come howe'er. 
Sit next him (that belongs to decency) 
But tread upon my foot in passing by. 
Read in my looks what silently they speak, 
And slily, with your eyes, your answer make. w 
My lifted eyebrow shall declare my pain : 
My right hand to his fellow shall complain ; 
And on the back a letter shall design ; 
Besides a note that shall be writ in wine. 
Whene'er you think upon our last embrace, * 
With your forefinger gently touch your face. 
If any word of mine offend my dear, 
Pull, with your hand, the velvet of your ear. 
If you are pleased with what I do or say, 
Handle your rings, or with your fingers play. 30 
As suppliants use at altars, hold the board, 
Whene'er you wish the devil may take your lord. 
When he fills for you, never touch the cup, 
But bid th' officious cuckold drink it up. 
The waiter on those services employ : 
Drink you, and I will snatch it from the boy ; 
Watching the part where your sweet mouth hath 

been, 
And thence with eager lips will suck it in. 






If he, with clownish manners, thinks it fit 

To taste, and offer you the nasty bit, 40 

Reject his greasy kindness, and restore 

Th' unsav'ry morsel he had chow'd before. 

Nor let his arms embrace your neck, nor rest 

Your tender cheek upon his hairy breast. 

Let not his hand within your bosom stray, ^ 

And rudely with your pretty bubbies play. 

But, above all, let him no kiss receive ; 

That 's an offence I never can forgive. 

Do not, oh, do not that sweet mouth resign, 

Lest I rise up hi arms, and cry, 'Tis mine. 50 

I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of fear 

The manifest adulterer will appear. 

These things are plain to sight ; but more I doubt 

What you conceal beneath your petticoat. 

Take not his leg between your tender thighs, 65 

Nor, with your hand, provoke my foe to rise. 

How many love-inventions I deplore, 

Which I myself have practised all before ! 

How oft have I been forced the robe to lift 

In company ; to make a homely shift 60 

For a bare bout, ill huddled o'er in haste, 

While o'er my side the fair her mantle cast. 

You to your husband shall not be so kind ; 

But, lest you should, your mantle leave behind. 

Encourage him to tope ; but kiss him not, 66 

Nor mix one drop of water in his pot. 

If he be fuddled well, and snores apace, 

Then we may take advice from time and place. 

When all depart, when compliments are loud, 

Be sure to mix among the thickest crowd : '" 

There I will be, and there we cannot miss, 

Perhaps to grabble, or at least to kiss. 

Alas ! what length of labour I employ, 

Just to secure a short and transient joy ! 7i 

For night must part us : and when night is come, 

Tuck'd underneath his arm he leads you home. 

He locks you in ; I follow to the door, 

His fortune envy, and my own deplore. 

He kisses you, he more than kisses too ; 

Th' outrageous cuckold thinks it all his due. ^ 

But add not to his joy by your consent, 

And let it not be given, but only lent. 

Return no kiss, nor move in any sort ; 

Make it a dull and a malignant sport. 

Had I my wish, he should no pleasure take, M 

But slubber o'er your business for my sake. 

And whate'er fortune shall this night befal, 

Coax me to-morrow, by forswearing all. 



FROM OVID'S AMOURS. 

BOOK II.— ELEG. 19. 
♦ 

If for thyself thou wilt not watch thy whore, 
Watch her for me, that I may lovo her more. 
What comes with ease we nauseously receive ; 
Who, but a sot, would scorn to lovo with leave 1 



With hopes and fears my flames are blown up 

higher ; s 

Make me despair, and then I can desire. 
Give me a jilt to tease my jealous mind ; 
Deceits are virtues in the female kind. 
C'orinna my fantastic humour knew, 
Play'd trick for trick, and kept herself still new : 
She, that next night I might the sharper come, " 
Fell out with me, and sent me fasting home; 
Or some pretence to lie alone would take ; 
Whene'er she pleased, her head and teeth would 

ache : 
Till having won me to the highest strain, 15 

She took occasion to bo sweet again. 
With what a gust, ye gods, wo then embraced ! 
How every kiss was dearer than the last ! 

Thou, whom I now adore, be edified ; 
Take care that I may often be denied. » 

Forget the promised hour, or feign some fright ; 
Make me lie rough on bulks each other night 
These are the arts that best secure thy reign, 
And this the food that must my fires maintain. 
Gross easy love does, like gross diet, pall ; * 

In squeasy stomachs honey turns to gall. 
Had Danae not been kept in brazen towers, 
Jove had not thought her worth his golden showers. 
When Juno to a cow turn'd Io's shape, 
The watchman help'd her to a second leap. *> 
•Let h im who loves an easy Whetstone whore, 
Pluck leaves from trees, and di-ink the common 

shore. 
The jilting harlot strikes the surest blow ; 
A truth which I by sad experience know. 
The kind poor constant creature we despise; a 
Man but pursues the quarry while it flies. 

But thou, dull husband of a wife too fair, 
Stand on thy guard, and watch the precious 

ware; 
If creaking doors, or barking dogs thou hear, 
Or windows scratch 'd, sxispect a rival there. ■"> 
An orange wench would tempt thy wife abroad ; 
Kick her, for she 's a letter-bearing bawd : 
In short, be jealous as the devil in hell ; 
And set my wit on work to cheat thee well. 
The sneaking city-cuckold is my foe, 
I scorn to strike, but when he wards the blow. 
Look to thy hits, and leave off thy conniving ; 
I '11 bo no drudge to any wittol living ; 
I have been patient, and forborne thee long, 
In hope thou would'st not pocket up thy wrong ; 
If no affront can rouse thee, understand 
I '11 take no more indulgence at thy hand. 
What, ne'er to be forbid thy house, and wife ! 
Damn him who loves to lead so ill a life. 
Now I can neither sigh, nor whine, nor pray ; M 
All those occasions thou hast ta'en away. 
Why art thou so incorrigibly civil ') 
Do somewhat I may wish tlieo at the devil. 
For shame, be no accomplice in my treason ; 
A pimping husband is too much in reason. 
Once more wear horns, before I quite 

sake her ; 
In hopes whereof, I rest thy cuckold-maker. 



M 

for- 



352 TRANSLATIONS FROM JUVENAL. 



TRANSLATIONS EROM JUYENAL. 



A DISCOURSE 

CONCERNING 

THE OEIGINAL AND PEOGEESS OE SATIEE : 

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX, 

Lord Chamberlain of His Majesty's Household, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, &c. 



My Lord, 
The wishes and desires of all good men, which have attended your lordship from your first appearance 
in the world, are at length accomplished, from your obtaining those honours and dignities which you 
have so long deserved. There are no factions, though irreconcileable to one another, that are not 
united in their affection to you, and the resplct they pay you. They are equally pleased in your 
prosperity, and would be equally concerned in your afflictions. Titus Vespasian was not more the 
delight of human kind. The universal empire made him only more known, and more powerful, but 
could not make him more beloved. He had greater ability of doing good, but your inclination to it is 
not less ; and though you could not extend your beneficence to so many persons, yet you have lost as 
few days as that excellent emperor ; and never had his complaint to make when you went to bed, that 
the sun had shone upon you in vain, when you had the opportunity of relieving some unhappy man. 
This, my lord, has justly acquired you as many friends as there are persons who have the honour to 
be known to you. Mere acquaintance you have none ; you have drawn them all into a nearer hne ; 
and they who have conversed with you are for ever after inviolably yours. This is a truth so gene- 
rally acknowledged, that it needs no proof; it is of the nature of a first principle, which is received as 
soon as it is proposed ; and needs not the reformation which Descartes used to his ; for we doubt not, 
neither can we properly say, we think we admire and love you above all other men : there is a 
certainty in the proposition, and we know it. With the same assurance I can say, you neither have 
enemies, nor can scarce have any ; for they who have never heard of you, can neither love or hate 
you ; and they who have, can have no other notion of you, than that which they receive from the 
public, that you are the best of men. After this, my testimony can be of no farther use, than to 
declare it to be daylight at high noon ; and all who have the benefit of sight can look up as well, and 
see the sun. 

It is true, I have one privilege which is almost particular to myself, that I saw you in the east at 
your first arising above the hemisphere : I was as soon sensible as any man of that light, when it was 
but just shooting out, and beginning to travel upwards to the meridian. I made my early addresses 
to your lordship, in my " Essay of Dramatic Poetry ; " and therein bespoke you to the world, wherein 
I have the right of a first discoverer. When I was myself in the rudiments of my poetry, without 
name or reputation in the world, having rather the ambition of a writer, than the skill ; when I was 
drawing the outlines of an art, without any living master to instruct me hi it ; an art which had been 
better praised than studied here in England, wherein Shakspeare, who created the stage among us, 
had rather written happily, than knowingly and justly, and Jonson, who, by studying Horace, had 
been acquainted with the rules, yet seemed to envy to posterity that knowledge, and, like an inventor 
of some useful art, to make a monopoly of his learning ; when thus, as I may say, before the use of 
the loadstone, or knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, without other help than 
the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the French stage amongst the moderns, which are 
extremely different from ours, by reason of their opposite taste ; yet even then, I had the presumption 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



to dedicate to your lordship — a very unfinished piece, I must confess, and which only can be exen .1 
by the little experience of the author, and the modesty of the title — " An Essay." Yet I was stronger 
in prophecy than I was in criticism ; I was inspired to foretell you to mankind, as the restorer of 
poetry, the greatest genius, the truest judge, and the best patron. 

Good sense and good nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought other- 
wise. — Good nature, by which I mean beneficence and candour, is the product of right reason ; which 
of necessity will give allowance to tho failings of others, by considering that there is nothing perfect 
in mankind; and by distinguishing that which comes nearest to excellency, though not absolutely 
free from faults, will certainly produce a candour in the judge. It is incident to an elevated under- 
standing, like your lordship's, to find out the errors of other men; but it is your prerogative to pardon 
them ; to look with pleasure on those things, which are somowhat congenial, and of a remote kindred 
to your own conceptions; and to forgive the many failings of those, who, with their wretched art, 
cannot arrive to those heights that you possess, from a happy, abundant, and native genius : which arc- 
as inborn to you, as they were to Shakspeare; and, for aught I know, to Homer j in either of whom 
we find all arts and sciences, all moral and natural rjhilosophy, without knowing that they ever 
studied them. 

There is not an English writer this day living, who is not perfectly convinced, that your lordship 
excels all others in all tho several parts of poetry which you have undertaken to adorn. The most 
vain, and the most ambitious of our age, have not dared to assume so much, as the competitors of 
Themistocles : they have yielded the first place -without dispute ; and have been arrogantly content to be 
esteemed as second to your lordship; and even that also, with a longo,sed proximi mtervatto. If there 
have been, or are any, who go farther in their self-conceit, they must be very singular in their opinion ; 
they must be like the officer in a play, who was called Captain, Lieutenant, and Company. The 
world will easily conclude, whether such unattended generals can ever be capable of making a 
revolution in Parnassus. 

I will not attempt, in this place, to say anything particular of your Lyric Poems, though they are the 
delight and wonder of this age, and will be the envy of the next. The subject of this book confines 
me to satire; and in that, an author of your own quality, (whose ashes I will not disturb,) has given 
you all the commendation which his self-sufficiency could afford to any man : " The best good man, 
with the worst-natured muse." In that character, methinks, I am reading Jonson's verses to the 
memory of Shakspeare; an insolent, sparing, and invidious panegyric : where good nature, the most 
godlike commendation of a man, is only attributed to your person, and denied to your writings ; for 
they are everywhere so full of candour, that, like Horace, you only expose the follies of men, without 
arraigning their vices ; and in this excel him, that you add that pointcducss of thought, which is 
visibly wanting in our great Roman. There is more of salt in all your verses, than I have seen in any 
of the moderns, or even of the ancients ; but you have been sparing of the gall, by which moans you 
have pleased all readers and offended none. Donne alone, of all our countrymen, had your talent ; 
but was not happy enough to arrive at your versification; and were he translated into numbers, and 
English, he would yet be wanting in the dignity of expression. That which is the prime virtue, and 
chief ornament, of Virgil, which distinguishes him from the rest of writers, is so conspicuous in your 
verses, that it casts a shadow on all your contemporaries ; we cannot be seen, or but obscurely, while 
you are present. You equal Donne in the variety, multiplicity, and choice of thoughts; you excel 
him in the manner and the words. I read you both with the same admiration, but not with the same 
delight. He affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature 
only should reign ; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, 
when he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softnesses of love. In this (if I may 
be pardoned for so bold a truth) Mr. Cowley has copied him to a fault ; so great a one, in my opinion, 
that it throws his Mistress infinitely below his Pindarics, and his latter compositions, which arc 
undoubtedly the best of his poems, and the most correct. For my own part, I must avow it freely to 
the world, that I never attempted any thing in satire, wherein I have not studied your writings a* the 
most perfect model. I havo continually laid them before me ; and tho greatest commendation, which 
my own partiality can give to my productions, is, that they are copies, and no farther to be allowed, 
than as they havo something more or less of tho original. Sonic few touches of your lordship, some 
secret graces which I have endeavoured to express after your manner, have made whole poem 
mine to pass with approbation; but take your verses altogether, and they are inimitable, tf there!', ic 

•J .. 



354 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



I have not written better, it is because you have not written more. You have not set me sufficient 
copy to transcribe ; and I cannot add one letter of my own invention, of which I have not the 
example there. 

It is a general complaint against your lordship, and I must have leave to upbraid you with it, that, 
because you need not write, you will not. Mankind, that wishes you so well in all things that relate 
to your prosperity, have their intervals of wishing for themselves, and are within a little of grudging 
you the fulness of your fortune : they would be more malicious if you used it not so well, and with 
so much generosity. 

Fame is in itself a real good, if we may believe Cicero, who was perhaps too fond of it ; but even 
fame, as Virgil tells us, acquires strength by going forward. Let Epicurus give indolency as an attri- 
bute to his gods, and place in it the happiness of the blest ; the divinity which we worship has given 
us not only a precept against it, but his own example to the contrary. The world, my lord, would be 
content to allow you a seventh day for rest ; or if you thought that hard upon you, we would not 
refuse you half your time : if you came out, like some great monarch, to take a town but once a year, 
as it were for your diversion, though you had no need to extend your territories. In short, if you 
were a bad, or, which is worse, an indifferent poet, we would thank you for our own quiet, and not 
expose you to the want of yours. But when you are so great and so successful, and when we have 
that necessity of your writing, that we cannot subsist entirely without it, any more (I may almost say) 
than the world without the daily course of ordinary providence, methinks this argument might 
prevail with you, my lord, to forego a little of your repose for the public benefit. It is not that you 
are under any force of working daily miracles, to prove your being; but now and then somewhat of 
extraordinary, that is, anything of your production, is requisite to refresh your character. 

This, I think, my lord, is a sufficient reproach to you ; and should I carry it as far as mankind would 
authorise me, would be little less than satire. And, indeed, a provocation is almost necessary, in 
behalf of the world, that you might be induced sometimes to write ; and in relation to a multitude 
of scribblers, who daily pester the world with their insufferable stuff, that they might be discouraged 
from writing any more. I complain not of their lampoons and libels, though I have been the public 
mark for many years. I am vindictive enough to have repelled force by force, if I could imagine 
that any of them had ever reached me ; but they either shot at rovers, and therefore missed, or their 
powder was so weak, that I might safely stand them at the nearest distance. I answered not the 
" Rehearsal," because I knew the author sat to himself when he drew the picture, and was the very 
Bayes of his own farce : because also I knew that my betters were more concerned than I was in that 
satire; and, lastly, because Mr. Smith and Mr. Johnson, the main pillars of it, were two such 
languishing gentlemen in their conversation, that I could liken them to nothing but to their own 
relations, those noble characters of men of wit and pleasure about the town. The hike considerations 
have hindered me from dealing with the lamentable companions of their prose and doggrel. I am so 
far from defending my poetry against them, that I will not so much as expose theirs. And for my 
morals, if they are not proof against their attacks, let me be thought by posterity, what those authors 
would be thought, if any memory of them, or of their writings, could endure so long as to another 
age. But these dull makers of lampoons, as harmless as they have been to me, are yet of dangerous 
example to the public. Some witty men may perhaps succeed to their designs, and, mixing sense 
with malice, blast the reputation of the most innocent amongst men, and the most virtuous amongst 
women. 

Heaven be praised, our common libellers are as free from the imputation of wit as of morality ; 
and, therefore, whatever mischief they have designed, they have performed but little of it. Yet these 
ill writers, in all justice, ought themselves to be exposed ; as Persius has given us a fair example in 
his first satire, which is levelled particularly at them ; and none is so fit to correct their faults, as he 
who is not only clear from any in his own writings, but is also so just, that he will never defame the 
good ; and is armed with the power of verse, to punish and make examples of the bad. But of 
this I shall have occasion to speak further, when I come to give the definition and character of 
true satires. 

In the meantime, as a counsellor bred up in the knowledge of the nranicipal and statute laws, may 
honestly inform a just prince how far his prerogative extends ; so I may be allowed to tell your 
lordship, who, by an undisputed title, are the king of poets, what an extent of power you have, and 
how lawfully you may exercise it, over the petulant scribblers of this age. As Lord Chamberlain, 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 365 



I know, you are absolute by your office, in all that belongs to the decency and good manners of tho 
stage. You can banish from thenco scurrility and profaneness, and restrain the licentious insolence 
of poets, and their actors, in all things that shock the public quiet, or tho reputation of private 
persons, under the notion of humour. But I moan not the authority which is annexed i,. 
office; I speak of that only which is inborn and inherent to your person; what is produced in you 
by an excellent wit, a masterly and commanding genius over all writers : whereby you are em- 
powered, when you please, to give tho final decision of wit, to put your stamp on all that ought to pass 
for current, and sot a brand of reprobation on clipped poetry and false coin. A shilling dipped in the 
Path may go for gold amongst the ignorant, but the sceptres on the guineas show the difference. 
That your lordship is formed by nature for this supremacy, I could easily prove, (were it not 
already granted by the world) from the distinguishing character of your writing; which is so visible 
to me, that I never could be imposed on to receive for yours, what was written by any others ; or to 
mistake your genuine poetry for their spurious productions. I can farther add, with truth, (though 
not without some vanity in saying it) that in the same paper, written by diver.' hands, whereof your 
lordship's was only part, I could separate your gold from their copper; and though I could not give 
back to every author his own brass, (for there is not the same rule for distinguishing betwixt bad and 
bad, as betwixt ill and excellently good) yet I never failed of knowing what was yours, and what was 
not ; and was absolutely certain, that this, or the other part, was positively yours, and could not 
possibly be written by any other. 

True it is, that some bad poems, though not all, carry their owners' marks about them. There is 
some peculiar awkwardness, false grammar, imperfect sense, or, at the least, obscurity ; some brand 
or other on this buttock, or that ear, that it is notorious who are the owners of the cattle, though 
they should not sign it with their names. But your lordship, on the contrary, is distinguished not 
only by the excellency of your thoughts, but by your style and manner of expressing them. A 
painter, judging of some admirable piece, may affirm, with certainty, that it was of Holbein, or 
Vandyck ; but vulgar designs, and common draughts, are easily mistaken and misapplied. Thus, by 
my long study of your lordship, I am arrived at the knowledge of your particular manner. In the 
good poems of other men, like those artists, I can only say, this is like the draught of such a one, or 
like the colouring of another. In short, I can only be sure, that it is the hand of a good master; but 
in your performances, it is scarcely possible for me to be deceived. If you write in your strength, 
you stand revealed at the first view ; and should you write under it, you cannot avoid some peculiar 
graces, which only cost me a second consideration to discover you : for I may say it, with all the 
severity of truth, that every line of yours is precious. Your lordship's only fault is, that you have 
not written more ; unless I could add another, and that yet greater, but I fear for the public the 
accusation would not be true, — that you have written, and out of a vicious modesty will not publish. 

Virgil has confined his works within the compass of eighteen thousand lines, and has not treated 
many subjects; yet he ever had, and ever will have, the reputation of the best poet. Martial says of 
him, that he could have excelled Varius in tragedy, and Horace in lyric poetry, but out of deference 
to his friends, he attempted neither. 

The same prevalence of genius is in your lordship, but the world cannot pardon your concealing 
it on the same consideration ; because we have neither a living Varius, nor a Horace, in whose 
excellencies, both of poems, odes, and satires, you had equalled them, if our language had not yielded 
to tho Roman majesty, and length of time had not added a reverence to the works of Horace. For 
good sense is the same in all or most ages; and course of time rather improves naturo, than impairs 
her. What has been may bo again : another Homer, and another Virgil, may possibly arise from 
those vory causes which produced tho first; though it would be impudence to affirm, that any such 
have yot appeared. 

It is manifest, that some particular ages have been more happy than others in the production of 
great men in all sorts of arts and sciences: as that of Euripides. Sophocles, Aristophanes, and the 
rest, for stage poetry amongst tho Greeks; that of Augustus, for heroic, lyric, dramatic, I logiao, and 
indeed all sorts of poetry, in the persons of Virgil, Horace, Varius, Ovid, and many others ; especially 
if wc take into that century tho latter end of the Commonwealth, wherein we find Varro, Lucretius, 
and Catullus; and at the same time lived Cicero, and Sallust, and Caesar. A famous age in modern 
times, for learning in every kind, was that of Lorenzo do Medici, and liis son Leo the Tenth : wherein 
painting was revived, and poetry flourished, and the Creek language was r< tors I 

8 A 2 



356 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



Examples in all these are obvious ; but what I would infer is this : that in such an age, it is 
possible some great genius may arise, to equal any of the ancients ; abating only for the language. 
For great contemporaries whet and cultivate each other; and mutual borrowing, and commerce, 
makes the common riches of learning, as it does of the civil government. 

But suppose that Homer and Virgil were the only of their species, and that nature was so much 
worn out in producing them, that she is never able to bear the like again, yet the example only holds 
in heroic poetiy : in tragedy and satire, I offer myself to maintain, against some of our modern critics, 
that this age and the last, particularly in England, have excelled the ancients in both those kinds ; 
and I would instance in Shakspeare of the former, of your lordship in the latter sort. 

Thus I might safely confine myself to my native country ; but if I would only cross the seas, I 
might find in France a living Horace and a Juvenal, in the person of the admirable Boileau ; whose 
numbers are excellent, whose expressions are noble, whose thoughts are just, whose language is pure, 
whose satire is pointed, and whose sense is close ; what he borrows from the ancients, he repays with 
usury of his own, in coin as good, and almost as universally valuable ; for, setting prejudice and 
partiality apart, though he is our enemy, the stamp of a Louis, the patron of all arts, is not much 
inferior to the medal of an Augustus Caesar. Let this be said without entering into the interests of 
factions and parties, and relating only to the bounty of that king to men of learning and merit ; a 
praise so just, that even we, who are his enemies, cannot refuse it to him. 

Now if it may be permitted me to go back again to the consideration of epic poetry, I haie 
confessed, that no man hitherto has reached, or so much as approached, to the excellencies of Homer, 
or of Virgil. I must farther add, that Statius, the best versificator next to Virgil, knew not how to 
design after him, though he had the model in his eye ; that Lucan is wanting both in design and 
subject, and is besides too full of heat and affectation ; that amongst the modems, Ariosto neither 
designed justly, nor observed any unity of action, or compass of time, or moderation in the vastness 
of his draught : his style is luxurious, without majesty or decency, and his adventures without the 
compass of nature and possibility. Tasso, whose design was regular, and who observed the rules of 
unity in time and place more closely than Virgil, yet was not so happy in his action : he confesses 
himself to have been too lyrical, that is, to have written beneath the dignity of heroic verse, in his 
Episodes of Sophronia, Erminia, and Armida. His story is not so pleasing as Ariosto's; he is too 
flatulent sometimes, and sometimes too dry : many times unequal, and almost always forced ; and, 
besides, is full of conceits, points of epigram, and witticisms ; all which are not only below the dignity 
of heroic verse, but contrary to its nature : Virgil and Homer have not one of them. And those who 
are guilty of so boyish an ambition in so, grave a subject, are so far from being considered as heroic 
poets, that they ought to be turned down from Homer to the Anthologia, from Virgil to Martial and 
Owen's Epigrams, and from Spenser to Flecno; that is, from the top to the bottom of all poetry. But 
to return to Tasso : v he borrows from the invention of Boiardo, and in his alteration of his poem, 
which is infinitely for the worse, imitates Homer so very servilely, that (for example) he gives the 
king of Jerusalem fifty sons, only because Homer had bestowed the like number on king Priam ; he 
kills the youngest in the same manner, and has provided his hero with a PatToelus, under another 
name, only to bring him back to the wars, when his friend was killed. . The French have performed 
nothing in this kind which is not far below those two Italians, and subject to a thousand more reflec- 
tions, without examining their St. Louis, their Pucelle, or their Alarique. The English have only to 
boast of Spenser and Milton, who neither of them wanted either genius or learning to have been 
perfect poets, and yet both of them are liable to many censures. For there is no uniformity in the 
design of Spenser ; he aims at the accomplishment of no one action ; he raises up a hero for every one 
of his adventures ; and endows each of them with some particular moral virtue, which renders them all 
equal, without subordination, or preference. Every one is most valiant in his own legend : only we 
must do him that justice to observe, that magnanimity, which is the character of Prince Arthur, 
shines throughout the whole poem, and succours the rest when they are in distress. The original of 
every knight was then living in the court of Queen Elizabeth ; and he attributed to each of them 
that virtue, which he thought was most couspicuous in them ; an ingenious piece of flattery, though 
it turned not much to his account. Had he lived to finish his poem, in the six remaining legends, 
it had certainly been more of a piece ; but could not have been perfect, because the model was not 
true. But Prince Arthur, or his chief patron Sir Philip Sydney, whom he intended to make happy 
by the marriage of his Gloriana, dying before him, deprived the poet both of means and spirit to 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 357 



accomplish his design. For the rest, his obsolete language, and the ill choice of his stanza, are faults 
but of the second magnitude ; for, notwithstanding the first, he is still intelligible, at least after a littlo 
practice; and for the last, he is the more to be admired, that, labouring under such a difficulty, his 
verses are so numerous, so various, and so harmonious, that only Virgil, whom he prof edly 
imitated, has surpassed him among the Romans, and only Mr. Waller among the English. 

As for Mr. Milton, whom we all adrnire with so much justice, his subject is not that of an heroic 
poem, properly so called. His design is the losing of our happiness ; his event is not prosperous, 
like that of all other epic works ; his heavenly machines arc many, and his human persons are but 
two. But I will not take Mr. Rymer's work out of his hands : be has promised the world a critique 
on that author; wherein, though he will not allow his poem for heroic, I hope lie will grant us, that 
his thoughts are elevated, his words sounding, and that no man has so happily copied the manner of 
Homer, or so copiously translated his Grecisms, and the Latin elegancies of Virgil. It is true, he runs 
into a flat of thought, sometimes for a hundred lines together, but it is when ho has got into a track 
of Scripture. His antiquated words were his choice, not his necessity; for therein ho imil 
Spenser, as Spenser did Chaucer. And though, perhaps, the love of their masten may have transported 
both too far, in the frequent use of them, yet, in my opinion, obsolete words may then be laudably 
revived, when either they are more sounding, or more significant, than those in practice ; and when their 
obscurity is taken away, by joining other words to them, which clear the sense ; according to the rule 
of Horace, for the admission of new words. But in both cases a moderation is to be observed in the 
use of them ; for unnecessary coinage, as well as unnecessary revival, runs into affectation ; a fault to 
be avoided on either hand. Neither will I justify Milton for his blank verse, though I may excuse 
him, by the example of Hannibal Caro, and other Italians, who have used it; for whatever causes he 
alleges for the abolishing of rhyme, (which I have not now the leisure to examine) his own particular 
reason is plainly this, that rhyme was not his talent : he had neither the ease of doing it, nor the 
graces of it; which is manifest in his "Juvenilia," or verses wiitten in his youth, where his rhyme is 
always constrained and forced, and comes hardly from him, at an age when the soul is most plii 
and the passion of love makes almost every man a rhymer, though not a poet. 

By this time, my lord, I doubt not but that you wonder, why I have run off from my bias so long 
together, and made so tedious a digression from satire to heroic poetry. But if you will not excuse 
it, by the tattling quality of age, which, as Sir William D'Avcnant says, is always narrative, yet I hope 
the usefulness of what I have to say on this subject will qualify the remoteness of it; and this is the 
last time I will commit the crime of prefaces, or trouble the world with my notions of anything that 
relates to verse. I have then, as you see, observed the failings of many great wits amongst tho 
moderns, who have attempted to write an epic poem. Besides these, or the like animadversions of 
them by other men, there is yet a farther reason given, why they cannot possibly succeed so well as 
the ancients, even though we could allow them not to be inferior either in genius or learning, or the 
tongue in which they write, or all those other wonderful qualifications which are necessary to the 
forming of a true accomplished heroic poet. The faidt is laid on our religion; they say, that 
Christianity is not capable of those embellishments which are afforded in the belief of those ancient 
heathens. 

And it is true, that, in the severe notions of our faith, the fortitude of a Christian consists in 
patience, and suffering, for the love of God, whatever hardships can bcfal in the world; not in any 
great attempts, or in performance of those enterprises which the poets call heroic, and which arc 
commonly the effects of interest, ostentation, pride, and worldly honour : that humility and resignation 
are our prime virtues ; and that these include no action, but that of the soul ; when as, on tho 
contrary, an heroic poem requires to its necessary design, and as its bust perfection, some great action 
of war, the accomplishment of some extraordinary undertaking ; which requires the strength and 
vigour of the body, the duty of a soldier, tho capacity and prudence of a general, and, in shoi I 
much, or more, of the active virtue, than tho suffering. But to this the answer is verj obvii 
has placed us in our several stations ; the virtues of a private Christian are patience, obedience, sub- 
mission, and the like ; but thoso of a magistrate, or general, or a king, arc prudence, counsel, a 
fortitude, coercive power, awful command, and the exercise of magnanimity, as well OS ju I 
that this objection hinders not, but that an epic poem, or the heroic action of SOmi mmonder, 

entorprised for the common good, and honour of the Christian cause, and executed happily, may !"■ 
as well written now, as it was of old by the heathens ; provided the poet be endued with the 



358 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



talents ; and the language, though not of equal dignity, yet as near approaching to it, as our modem 
barbarism will allow ; which is all that can be expected from our own, or any other now extant, 
though more refined ; and therefore we are to rest contented with that only inferiority, which is not 
possibly to be remedied. 

I wish I could as easily remove that other difficulty which yet remains. It is objected by a great 
French critic, as well as an admirable poet, yet living, and whom I have mentioned with that honour 
which his merit exacts from me, I mean Boileau, that the machines of our Christian religion, in heroic 
poetry, are much more feeble to support that weight than those of heathenism. Their doctrine, 
grounded as it was on ridiculous fables, was yet the belief of the two victorious monarchies, the 
Grecian and Roman. Their gods did not only interest themselves in the event of wars, (which is the 
effect of a superior providence) but also espoused the several parties, in a visible corporeal descent, 
managed their intrigues, and fought their battles sometimes in opposition to each other : though 
Virgil (more discreet than Homer in that last particular) has contented himself with the partiality of 
his deities, their favours, their counsels or commands, to those whose cause they had espoused, 
without bringing them to the outrageousness of blows. Now our religion (says he) is deprived of the 
greatest part of those machines ; at least the most shining in epic poetry. Though St. Michael, in 
Ariosto, seeks out Discord, to send her among the Pagans, and finds her in a convent of friars, where 
peace should reign, which indeed is fine satire ; and Satan, in Tasso, excites Solyman to an attempt 
by night on the Christian camp, and brings an host of devils to his assistance ; yet the archangel, in 
the former example, when Discord was restive, and would not be drawn from her beloved monas- 
tery with fair words, has the whip-hand of her, drags her out with many stripes, sets her, on God's 
name, about her business, and makes her know the difference of strength betwixt a nuncio of heaven, 
and a minister of hell. The same angel, in the latter instance from Tasso, (as if God had never 
another messenger belonging to the court, but was confined like Jupiter to Mercury, and Juno to Iris) 
when he sees his time, that is, when half of the Christians are already killed, and all the rest are in a 
fair way to be routed, stickles betwixt the remainders of God's host, and the race of fiends ; pulls the 
devils backward by the tails, and drives them from their quarry ; or otherwise the whole business had 
miscarried, and Jerusalem remained untaken. This, says Boileau, is a very unequal match for the 
poor devils, who are sure to come by the worst of it in the combat ; for nothing is more easy, than for 
an Almighty Power to bring his old rebels to reason, when he pleases. Consequently, what pleasure, 
what entertainment, can be raised from so pitiful a machine, where we see the success of the battle 
from the very beginning of it ; unless that, as we are Christians, we are glad that we have gotten God 
on our side, to maul our enemies, when we cannot do the work ourselves 1 For, if the poet had 
given the faithful more courage, which had cost him nothing, or at least have made them exceed the 
Turks in number, he might have gained the victory for us Christians, without interesting heaven in 
the quarrel, and that with as much ease, and as little credit to the conqueror, as when a party of a 
hundred soldiers defeats another which consists only of fifty. 

This, my lord, I confess, is such an argument against our modern poetry, as cannot be answered by 
those mediums which have been used. We cannot hitherto boast, that our religion has furnished us 
with any such machines, as have made the strength and beauty of the ancient buildings. 

But what if I venture to advance an invention of my own, to supply the manifest defect of our new 
writers 1 I am sufficiently sensible of my weakness ; and it is not very probable that I should succeed 
in such a project, whereof I have not had the least hint from any of my predecessors, the poets, or 
any of their seconds and coadjutors, the critics. Yet we see the art of war is improved in sieges, and 
new instruments of death are invented daily; something new in philosophy, and the mechanics, is 
discovered almost every year ; and the science of former ages is improved by the succeeding. I will not 
detain you with a long preamble to that, which better judges will, perhaps, conclude to be little worth. 

It is this, in short, that Christian poets have not hitherto been acquainted with their own strength. 
If they had searched the Old Testament as they ought, they might there have found the machines 
which are proper for their work ; and those more certain in their effect, than it may be the New 
Testament is, in the rules sufficient for salvation. The perusing of one chapter in the prophecy of 
Daniel, and accommodating what there they find with the principles of Platonic philosophy, as it is 
now christianised, would have made the ministry of angels as strong an engine, for the working up 
heroic poetry, in our religion, as that of the ancients has been to raise theirs by all the fables of their 
gods, which were only received for truths by the most ignorant and weakest of the people. 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 359 



It is a doctrine almost universally received by Christians, as well Protestants as Catholics, that 
there are guardian angels, appointed" by God Almighty, as his vicegerents, for the protection and 
government of cities, provinces, kingdoms, and monarchies; and those as well of heathens, as of true 
believers. All this is so plainly proved from those texts of Daniel, that it admits of no farther 
controversy. The prince of the Persians, and that other of the Grecians, arc granted to be the 
guardians and protecting ministers of those empires. It cannot be denied, that they were op] 
and resisted ono another. St. Michael is mentioned by his name as the patrou of the Jews, and is now 
taken by the Christians, as the protector-general of our religion. These tutelar genii, who | I 
over the several people and regions committed to their charge, were watchful over them for good, .< 
far as then- commissions could possibly extend. The general purpose, and design of all, was certainly 
the service of their great Creator. But it is an undoubted truth, that, for ends best known to the 
Almighty Majesty of heaven, his providential designs for the benefit of his creatures, for the debasing 
and punishing of some nations, and the exaltation and temporal reward of others, were not wholly 
known to these his ministers, else why those factious quarrels, controversies, and battles ai 
themselves, when they were all united in the same design, the service and honour of their common 
master] But being instructed only in the general, and zealous of the main design; and, as finite 
beings, not admitted into the secrets of government, the last resorts of providence, or capable of 
discovering the final purposes of God, who can work good out of evil as he pleases, and irresistibly 
sways all manner of events on earth, directing them finally for the best, to his creation in general, and 
to the ultimate end of his own glory in particular ; they must, of necessity, be sometimes ignorant of 
the means conducing to those ends, in wliich alone they can jar and oppose each other. On. 
as we may suppose — the Prince of Persia, as he is called, judging, that it would be more for God's 
honour, and the benefit of his people, that the Median and Persian monarchy, which delivered them 
from the Babylonish captivity, should still be uppermost ; and the patron of tho Grecians, to 
whom tho will of God might be more particularly revealed, contending, on the other side, for the rise 
of Alexander and his successors, who were appointed to punish the backsliding Jews, and thereby 
to put them in mind of their offences, that they might repent, and become more virtuous, and more 
observant of the law revealed. But how far these controversies, and appearing enmities, of those 
glorious creatures may be carried; how these oppositions may be best managed, and by what means 
conducted, is not my business to show or determine ; these things must be left to the iuvention and 
judgment of the poet ; if any of so happy a genius be now living, or any future age can produce a man, 
who, being conversant in the philosophy of Plato, as it is now accommodated to Christian use ; for (as 
Virgil gives us to understand by his example) he is the only proper person, of all others, for an epic 
poem, who, to his natural endowments, of a large invention, a ripe judgment, and a strong memory, 
has joined the knowledge of the liberal arts and sciences, and particularly moral philosophy, the 
mathematics, geography and history, and with all these qualifications is bom a poet ; knows, and can 
practise the variety of numbers, and is master of the language in which he writes ; if such a man. I 
say, be now arisen, or shall arise, I am vain enough to think, that I have proposed a model to him, 
by which he may build a nobler, a more beautiful, and more perfect poem, than any yet extant since 
the ancients. 

Thoro is another part of these machines yet wanting; but, by what I have said, it would have 
been easily supplied by a judicious writer. He could not have failed to add the opposition of ill 
spirits to the good; they have also their design, ever opposite to that of heaven; and this alone baa 
hitherto been the practice of the moderns : but this imperfect system, if I may call it such, which I 
have given, will infinitely advance and carry farther that hypothesis of the evil spirits contending 
with the good. For, being so much weaker, since their fall, than those blessed beings, they are 
yet supposed to have a permitted power from God of acting ill, as, from their own depraved nature, 
they have always tho will of designing it. A great testimony of wliich wo find in holy writ, when 
God Almighty suffered Satan to appear in the holy synod of the angels (a thing not hitherto drawn 
into example by any of the poets), and also gave him power over all things belonging to hi- servant 
Job, excepting only life. 

Now, what these wicked spirits cannot compass, by the vast disproportion of their forces to those 
of tho superior beings, they may, by their fraud and cunning, carry farther, in ■' Booming 
confederacy, or subserviency to tho designs of some good angel, as far as consists with his purity to 
suffer such an aid, tho end of which may possibly bo disguised, and concealed from bis finite know 



3G0 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



This is, indeed, to suppose a great error in such, a being : yet^ since a devil can appear like an angel 
of light ; since craft and malice may sometimes blind, for a while, a more perfect understanding ; and 
lastly, since Milton has given us an example of the like nature, when Satan, appearing like a cherub 
to Uriel, the intelligence of the sun circumvented him even in his own province, and passed only for 
a curious traveller through those new-created regions, that he might observe therein the workmanship 
of God, and praise Him in his works : I know not why, upon the same supposition, or some other, a 
fiend may not deceive a creature of more excellency than himself, but yet a creature ; at least, by the 
connivance, or tacit permission, of the Omniscient Being. 

Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given your lordship, and by you the world, a rude 
draught of what I have been long labouring in my imagination, and what I had intended to have put 
in practice (though far unable for the attempt of such a poem), and to have left the stage (to which 
my genius never much inclined me) for a work which would have taken up my life in the performance 
of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly for the honour of my native country, to which a poet is 
particularly obliged. Of two subjects, both relating to it, I was doubtful whether I should choose 
that of King Arthur conquering the Saxons, which, being farther distant in time, gives the greater 
scope to my invention ; or that of Edward the Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restoring it to 
the lawful prince, though a great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel : which, for the compass of time, 
including only the expedition of one year ; for the greatness of the action, and its answerable event ; 
for the magnanimity of the English hero, opposed to the ingratitude of the person whom he restored; 
and for the many beautiful episodes which I had interwoven with the principal design, together with 
the characters of the chiefest English persons ; (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, I would have 
taken occasion to represent my living friends and patrons of the noblest families, and also shadowed 
the events of future ages, in the succession of our imperial line) : with these helps, and those of the 
machines which I have mentioned, I might, perhaps, have done as well as some of my predecessors, 
or, at least, chalked out a way for others to amend my errors in a like design ; but being encouraged 
only with fair words by King Charles II., my little salary ill paid, and no prospect of a future 
subsistence, I was then discouraged in the beginning of my attempt ; and now age has overtaken me, 
and want, a more insufferable evil, through the change of the times, has wholly disenabled me. 
Though I must ever acknowledge, to the honour of your lordship, and the eternal memory of your 
charity, that, since this revolution, wherein I have patiently suffered the ruin of my small fortune, 
and the loss of that poor subsistence which I had from two kings, whom I had served more faithfully 
than profitably to myself, — then your lordship was pleased, out of no other motive but your own 
nobleness, without any desert of mine, or the least solicitation from me, to make me a most bountiful 
present, which, at that time, when I was most in want of it, came most seasonably and unexpectedly 
to my relief. That favour, my lord, is of itself sufficient to bind any grateful man to a perpetual 
acknowledgment, and to all the future service, which one of my mean condition can ever be able to 
perform. May the Almighty God return it for me, both in blessing you here, and rewarding you 
hereafter ! I must not presume to defend the cause for which I now suffer, because your lordship is 
engaged against it ; but the more you are so, the greater is my obligation to you, for your laying 
aside all the considerations of factions and parties, to do an action of pure, disinterested charity. 
This is one amongst many of your shining qualities, which distinguish you from others of your rank. 
But let me add a farther truth, that, without these ties of gratitude, and abstracting from them all, 
I have a most particular inclination to honour you ; and, if it were not too bold an expression, to 
say, I love you. It is no shame to be a poet, though it is to be a bad one. Augustus Cagsar of old, 
and Cardinal Richelieu of late, would willingly have been such ; and David and Solomon were such. 
You who, without flattery, are the best of the present age in England, and would have been so, had 
you been born in any other country, will receive more honour in future ages, by that one excellency, 
than by all those honours to which your birth has entitled you, or your merits have acquired you. 

" Ne, forte, pudori 

Sit tibi Musa lyres solers, et cantor Apollo.' 

I have formerly said in this epistle, that I could distinguish your writings from those of any 
others ; it is now time to clear myself from any imputation of self-conceit on that subject. I assume 
not to myself any particular lights in this discovery ; they are such only as are obvious to every man 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 301 



of sense and judgment, who loves poetry, and understands it. Your thoughts are always bo remote 
from the common way of thinking, that they are, as I may say, of another species Him the 
conceptions of other poets ; yet you go not out of nature for any of them. Gold is never bn - 
the surface of the ground, but lies so hidden, and so deep, that the mines of it are seldom found ; 
but the force of waters casts it out from the bowels of mountains, and exposes it amongst thi 
of rivers ; giving us of her bounty, what we could not hope for by our search. This success attends 
your lordship's thoughts, which would look like chance, if it were not perpetual, and always of the 
same tenor. If I grant that there is care in it, it is such a care as would be ineffectual and fruitless 
in other men. It is the cwriosa felidtas which Petronius ascribes to Horace in his Odes. We have 
not wherewithal to imagine so strongly, so justly, and so pleasantly ; in short, if we have tin 
knowledge, we cannot draw out of it the same quintessence ; we cannot give it such a turn, such a 
propriety, and such a beauty : something is deficient in the manner, or the words, but more in the 
nobleness of our conception. Yet, when you have finished all, and it appcai-s in its full lustre ; when 
the diamond is not only found, but the roughness smoothed; when it is cut into a form, and set in 
gold ; then we cannot but acknowledge that it is the perfect work of art and nature ; and every one 
will be so vain to think he himself could have performed the like, until he attempts it. It is just the 
description that Horace makes of such a finished piece : it appears so easy, 

" Ut sibi quivis 

Speret idem, sudet nuiltum, frustraque laborut, 
Ausub idem." 

And, besides all this, it is your lordship's particular talent to lay your thoughts so close together, 
that, were they closer, they would be crowded, and even a due connection would bo wanting. We 
are not kept hi expectation of two good lines, which are to come after a long parenthesis of twenty 
had ; which is the April poetry of other writers — a mixture of rain and sunshine by fits : you are 
always bright, even almost to a fault, by reason of the excess. There is continual abundance, a 
magazine of thought, and yet a perpetual variety of entertainment ; which creates such an appetite in 
your reader, that he is not cloyed with anything, but satisfied with all It is that which the Romans 
call, ccena dubia ; where there is such plenty, yet withal so much diversity, and so good order, that 
the choice is difficult betwixt one excellency and another; and yet the conclusion, by a due climax, 
is evermore the best ; that is, as a conclusion ought to be, ever the most proper for its place. — See, 
my lord, whether I have not studied your lordship with some application ; and, since you are so 
modest that you will not be judge and party, I appeal to the whole world, if I have not drawn your 
picture to a great degree of likeness, though it is but in miniature, and that some of the best features 
are yet wanting. Yet what I have done is enough to distinguish you from any other, which is the 
proposition that I took upon me to demonstrate. 

And now, my lord, to apply what I have said to my present business. The Satires of Juvenal and 
Persius appearing in this new English dress, cannot so properly be inscribed to any man as to your 
lordship, who are the first of the age in that way of writing. Your lordship, amongst many other 
favours, has given me your permission for this address ; and you have particularly encouraged me by 
your perusal and approbation of the Sixth and Tenth Satires of Juvenal, as I have translated them. 
My fellow-labourers have likewise commissioned me to perform, in their behalf, this offico of a dedi- 
cation to you ; and will acknowledge, with all possible respect and gratitude, your acceptance of then 
work. Some of them have the honour to be known to your lordship already ; and they who have 
not yet that happiness, desire it now. Be pleased to receive our common endeavours with youi 
wonted candour, without entitling you to the protection of our common failings m so difficult an 
undertaking. And allow mo your patience, if it be not already tired with this long epistle, to give 
you, from the best authors, the origin, the antiquity, the growth, the change, and the completemeni 
of Satire among the Romans ; to describe, if not tlcfine, the nature of that poem, with its several 
qualifications and virtues, together with the several sorts of it ; to compare the excellencies of Horace, 
Persius, and Juvenal, and show tho particular manners of their satires; and, lastly, to give an account 
of this new way of version, which is attempted in our performance; all which, according to the 
weakness of my ability, and tho best lights which I can got from others, shall be the subject of my 
following discourse. 



362 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



The most perfect work of poetry, says our master Aristotle, is Tragedy. His reason is, because it 
is the most united ; being more severely confined within the rules of action, time, and place. The 
action is entire, of a piece, and one, without episodes ; the time limited to a natural day ; and the place 
circumscribed at least within the compass of one town, or city. Being exactly proportioned thus, and 
uniform in all its parts, the mind is more capable of comprehending the whole beauty of it without 
distraction. 

But, after all these advantages, an heroic poem is certainly the greatest work of human nature. 
The beauties and perfections of the other are but mechanical ; those of the epic are more noble : 
though Homer has limited his place to Troy, and the fields about it ; his actions to forty-eight natural 
days, whereof twelve are holidays, or cessation from business, during the funeral of Patroclus. To 
proceed ; the action of the epic is greater ; the extension of time enlarges the pleasure of the reader, 
and the episodes give it more ornament, and more variety. — The instruction is equal ; but the first 
is only instructive, the latter forms a hero, and a prince. 

If it signifies anything which of them is of the more ancient family, the best and most absolute 
heroic poem was written by Homer long before tragedy was invented. But if we consider the natural 
endowments, and acquired parts, which are necessary to make an accomplished writer of either kind, 
tragedy requires a less and more confined knowledge ; moderate learning, and observation of the 
rules, is sufficient, if a genius be not wanting. But in an epic poet, one who is worthy of that name, 
besides an universal genius, is required universal learning, together with all those qualities and 
acquisitions, which I have named above, and as many more as I have, through haste or negligence, 
omitted. And, after all, he must have exactly studied Homer and Virgil, as his patterns ; Aristotle 
and Horace, as his guides ; and Vida and Bossu, as their commentators ; with many others, both 
Italian and French critics, which I want leisure here to recommend. 

In a word, what I have to say in relation to this subject, which does not particularly concern 
Satire, is, that the greatness of an heroic poem, beyond that of a tragedy, may easily be discovered, 
by observing how few have attempted that work in comparison to those who have written dramas ; 
and, of those few, how small a number have succeeded. But leaving the critics, on either side, to 
contend about the preference due to this or that sort of poetry, I will hasten to my present business, 
which is the Antiquity and Origin of Satire, according to those informations which I have received 
from the learned Casaubon, Heinsius, Rigaltius, Dacier, and the Dauphin's Juvenal ; to which I shall 
add some observations of my own. 

There has been a long dispute among the modern critics, whether the Romans derived their 
satire from the Grecians, or first invented it themselves. Julius Scaliger, and Heinsius, are of the 
first opinion; Casaubon, Rigaltius, Dacier, .and the publisher of the Dauphin's Juvenal, maintain the 
latter. If we take satire in the general signification of the word, as it is used in all modern languages, 
for an invective, it is certain that it is almost as old as verse; and though hymns, which are praises 
of God, may be allowed to have been before it, yet the defamation of others was not long after it. 
After God had cursed Adam and Eve in Paradise, the husband and wife excused themselves, by 
laying the blame on one another ; and gave a beginning to those conjugal dialogues in prose, which 
the poets have perfected in verse. The third Chapter of Job is one of the first instances of this poem 
in Holy Scripture; unless we will take it higher, from the latter end of the second, where his wife 
advises him to curse his Maker. 

This original, I confess, is not much to the honour of satire ; but here it was nature, and that 
depraved : when it became an art, it bore better fruit. Only we have leamt thus much already, that 
scoffs and revilings are of the growth of all nations ; and, consequently, that neither the Greek poets 
borrowed from other people their art of railing, neither needed the Romans to take it from them. 
But, considering satire as a species of poetry, here the war begins amongst the critics. Scaliger, the 
father, will have it descend from Greece to Rome ; and derives the word satire from Satyrus, that 
mixed kind of animal, or, as the ancients thought him, rural god, made up betwixt a man and a goat, 
with a human head, hooked nose, pouting lips, a bunch, or struma, under the chin, pricked ears, and 
upright horns ; the body shagged with hair, especially from the waist, and ending in a goat, with the 
legs and feet of that creature. But Casaubon, and his followers, with reason, condemn this derivation ; 
and prove, that from Satyrus, the word satira, as it signifies a poem, cannot possibly descend. For 
satira is not properly a substantive, but an adjective ; to which the word lanx (in English, a charger, 
or large platter) is understood : so that the Greek poem, made according to the manners of a Satyr, 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 303 



and expressing his qualities, must properly be called satyrical, and not satire. And thus fur it is 
allowed that the Grecians had such poems ; but that they were wholly different in species from that 
to which the Romans gave the name of satire. 

Aristotle divides all poetry, in relation to the progress of it, into nature without art, art begun, and 
art completed. Mankind, even the most barbarous, have tho seeds of poetry implanted in them. 
The first specimen of it was certainly shown in the praises of the Diety, and prayers to him ; and as 
they are of natural obligation, so they are likewise of divine institution ; which Milton observing, 
introduces Adam and Eve every morning adoring God in hymns and prayers. The Brat poetry was 
thus begun, in the wild notes of nature, before the invention of feet and measures. The Grecians and 
Romans had no other original of their poetry. Festivals and holidays soon succeoded to private 
worship, and we need not doubt but they were enjoined by the time God to his own people, as they 
were afterwards imitated by the heathens; who, by tho light of reason, knew they were to invoke 
some superior Being in their necessities, and to thank him for his benefits. Thus, the Grecian 
holida3's were celebrated with offerings to Bacchus and Ceres, and other deities, to whose bounty 
they supposed they were owing for their corn and wine, and other helps oi life; and tho ancient 
Romans, as Horace tells us, paid their thanks to Mother Earth, or Vesta, to Silvanus, and their 
Genius, in the same manner. But as all festivals have a double reason of their institution, the first of 
religion, the other of recreation, for the unbending of our minds, so both the Grecians and Romans 
agreed, after their sacrifices were performed, to spend the remainder of the day in sports and 
merriments; amongst which, songs and dances, and that which they called wit, (for want of knowing 
better,) were the chiefest entertainments. The Grecians had a notion of Satyrs, whom I have already 
described ; and taking them, and the Sileni, that is, the young Satyrs and tho old, for the tutors, 
attendants, and humble companions of their Bacchus, habited themselves like those rural deities, and 
imitated them in their rustic dances, to which they joined songs, with some sort of rude harmony, 
but without certain numbers ; and to these they added a kind of chorus. 

The Romans, also (as nature is the same in all places,) though they knew nothing of those Grecian 
demi-gods, nor had any communication with Greece, yet had certain young men, who, at their festivals, 
danced and sung, after their uncouth manner, to a certain kind of verse, which they called Saturnian. 
What it was, we have no certain light from antiquity to discover ; but we may conclude, that, like the 
Grecian, it was void of art, or, at least, with very feeble beginnings of it. Those ancient Romans, at 
these holidays, which were a mixture of devotion and debauchery, had a custom of reproaching each 
other with their faults, in a sort of extempore poetry, or rather of tunable hobbling verse ; and they 
answered in the same kind of gross raillery; their wit and their music being of a piece. Tho 
Grecians, says Casaubon, had formerly done the same, in the persons of their petulant Satyrs. But 
I am afraid he mistakes the matter, and confounds the singing and dancing of the Satyrs, with tho 
rustical entertainments of the first Romans. The reason of my opinion is this; that Casaubon, 
finding little light from antiquity of these beginnings of poetry amongst the Grecians, but only 1 1 
representations of Satyrs, who carried canisters and cornucopias full of several fruits in their hands, 
and danced with them at their public feasts ; and afterwards reading Horaco, who makes mention of 
his homely Romans jesting at one another in the same kind of solemnities, might suppose those 
wanton Satyrs did the same ; and especially because Horaco possibly might seem to him to have shown 
the original of all poetry in general, including the Grecians as well as Romans ; though it is plainly 
otherwise, that he only described the beginning, and first rudiments of poetry in his own country. 
The verses are these, which he cites from the First Epistle of the Second Book, whicli was written 
to Augustus : 

" Agricola) prisci, fortes, parvoque bcati, 
Condita post fnimcntn, levantes tempore festo 
Corpus, ct ipstim animum spe finis dura fercntem, 
Cum sociis operum, ct ptieris, et conjm 
Tellurem porco, Silvamim lac to. ptahant ; 
Floribus ct vino Genium mcniorem brevis icvi 
Fescennina per bunc Invents licentia hum. hi 
Versibus alternis opprobria rustica fudit." 



1 Our brawny clowns, of old, who triru'd the soil. 
Content with little, and inured to toll, 
At harvest-home, with mirth and country cheer 

Restored their bodies for another year; 



364 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



Kefresh'd their spirits, and renew'd their hope 
Of such a future feast, and future crop. 
Then, with their fellow-joggers of the ploughs, 
Their little children, and their faithful spouse, 
A sow they slew to Vesta's deity, 
And kindly milk, Silvanus, pour'd to thee; 
With flowers, and. wine, their Genius they adored 
A short life, and a merry was the word. 
From flowing cups, defaming rhymes ensue, 
And at each other homely taunts they threw." 

Yet since it is a hard conjecture, that so great a man as Casaubon should misapply what Horace 
writ concerning ancient Rome, to the ceremonies and manners of ancient Greece, I will not insist on 
this opinion ; but rather judge in general, that since all poetry had its original from religion, that of 
the Grecians and Rome had the same beginning. Both were invented at festivals of thanksgiving, 
and both were prosecuted with mirth and raillery, and rudiments of verses : amongst' the Greeks, by 
those who represented Satyrs ; and amongst the Romans, by real clowns. 

For, indeed, when I am reading Casaubon on these two subjects, naethinks I hear the same story 
told twice over with very little alteration. Of which Dacier taking notice, in his interpretation of 
the Latin verses which I have translated, says plainly, that the beginning of poetry was the same, 
with a small variety, in both countries : and that the mother of it, in all nations, was devotion. But, 
what is yet more wonderful, that most learned critic takes notice also, in his illustrations on the First 
Epistle of the Second Book, that as the poetry of the Romans, and that of the Grecians, had the same 
beginning, (at feasts of thanksgiving, as it has been observed,) and the old comedy of the Greeks, 
which was invective, and the satire of the Romans, which was of the same nature, were begun on the 
very same occasion, so the fortune of both, in process of time, was just the same ; the old comedy of 
the Grecians was forbidden, for its too much licence in exposing of particular persons; and the 
rude satire of the Romans was also punished by a law of the Decemviri, as Horace tells us, in these 
words : — 

" Libertasque recnrrentes accepta per annos 
Lusit amahiliter; donee jam sasvus apertam 
In rabiem verti ccepit jocus, et per honestas 
Ire domos impune minax : doluere cruento 
Dente lacessiti ; fuit intactis quoque cura 
Conditione super communi ; quinetiam lex, 
Pcenaque lata, malo quie nollet carmine quenquam 
Describi : vertere modum, formidine fustis 
Ad benedicendum delectandumque redacti." 

The law of the Decemviri was this: Siquis occentassit malum carmen, sive condidissit, quod infamiam 
faxit, flagitmmve alteri, capital esto — A strange likeness, and barely possible ; but the critics being all 
of the same opinion, it becomes me to be silent, and to submit to better judgments than my own. 

But, to return to the Grecians, from whose satiric dramas the elder Scaliger and Heinsius will 
have the Roman satire to proceed, I am to take a view of them first, and see if there be any such 
descent from them as those authors have pretended. 

Thespis, or whoever he were that invented tragedy, (for authors differ,) mingled with them 
a chorus and dances of Satyrs, which had before been used in the celebration of their festivals; and 
there they were ever afterwards retained. The character of them was also kept, which was mirth 
and wantonness ; and this was given, I suppose, to the folly of the common audience, who soon grow 
weary of good sense, and, as we daily see in our own age and country, are apt to forsake poetry, and 
still ready to return to buffoonery and farce. From hence it came, that, in the Olympic games, where 
the poets contended for four prizes, the satiric tragedy was the last of them; for, in the rest, the 
Satyrs were excluded from the chorus. — Among the plays of Euripides, which are yet remaining, 
there is one of these Satirics, which is called " The Cyclops;" in which we may see the nature of 
those poems, and from thence conclude what likeness they have to the Roman Satire. 

The story of this Cyclops, whose name was Polyphemus, so famous in the Grecian fables, was, 
that Ulysses, who, with his company, was driven on the coast of Sicily, where those Cyclops inhabited, 
coming to ask relief from Silenus, and the Satyrs, who were herdsmen to that one-eyed giant, was 
kindly received by them, and entertained; till, being perceived by Polyphemus, they were made 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 365 



prisoners against the rites of hospitality, (for which Ulysses eloquently pleaded,) were afterwards put 
down into the den, and some of them devoured; after which Ulysses, having made him drank, whi a 
he was asleep, thrust a great firebrand into his eye, and so, revenging his dead followers, eec 
with the remaining party of the living ; and Silenus and the Satyrs were freed from their servitude 
under Polyphemus, and remitted to their first liberty of attending and accompanying their pat. 
Bacchus. 

This was the subject of the tragedy; which, being one of those that end with a happy event, is 
therefore, by Aristotle, judged below the other sort, whose success is unfortunate. Nbtwithstan 
which, the Satyrs, who were part of the dramatis peruana;, as well as the whole chorus, were prop 
introduced into the nature of the poem, which is mixed of farce and tragedy. The adventure of 
Ulysses was to entertain the judging part of the audience ; and the uncouth persons of Silenus, and 
the Satyrs, to divert the common people with their gross railleries. 

Your lordship has perceived by this time, that this satiric tragedy, and the Roman satire, havo 
little resemblance in any of their features. The very kinds arc different ; for what has a pastoral 
tragedy to do with a paper of verses satirically written? The character and raillery of the Satyrs is 
the only thing that could pretend to a likeness, were Scaliger and Heinsius alive to maintain their 
opinion. And the first farces of the Romans, which were the rudiments of their poetry, were written 
before they had any communication with the Greeks, or indeed any knowledge of that people 

And here it will be proper to give the definition of the Greek satiric poem from Casaubon, beforo 
I leave this subject. "The satiric," says he, "is a dramatic poem, annexed to a tragedy, having a 
chorus, which consists of Satyrs. The persons represented in it are illustrious men ; the action of it 
is great; the style is partly serious, and partly jocular; and the event of the action most commonly 
is happy." 

The Grecians, besides these satiric tragedies, had another kind of poem, which they called Silli, 
which were more of kin to the Roman satire. Those Silli were indeed invective poems, but of a 
different species from the Roman poems of Ennius, Pacuvius, Lucilius, Horace, and the rest of their 
successors. — They were so called, says Casaubon in one place, from Silenus, the foster-father of 
Bacchus ; but, in another place, bethinking himself better, he derives their name, a.vb rov tnAAaiVcie, 
from their scoffing and petulancy. From some fragments of the Silli, written by Timon, we may 
find, that they were satiric poems, full of parodies ; that is, of verses patched up from groat poets, 
and turned into another sense than their author intended them. Such amongst the Romans, is the 
famous Cento of Ausonius ; where the words are Virgil's, but, by applying them to another - 
they are made a relation of a wedding-night; and the act of consummation fulsomely described in 
the very words of the most modest amongst all poets. Of the same manner arc our songs, which arc 
turned into burlesque, and the serious words of the author perverted into a ridiculous meaning. Thus 
in Timon's Silli the words are generally those of Homer, and the tragic poets; but he applies them, 
satirically, to some customs and kinds of philosophy, which he arraigns. But the Romans, not using 
any of these parodies in their satires, sometimes, indeed, repeating verses of other men. fl 
cites some of Nero's, but not turning them into another meaning, — the Silli cannot be supposed to 
be the original of Roman satire. To these Silli, consisting of parodies, we may properly add the 
satires which were written against particular persons ; such as were the Iambics of Archilochus 
against Lycambes, which Horace undoubtedly imitated in some of his Odes and Epodes, whose titles 
bear sufficient witness of it. I might also name the invective of Ovid against Ibis, and many others ; 
but these are the under-wood of satire, rather than the timber-trees: they are not of general 
extension, as reaching only to some individual person. And Horace seems to have purged himself 
from those splenetic reflections in those Odes and Epodes, before he undertook the noble work of 
Satires, which were properly so called. 

Thus, my lord, I have at length disengaged myself from those antiquities of Greece : and have 
proved, I hope, from the best critics, that the Roman satire was not borrowed from thence, but of 
their own manufacture. I am now almost gotten into my depth ; at least, by the help of Docier, I 
am swimming towards it. Not that I will promise always to follow him. any more than he follows 
Casaubon; but to keep him in my eye, as my best and truest guide; mid where 1 think he I 
possibly mislead me, there to havo recourse to my own lights, as 1 expoc irs should do bj me. 

Quintilian says, in plain words, Satira quidem tota nostra est j and Horace bid the same tbi 
before him, speaking of his predecessor in that sort of poetry, Et (track mta I earmmit auetor. 



366 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



Nothing can be clearer than the opinion of the poet, and the orator, both the best critics of the two 
best ages of the Roman empire, that satire was wholly of Latin growth, and not transplanted to 
Rome from Athens. Yet, as I have said, Scaliger, the father, according to his custom, that is, 
insolently enough, contradicts them both ; and gives no better reason, than the derivation of satyrus 
from o-d6v salacitas ; and so, from the lechery of those Fauns, thinks he has sufficiently proved, that 
satire is derived from them : as if wantonness and lubricity were essential to that sort of poem, which 
ought to be avoided in it. His other allegation, which I have already mentioned, is as pitiful : that 
the Satyrs carried platters and canisters full of fruit in their hands. If they had entered empty- 
handed, had they been ever the less Satyrs ? Or were the fruits and flowers, which they offered, 
anything of kin to satire ? Or any argument that this poem was originally Grecian 1 Casaubon 
judged better, and his opinion is grounded on sure authority, that satire was derived from satwa, a 
Roman word, which signifies — full and abundant, and full also of variety, in which nothing is wanting 
to its due perfection. It is thus, says Dacier, that we say- — a full colour, when the wool has taken 
the whole tincture, and drunk in as much of the dye as it can receive. — According to this derivation, 
from satur comes satura, or satira, according to the new spelling ; as optvmus and maxumus are now 
spelled optimus and maximus. Salura, as I have formerly noted, is an adjective, and relates to the 
word lanx, which is understood ; and this lanx, in English a charger, or large platter, was yearly filled 
with all sorts of fruits, which were offered to the gods at their festivals, as the premices, or first 
gatherings. These offerings of several sorts thus mingled, it is true, were not unknown to the 
Grecians, who called them iravicapirbv 0v<rlav, a sacrifice of all sorts of fruits ; and ■Kavo-irtpfi.iav, when 
they offered all kinds of grain. Virgil has mentioned these sacrifices in his " Georgics : " 

" Lancibus et pandis fumantia reddimus exta : " 

and in another place, lancesque et liba feremus : that is, We offer the smoking entrails in great platters, 
and we will offer the chargers and the cakes. 

The word satwa has been afterwards applied to many other sorts of mixtures ; as Festus calls it 
a kind of olla, or hotchpotch, made of several sorts of meats. Laws were also called leges satwce, 
when they were of several heads and titles, like our tacked bills of parliament : and per satwam legem 
ferre, in the Roman senate, was to carry a law without telling the senators, or counting voices, when 
they were in haste. Sallust uses the word — per satvram sententias exquirere ; when the majority was 
visibly on one side. From hence it may probably be conjectured, that the Discourses, or Satires, of 
Ennius, Lucilius, and Horace, as we now call them, took their name ; because they are full of various 
matters, and are also written on various subjects, as Porphyrius says. But Dacier affirms, that it is 
not immediately from thence that these satires are so called ; for that name had been used formerly 
for other things, which bore a nearer resemblance to those discourses of Horace. — In explaining of 
which, continues Dacier, a method is to be pursued, of which Casaubon himself has never thought, 
and which will put all things into so clear a light, that no farther room will be left for the least 
dispute. 

During the space of almost four hundred years, since the building of their city, the Romans had 
never known any entertainments of the stage. Chance and jollity first found out those verses which 
they called Satumian, and Fescennine ; or rather human nature, which is inclined to poetry, first 
produced them, rude and barbarous, and unpolished, as all other operations of the soul are in their 
beginnings, before they are cultivated with art and study. However, in occasions of merriment they 
were first practised ; and this rough-cast unhewn poetry was instead of stage-plays, for the space of an 
hundred and twenty years together. They were made extempore, and were, as the French call them, 
impromptus ; for which the Tarsians of old were much renowned; and we see the daily examples of 
them in the Italian farces of Harlequin and Scaramucha. Such was the poetry of that savage people, 
before it was turned into numbers, and the harmony of verse. Little of the Saturnian verses is now 
remaining ; we only know from authors, that they were nearer prose than poetry, without feet or 
measure. They were zvpv@iJ.oi, but not efifj-erpoi. Perhaps they might be used in the solemn part of 
their ceremonies ; and the Fescennine, which were invented after them, in the afternoon's debauchery, 
because they were scoffing and obscene. 

The Fescennine and Saturnian were the same ; for as they were called Saturnian from their 
ancientness, when Saturn reigned in Italy, they were also called Fescennine, from Fescennia, a town 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



in the same country, where they were first practised. The actors, with a gross and rustic kind of 
raillery, reproached each other with their failings; and at the same time wore nothing sparing of it to 
their audience. Somewhat of this custom was afterwards retained in the Saturnalia, or E 
Saturn, celebrated in Decembor; at least all kind of freedom in speech was then allowed to 
even against their masters ; and we are not without some imitation of it in our Christmas gambols. 
Soldiers also used those Fescennine verses, after measure and numbers had been added to them, at 
the triumph of their generals : of which wo have an example, in the triumph of Julius Ctasar over 
Gaul, in these expressions : Cwsar Oallias subecjit, Nicomedcs Caxarem. Ecce Camr nunc tri 
qui subegit Oallias: Nicomedes non triumphal, qui subegit C'tcmrem. The vapours of wine made those 
first satirical poets amongst the Romans; which, says Dacier, we cannot better represent than by 
imagining a company of clowns on a holiday, dancing lubberly, and upbraiding one another, in txh mpon 
doggrel, with their defects and vices, and the stories that wero told of them in bake-houses and 
barbers' shops. 

When they began to be somewhat better bred, and were entering, as I may say, into the first 
rudiments of civil conversation, they left these hedge-notes for another sort of poem, somewhat 
polished, which was also full of pleasant raillery, but without any mixture of obscenity. This sort of 
poetry appeared under the name of satire, because of its variety; and this satire was adorned with 
compositions of music, and with dances; but lascivious postures were banished from it. In the 
Tuscan language, says Livy, the word hister signifies a player; and therefore those actors, which were 
first brought from Etruria to Rome, on occasion of a pestilence, when the Romans were admonished 
to avert the anger of the gods by plays, in the year ab Urbe Conditd cccxc, — those actors, I say, were 
therefore called histiiones ; and that name has since remained, not only to actors Roman born, but to 
all others of every nation. They played not the former extempore stuff of Fescennine verses, or 
clownish jests; but what they acted was a kind of civil, cleanly farce, with music and dances, and 
motions that were proper to the subject. 

In this condition Livius Andronicus found the stage, when he attempted first, instead of farces, 
to supply it with a nobler entertainment of tragedies and comedies. This man was a Grecian born, 
and being made a slave by Livius Salinator, and brought to Rome, had the education of his patron's 
children committed to him ; which trust he discharged so much to the satisfaction of his master, that 
he gave him his liberty. 

Andronicus, thus become a freeman of Rome, added to his own name that of Livius his master; 
and, as I observed, was the first author of a regular play in that commonwealth. Being already 
instructed, in his native country, in the manners and decencies of the Athenian theatre, and 
conversant in the Archcea Comcedia, or old comedy of Aristophanes, and the rest of the Grecian 
poets, he took from that model his own designing of plays for the Roman stage; the first of which 
was represented in the year cccccxrv. since the building of Rome, as Tully, from the commentaries 
of Atticus, has assured us: it was after the end of the first Punic war, the year before F.nnius was 
born. Dacier has not carried the matter altogether thus far ; he only says, that one Livius Andronicus 
was the first stage-poet at Rome. But I will adventure, on this hint, to advance another proposition, 
which I hope the learned will approve. And though we have not anything of Andronicus remaining 
to justify my conjecture, yet it is exceedingly probable, that, having read the works of those Grecian 
wits, his countrymen, he imitated not only the groundwork, but also the manner of their writing; 
and how grave soever his tragedies might be, yet, in his comedies, he expressed the way of 
Aristophanes, Eupolis,and the rest, which was to call some persons by their own names, and to 
their defects to the laughter of the people : the examples of which we have in the fore-mentioned 
Aristophanes, who turned the wise Socrates into ridicule, and is also very free with the management 
of Cleon, Alcibiadcs, and other ministers of the Athenian government. Now, if this be granted, we 
may easily suppose, that tho first hint of satirical plays on the Roman stage was given by the < (reeks : 
not from tho Satirica, for that has been reasonably exploded in the former part of this discourse : but 
from their old comedy, which was imitated first by Livius Andronicus. And then Qnintilian and 
Horace must be cautiously interpreted, where they affirm that satire is wholly Roman, and a Rort of 
verse, which was not touched on by the Grecians. Tho reconcilement of my opinion to the Bl 
of their judgment is not, however, very difficult, sinco they spoke of satire. n"t as in its i'u^t elements, 
but as it was formed into a separate work; begun by Ennius, pursued by Luoiliu ploted 

afterwards by Horace Tho proof depends only on this postu.latu.in, — that thecomi dies of Andronicus, 



3G8 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



which, were imitations of the Greek, were also imitations of their railleries, and reflections on 
particular persons. For, if this be granted me, which is a most probable supposition, it is easy to 
infer that the first light which was given to the Roman theatrical satire was from the plays of 
Livius A'ndronicus ; which will be more manifestly discovered, when I come to speak of Ennius. In 
the meantime I will return to Dacier. 

The people, says he, ran in crowds to these new entertainments of Andronicus, as to pieces which 
were more noble in their kind, and more perfect than their former satires, which for some time they 
neglected and abandoned. But not long after, they took them up again, and then they joined them 
to their comedies ; playing them at the end of every drama, as the French continue at this day to act 
their farces, in the nature of a separate entertainment from their tragedies. But more particularly they 
were joined to the Atellane fables, says Casaubon; which were plays invented by the Osci. Those 
fables, says Valerius Maximus, out of Livy, were tempered with the Italian severity, and free from 
any note of infamy or obsceneness ; and, as an old commentator of Juvenal affirms, the Exodiarii, 
which were singers and dancers, entered to entertain the people with light songs and mimical 
gestures, that they might not go away oppressed with melancholy, from those serious pieces of the 
theatre. So that the ancient satire of the Romans was in extempore reproaches ; the next was farce, 
which was brought from Tuscany ; to that succeeded the plays of Andronicus, from the old comedy of 
the Grecians ; and out of all these sprung two several branches of new Roman satire, like different 
scions from the same root, which I shall prove with as much brevity as the subject will allow. 

A year after Andronicus had opened the Roman stage with his new dramas, Ennius was born; 
who, when he was grown to man's estate, having seriously considered the genius of the people, and 
how eagerly they followed the first satires, thought it would be worth his pains to refine upon the 
project, and to write satires, not to be acted on the theatre, but read. He preserved the groundwork 
of their pleasantry, their venom, and their raillery on particular persons, and general vices ; and by 
this means, avoiding the danger of any ill success in a public representation, he hoped to be as well 
received in the cabinet, as Andronicus had been upon the stage. The event was answerable to his 
expectation. He made discourses in several sorts of verse, varied often in the same paper ; retaining 
still in the title their original name of satire. Both in relation to the subjects, and the variety of 
matters contained in them, the satires of Horace are entirely like them ; only Ennius, as I said, 
confines not himself to one sort of verse, as Horace does ; but, taking example from the Greeks, and 
even from Homer himself in his Margites, which is a kind of satire, as Scaliger observes, gives himself 
the licence, when one sort of numbers comes not easdy, to run into another, as his fancy dictates. 
For he makes no difficulty to mingle hexameter with iambic trimeters, or with trochaic tetrameters, 
as appears by those fragments which are yet remaining of him. Horace has thought him worthy to 
be copied ; inserting many things of his into his own satires, as Virgil has done into his ^Eneids. 

Here we have Dacier making out that Ennius was the first satirist in that way of writing, which 
was of his invention ; that is, satire abstracted from the stage, and new modelled into papers of verses 
on several subjects. But he will have Ennius take the groundwork of satire from the first farces of 
the Romans, rather than from the formed plays of Livius Andronicus, which were copied from the 
Grecian comedies. It may possibly be so ; but Dacier knows no more of it than I do. And it seems 
to me the more probable opinion, that he rather imitated the fine railleries of the Greeks, which he 
saw in the pieces of Andronicus, than the coarseness of his old countrymen, in their clownish 
extemporary way of jeering. 

But besides this, it is universally granted, that Ennius, though an Italian, was excellently learned 
in the Greek language. His verses were stuffed with fragments of it, even to a fault ; and he himself 
believed, according to the Pythagorean opinion, that the soul of Homer was transfused into him; 
which Persius observes in his Sixth Satire : — Postquam destertuit esse Maeonides. But this being only 
the private opinion of so inconsiderable a man as I am, I leave it to the farther disquisition of the 
critics, if they think it worth their notice. Most evident it is, that whether he imitated the Roman 
farce, or the Greek comedies, he is to be acknowledged for the first author of Roman satire, as it is 
properly so called, and distinguished from any sort of stage-play. 

Of Pacuvius, who succeeded him, there is little to be said, because there is so little remaining of 
him ; only that he is-taken to be the nephew of Ennius, his sister's son; that, in probability, he was 
instructed by his uncle in his way of satire, which, we are told, he has copied : but. what advances he 
made we know not. 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 369 



Lucilius came into the world when Pacuvius flourished most. He also made satires after the 
manner of Ennius, but he gave them a more graceful turn, and endeavoured to imitate more closely 
the veins comcedia of the Greeks, of the which the old original Roman satire had no idea, till the time 
of Livius Andronicus. And though Horace seems to have made Lucilius the first author of satire in 
verse amongst the Romans, in these words, — 

" Quid? cum est Lucilius ausus 

Primus in hunc operis componere carmina morcm," — 

he is only thus to be understood : that Lucilius had given a more graceful turn to the satire of 
Ennius and Pacuvius, not that he invented a new satire of his own : and Quintilian seems to explain 
this passage of Horace in these words : Satira quidem tota nostra est ; in qud primus insianem laudem 
adeptus est Lucilins. 

Thus both Horace and Quintilian gave a kind of primacy of honour to Lucilius, amongst the 
Latin satirists. For, as the Roman language grew more refined, so much more capable it was of 
receiving the Grecian beauties in his time. Horace and Quintilian could mean no more than that 
Lucilius writ better than Ennius and Pacuvius ; and on the same account we prefer Horace to 
Lucilius. Both of them imitated the old Greek comedy ; and so did Ennius and Pacuvius before 
them. The polishing of the Latin tongue, in the succession of times, made the only difference ; and 
Horace himself, in two of his satires, written purposely on this subject, thinks the Romans of his age 
were too partial in their commendations of Lucilius ; who writ not only loosely and muddily, with 
little art and much less care, but also in a time when the Latin tongue was not yet sufficiently purged 
from the dregs of barbarism ; and many significant and sounding words, which the Romans wanted, 
were not admitted even in the times of Lucretius and Cicero, of which both complain. 

But to proceed. Dacier justly taxes Casaubon, saying that the Satires of Lucilius were wholly 
different in species from those of Ennius and Pacuvius. Casaubon was led into that mistake by 
Diomedes, the grammarian, who, in effect, says this : "Satire amongst the Romans, but not amongst 
the Greeks, was a biting invective poem, made after the model of the ancient comedy, for the 
reprehension of vices ; such as were the poems of Lucilius, of Horace, and of Persius. But in former 
times, the name of Satire was given to poems which were composed of several sorts of verses, such 
as were made by Ennius and Pacuvius ; more fully expressing the etymology of the word satire, 
from satwa, which we have observed." Here it is manifest that Diomedes makes a specifical 
distinction betwixt the Satires of Ennius and those of Lucilius. But this, as we say in English, is 
only a distinction without a difference ; for the reason of it is ridiculous, and absolutely false. This 
was that which cozened honest Casaubon, who, relying on Diomedes, had not sufficiently examined 
the origin and nature of those two satires ; which were entirely the same, both in the matter and the 
form : for all that Lucilius performed beyond his predecessors, Ennius and Pacuvius, was only the 
adding of more politeness, and more salt, without any change in the substanco of the poem. And 
though Lucilius put not together, in the same satire, several sorts of verses, as Ennius did, yet he 
composed several satires, of several sorts of verses, and mingled them with Greek verses : one poem 
consisted only of hexameters, and another was entirely of iambics ; a third of trochaics ; as is visible 
by the fragments yet remaining of his works. In short, if the Satires of Lucilius are therefore said 
to bo wholly different from those of Ennius, because he added much more of beauty and polishing to 
.his own poems than are to be found in those before him, it will follow, from hence, that the Satires 
of Horace are wholly different from those of Lucilius, because Horace has not less surpassed Lucilius 
in the elegancy of Iris writing, than Lucilius surpassed Ennius in the turn and ornament of his. This 
passage of Diomedes has also drawn Dousa, the son, into the same error of Casaubon, which I say, 
not to expose the little failings of those judicious men, but only to mako it appear with how much 
diffidence and caution we are to read their works, when they treat a Subject of so much obscurity, 
and so very ancient, as is this of satire. 

Having thus brought down the history of Satire from its original to the times of 1 1 
shown the several changes of it, I should here discover some of those graces which Horace added t > 
it, but that I think it will be more proper to defer that undertaking, till I make the compel 
betwixt him and Juvenal. In the mean while, following the order of time, it will be Decenary to 
somewhat of another kind of satire, which also was descended from the anoiente : it is thai which «.■ 
call the Varronian satire (but which Varro himself calls the Menippean), because Varro, the I 



370 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



learned of the Romans, was the first author of it, who imitated, in his works, the manner of 
Menippus, the Gadarenian, who professed the philosophy of the Cynics. 

This sort of satire was not only composed of several sorts of verse, like those of Ennius, but was 
also mixed with prose ; and Greek was sprinkled amongst the Latin. Quintilian, after he had spoken 
of the satire of Lucilius, adds what follows : " There is another and former kind of satire, composed 
by Terentius Varro, the most learned of the Romans ; in which he was not satisfied alone with 
mingling in it several sorts of verse." The only difficulty of this passage is, that Quintilian tells us, 
that this satire of Varro was of a former kind. For how can we possibly imagine this to be, since 
Varro, who was contemporary to Cicero, must consequently be after Lucilius 1 But Quintilian meant 
not that the satire of Varro was in order of time before Lucilius : he would only give us to 
understand, that the Varronian satire, with mixture of several sorts of verses, was more after the 
manner of Ennius and Pacuvius, than that of Lucilius, who was more severe, and more correct ; and 
gave himself less liberty in the mixture of his verses in the same poem. 

We have nothing remaining of those Varronian satires, excepting some inconsiderable fragments, 
and those for the most part much corrupted. The titles of many of them are indeed preserved, and 
they are generally double; from whence, at least, we may understand, how many various subjects 
were treated by that author. Tully, in his " Academics," introdiices Varro himself giving us some 
light concerning the scope and design of those works. Wherein, after he had shown his reasons why 
he did not ex professo write of philosophy, he adds what follows : " Notwithstanding," says he, " that 
those pieces of mine, wherein I have imitated Menippus, though I have not translated him, are 
sprinkled with a kind of mirth and gaiety, yet many things are there inserted, which are drawn from 
the very entrails of philosophy, and many things severely argued ; which I have mingled with 
pleasantries on purpose, that they may more easily go down with the common sort of unlearned 
readers." The rest of the sentence is so lame, that we can only make thus much out of it — that in 
the composition of his satires, he so tempered philology with philosophy, that his work was a 
mixture of them both. And Tully himself confirms us in this opinion, when a little after he 
addresses himself to Varro in these words : — " And you yourself have composed a most elegant 
and complete poem ; you have begun philosophy in many places, sufficient to incite us, though too 
little to instruct us." Thus it appears, that Varro was one of those writers whom they called 
a-TrovSoyeXowi, studious of laughter ; and that, as learned as he was, his business was more to divert 
his reader than to teach him. And he entitled his own satires, Menippean ; not that Menippus had 
written any satires (for his were either dialogues or epistles), but that Varro imitated his style, his 
manner, his facetiousness. All that we know farther of Menippus and his writings, which are wholly 
lost, is, that by some he is esteemed, as, amongst the rest, by Varro ; by others he is noted of cynical 
impudence, and obscenity; that he was much given to those parodies, which I have already 
mentioned ; that is, he often quoted the verses of Homer, and the tragic poets, and turned their 
serious meaning into something that was ridiculous; whereas Varro's satires are by Tully called 
absolute, and most elegant, and various poems. Lucian, who was emulous of this Menippus, seems 
to have imitated both his manners and his style in many of his dialogues ; where Menippus himself 
is often introduced as a speaker in them, and as a perpetual buffoon ; particularly his character is 
expressed in the beginning of that dialogue, which is called Ne/cuojucwria. But Varro, in imitating 
him, avoids his impudence and filthiness, and only expresses his witty pleasantry. 

This we may believe for certain, that as his subjects were various, so most of them were tales or 
stories of his own invention. Which is also manifest from antiquity, by those authors who are 
acknowledged to have written Varronian satires, in imitation of his ; of whom the chief is Petronius 
Arbiter, whose satire, they say, is now printed in Holland, wholly recovered, and made complete : 
when it is made public, it will easily be seen by any one sentence, whether it be supposititious, or 
genuine. Many of Lucian's dialogues may also properly be called Varronian satires, particularly his 
" True History ; " and consequently the " Golden Ass " of Apuleius, which is taken from him. Of 
the same stamp is the mock deification of Claudius, by Seneca ; and the Symposium, or " Ca5sars " 
of Julian, the Emperor. Amongst the moderns we may reckon the "Encomium Moriae" of Erasmus, 
Barclay's " Euphormio," and a volume of German authors, which my ingenious friend, Mr. Charles 
Killegrew, once lent me. In the English, I remember none which are mixed with prose, as Varro's 
were ; but of the same kind is " Mother Hubbard's Tale," in Spenser ; and (if it be not too vain to 
mention anything of my own) the poems of "Absalom " and "Mac Flecnoe." 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 371 



This is what I have to say in general of satire : only, as Dacicr has observed bcforo mo, we may 
take notice, that the word satire is of a more general signification in Latin, than in French, or Ene 
For amongst the Eomans it was not only used for those discourses which decried vice, or exposed 
folly, but for others also, where virtue was recommended. But in our modern languages we apply it 
only to invective poems, where the very name of satire is formidable to those persons, who would 
appear to the world what they are not in themselves; for in English, to say satire, is to mi 
reflection, as we use that word in the worst sense ; or as the French call it, moro properly, midisance. 
In the criticism of spelling, it ought to be with i, and not with y, to distinguish its true derivation 
from satwra, not from salyrus. And if this be so, then it is false spelled throughout this book ; for 
here it is written Satyr-: which having not considered at the first, I thought it not worth correcting 
afterwards. But the French are more nice, and never spell it any other way than Satire. 

I am now arrived at the most difficult part of my undertaking, which is, to compare Horace with 
Juvenal and Persius. It is observed by Rigaltius, in his preface before Juvenal, written to Thuanus, 
that these three poets have all their particular partisans and favourers. Even commentator, as lie 
has taken pains with any of them, thinks himself obliged to prefer his author to the otlier two ; to 
find out their failings, and decry them, that he may make room for his own darlin". Such is the 
partiality of mankind, to set up that interest which they have once espoused, though it be to the 
prejudice of truth, morality, and common justice ; and especially in the productions of the brain. 
As authors generally think themselves the best poets, because they cannot go out of themselves to 
judge sincerely of their betters ; so it is with critics, who, having first taken a liking to one of these 
poets, proceed to comment on him, and to illustrate him ; after which, they fall in love with their 
own labours, to that degree of blind fondness, that at length they defend and exalt their author, not 
so much for his sake as for their own. It is a folly of the same nature, with that of the Romans 
themselves, in the games of the Circus. The spectators were divided in their factions, betwixt the 
Veneti and the Prasini ; some were for the charioteer in blue, and some for him in green. The 
colours themselves were but a fancy ; but when once a man had taken pains to set out those of his 
party, and had been at the trouble of procuring voices for them, the case was altered ; he was 
concerned for his own labour, and that so earnestly, that disputes and quai'rels, animosities, commo- 
tions, and bloodshed, often happened ; and in the declension of the Grecian empire, the very 
sovereigns themselves engaged in it, even when the barbarians were at their doors ; and stickled for 
the preference of colours, when the safety of their people was in question. I am now myself on the 
brink of the same precipice ; I have spent some time on the translation of Juvenal and Persius ; and 
it behoves me to be wary, lest, for that reason, I should be partial to them, or take a prejudico 
against Horace. Yet, on the other side, I would not be like some of our judges, who would give the 
cause for a poor man, right or wrong ; for though that be an error on the better hand, yet it is still a 
partiality ; ' and a rich man, unheard, cannot be concluded an oppressor. I remember a saying, of 
King Charles II. on Sir Matthew Hale, (who was doubtless an uncorrupt and upright man) that his 
servants were sure to be cast on a trial, which was heard before him ; not that he thought the judge 
was possibly to be bribed, but that his integrity might be too scrupulous ; and that the causes of the 
crown were always suspicious, when the privileges of subjects-were concerned. 

It had been much fairer, if the modern critics, who have embarked in the quarrels of their 
favourite authors, had rather given to each his proper due, without taking from another's heap to 
raise their own. There is praise enough for each of them in particular, without encroaching on las 
fellows, and detracting from them, or enriching themselves with the spoils of others. But to come 
to particulars. Heinsius and Dacier are the most principal of those, who raise Horaco above Juvenal 
and Persius. Scaliger the father, Rigaltius, and many others, debase Horace, that they may set up 
Juvenal ; and Casaubon, who is almost single, throws dirt on Juvenal and Horace, that he may exalt 
Persius, whom he understood particularly well, and better than any of his former commentators : 
even Stelluti, who succeeded him. I will begin with him, who, in my opinion, defends the weakest 
cause, which is that of Persius; and labouring, as Tacitus professes of his own writing, to divest 
myself of partiality, or prejudice, consider Persius, not as a poet whom I have wholly translated, and 
who has cost me more labour and time than Juvenal, but according to what I judge to be bis own 
merit : which I think not equal, in the main, to that of Juvenal or Horace, and yet in some things to 
be preferred to both of them. 

First, then, for the verse; neither Casaubon himself, nor any for him, can defend either Ins 



11 11 '2 



372 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



numbers, or the purity of his Latin. Casaubon gives this point for lost, and pretends not to justify 
either the measures, or the words of Persius ; he is evidently beneath Horace and Juvenal in both. 

Then, as his verse is scabrous, and hobbling, and his words not everywhere well chosen, the 
purity of Latin being more corrupted than in the time of Juvenal, and consequently of Horace, who 
writ when the language was in the height of its perfection, so his diction is hard, his figures are 
generally too bold and daring, and his tropes, particularly his metaphors, insufferably strained. 

In the third place, notwithstanding all the diligence of Casaubon, Stelluti, and a Scotch gentleman, 
whom I have heard extremely commended for his illustrations of him, yet he is still obscure ; whether 
he affected not to be understood, but with difficulty ; or whether the fear of his safety under Nero 
compelled him to this darkness in some places ; or that it was occasioned by his close way of thinking, 
and the brevity of his style, and crowding of his figures ; or lastly, whether, after so long a time, many 
of his words have been corrupted, and many customs, and stories relating to them, lost to us : whether 
some of these reasons, or all, concurred to render him so cloudy, we may be bold to affirm, that the 
best of commentators can but guess at his meaning, in many passages ; and none can be certain that 
he has divined rightly. 

After all, he was a young man, like his friend and contemporary Lucan ; both of them men of 
extraordinary parts, and great acquired knowledge, considering their youth ; but neither of them had 
arrived to that maturity of judgment, which is necessary to the accomplishing of a formed poet. And 
this consideration, as, on the one hand, it lays some imperfections to their charge, so, on the other 
side, it is a candid excuse for those failings, which are incident to youth and inexperience ; and we 
have more reason to wonder how they, who died before the thirtieth year of their age, could write 
so well, and think so strongly, than to accuse them of those faults, from which human nature, and 
more especially in youth, can never possibly be exempted. 

To consider Persius yet more closely : he rather insulted over vice and folly, than exposed them 
like Juvenal and Horace ; and as chaste and modest as he is esteemed, it cannot be denied, but that 
in some places he is broad and fulsome, as the latter verses of the fourth Satire, and of the sixth, 
sufficiently witness. And it is to be believed that he who commits the same crime often, and without 
necessity, cannot but do it with some kind of pleasure. 

To come to a conclusion : he is manifestly below Horace, because he borrows most of his greatest 
beauties from him ; and Casaubon is so far from denying this, that he has written a treatise purposely 
concerning it ; wherein he shows a multitude of his translations from Horace, and his imitations of 
him, for the credit of his author ; which he calls Imilatio Horatiana. 

To these defects, which I casually observed, while I was translating this author, Scaliger has added 
others : he calls him, in plain terms, a silly writer, and a trifler, full of ostentation of his learning, and, 
after all, unworthy to come into competition with Juvenal and Horace. 

After such terrible accusations, it is time to hear what his patron Casaubon can allege in 'his defence. 
Instead of answering, he excuses for the most part ; and, when he cannot, accuses others of the same 
crimes. He deals with Scaliger, as a modest scholar with a master. He compliments him with so much 
reverence, that one would swear he feared him as much at least as he respected him. Scaliger will not 
allow Persius to have any wit ; Casaubon interprets this in the mildest sense, and confesses his author 
was not good at turning things into a pleasant ridicule ; or, in other words, that he was not a laughable 
writer. That he was ineptus, indeed, but that was — non aptissimus ad jocandum ; but that he was 
ostentatious of his learning, that, by Scaliger's good favour, he denies. Persius showed his learning, 
but was no boaster of it ; he did ostender'e, but not ostentare ; and so, he says, did Scaliger : — where, 
methinks, Casaubon turns it handsomely upon that supercilious critic, and silently insinuates that he 
himself was sufficiently vain-glorious, and a boaster of his own knowledge. All the writings of this 
venerable censor, continues Casaubon, which are xP vao " XP va ^ Te P a i more golden than gold itself, are 
every where smelling of that thyme, which, like a bee, he has gathered from ancient authors ; but far 
be ostentation and vain-glory from a gentleman so well born, and so nobly educated as Scaliger. 
But, says Scaliger, he is so obscure, that he has got himself the name of Scotinus, a dark writer. 
Now, says Casaubon, it is a wonder to me that any thing could be obscure to the divine wit of 
Scaliger, from which nothing could be hidden. This is indeed a strong compliment, but no defence ; 
and Casaubon, who could not but be sensible of his author's blind side, thinks it time to abandon a 
post that was untenable. He acknowledges that Persius is obscure in some places ; but so is Plato, so is 
Thucydides ; so are Pindar, Theocritus, and Aristophanes, amongst the Greek poets ; and even Horace 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 37;- 



and Juvenal, he might have added, amongst the Romans. The truth i.s, Persius is not sometimes, hut 
generally, obscure; and therefore Casaubon, at last, is forced to excuse liiiu, by all ; it was se 

defendendo, for fear of Nero ; and that he was commanded to wri ' in \ irtue 

of holy obedience to his master. I cannot help my own opinion; I think Cornutus needed not to I 
read many lectures to him on that subject. Persius was an apt scholar; and when he was bidden to be 
obscure in some places, where his life and safety were in question, took the same counsel for all bis 
books; and never afterwards wrote ten lines together clearly. Casaubon, being npon this chapter, 
has not failed, we may be sure, of making a compliment to his own dear comment If Persius, 
he, be in himself obscure, yet my interpretation has made him intelligible. There is no question but 
he deserves that praise, which he has given to himself; but the nature of the thing, as Lucretius 
will not admit of a perfect explanation. Besides many examples which I could urge, the very I 
verse of his last satire, upon which he particularly values himself in his preface, is not yet sufficiently 
explicated. It is true, Holyday has endeavoured to justify his construction ; but Stelluti i- against 
it; and, for my part, I can have but a very dark notion of it. As for the chastity of his thoughts, 
Casaubon denies not but that one particular passage, in the fourth satire, At si unctiu ceases, &c. is not 
only the most obscure, but the most obscene of all his works. I understood it ; but for that reason 
turned it over. In defence of his boisterous metaphors, he quotes Lougiuus, who accounts them as 
instruments of the sublime; fit to move and stir up the affections, particularly in narration. To 
which it may be replied, that where the trope is far fetched and hard, it is fit for nothing but to 
puzzle the understanding; and may be reckoned amongst those things of Demosthenes which 
^Eschines called daifxara, not ^fiara, that is, prodigies, not words. It must be granted to Casaubon, 
that the knowledge of many things is lost in our modern ages, which were of familiar notice to the 
ancients ; and that satire is a poem of a difficult nature in itself, and is not written to vulgar readi 
and through the relation which it has to comedy, the frequent change of persons makes the ■ 
perplexed, when we can but divine who it is that speaks; whether Persius himself, or his friend and 
monitor; or, in some places, a third person. But Casaubon comes back always to himself, and 
concludes, that if Persius had not been obscure, there had been no need of him for an interpreter. 
Yet when he had once enjoined himself so hard a task, he then considered the Greek proverb, that he 
must x^<Z>vt)s (paytiv %\ /x^ <payeiv, either eat the whole snail, or let it quite alone; and so he went 
through with his laborious task, as I have done with my difficult translation. 

Thus far, my lord, you see it has gone very hard with Persius: I think he cannot bo allowed t > 
stand in competition either with Juvenal or Horace. Yet for once I will venture to bo so vain, as 
to affirm, that none of his hard metaphors, or forced expressions, are in my translation. But more of 
this in its proper place, where I shall say somewhat in particular, of our general performance, in 
making these two authors English. In the meantime, I think myself obliged to give Persius his 
undoubted due, and to acquaint the world, with Casaubon, in what he has equalled, and in what 
excelled, his two competitors. 

A man who is resolved to praise an author, with any appearance of justice, must bo sure to take 
him on the strongest side, and where he is least liable to exceptions. He is therefore obliged to 
choose his mediums accordingly. Casaubon, who saw that Persius could not laugh with a bea m 
grace, that he was not made for jesting, and that a rnerry conceit was not his talent, turned his 
feather, like an Indian, to another fight, that he might give it the better gloss. Moral doctrine. 
he, and urbanity, or well-mannered wit, are the two things which constitute the Roman satire: but 
of the two, that which is most essential to this poem, and is, as it were, the very soul wbi< h anus 
it, is the scourging of vice, and exhortation to virtue. Thus wit, for a good reason, is already almost 
out of doors ; and allowed only for an instrument, a kind of tool, or a weapon, as he calls it. of which 
the satirist makes use in the compassing of his design. The end and aim of our three rivals is 
consequently the same. But by what methods they have prosecuted their intention, is farther n 
be considered. Satire is of the nature of moral philosophy, as being instructive : he. therefore, who 
instructs most usefully, will carry the palm from his two antagonists. The philosophy in which 
Persius was educated, and which he professes through his whole book, is the Stoio; the 1 
noble, most generous, most beneficial to human kind, amongst all tho sects, who bavi the 

rules of ethics, thereby to form a severe virtue in the soul ; to raise in us an undaunted 
against the assaults of fortune; to esteem as nothing the things that are without us, because they 
are not in our pbwer; not to value riches, beauty, honours, fame, or health, anj farther than 



374 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 

conveniences, and so many helps to living as we ought, and doing good in our generation : in short, 
to be always happy, while we possess our minds with a good conscience, are free from the slavery of 
vices, and conform our actions and conversations to the rules of right reason. See here, my lord, an 
epitome of Epictetus ; the doctrine of Zeno, and the education of our Persius ; and this he 
expressed, not only in all his satires, but in the manner of his life. I will not lessen this 
commendation of the Stoic philosophy, by giving you an account of some absurdities in their 
doctrine, and perhaps some impieties, if we consider them by the standard of Christian faith. 
Persius has fallen into none of them, and therefore is free from those imputations. What he teaches 
might be taught from pulpits, with more profit to the audience, than all the nice speculations of 
divinity, and controversies concerning faith ; which are more for the profit of the shepherd, than 
for the edification of the flock. Passions, interest, ambition, and all their bloody consequences of 
discord, and of war, are banished from this doctrine. Here is nothing proposed but the quiet and 
tranquillity of the mind ; virtue lodged at home, and afterwards diffused in her general effects, to 
the improvement and good of human kind. And therefore I wonder not that the present Bishop of 
Salisbury has recommended this our author, and the Tenth Satire of Juvenal, in his Pastoral Letter, 
to the serious perusal and practice of the divines in his diocese, as the best common-places for their 
sermons, as the storehouses and magazines of moral virtues, from whence they may draw out, as they 
have occasion, all manner of assistance for the accomplishment of a virtuous life, which the Stoics 
have assigned for the great end and perfection of mankind. Herein then it is, that Persius has 
excelled both Juvenal and Horace. He sticks to his own philosophy ; he shifts not sides, like Horace, 
who is sometimes an Epicurean, sometimes a Stoic, sometimes an Eclectic, as his present humour 
leads him; nor declaims, like Juvenal, against vices, more like an orator, than a philosopher. Persius 
is every where the same ; true to the dogmas of his master. What he has learnt, he teaches 
vehemently ; and what he teaches, that he practises himself. There is a spirit of sincerity in all he 
says ; you may easily discern that he is in earnest, and is persuaded of that truth which he 
inculcates. In this I am of opinion that he excels Horace, who is commonly in jest, and laughs 
while he instructs ; and is equal to Juvenal, who was as honest and serious as Persius, and more he 
could not be. 

Hitherto I have followed Casaubon, and enlarged upon him, because I am satisfied that he says 
no more than truth : the rest is almost all frivolous. For he says that Horace, being the son of a 
tax-gatherer, or a collector, as we call it, smells everywhere of the meanness of his birth and 
education : his conceits are vulgar, like the subjects of his satires ; that he does plebeiwn sapere, and 
writes not with that elevation which becomes a satirist : that Persius, being nobly born, and of an 
opulent family, had likewise the advantage of a better master ; Cornutus being the most learned of 
his time, a man of the most holy life, the chief of the Stoic sect at Rome, and not only a great 
philosopher, but a poet himself, and in probability a coadjutor of Persius : that as for Juvenal, he 
was long a declaimer, came late to poetry, and has not been much conversant in philosophy. 

It is granted that the father of Horace was libertinus, that is, one degree removed from his 
grandfather, who had been once a slave. But Horace, speaking of him, gives him the best character 
of a father, which I ever read in history ; and I wish a witty friend of mine, now living, had such 
another. He bred him in the best school, and with the best company of young noblemen ; and 
Horace, by his gratitude to his memory, gives a certain testimony that his education was ingenuous. 
After this, he formed himself abroad, by the conversation of great men. Brutus found him at 
Athens, and was so pleased with him, that he took him thence into the army, and made him tribunus 
militwm, a colonel in a legion, which was the preferment of an old soldier. All this was before his 
acquaintance with Mecsenas, and his introduction into the court of Augustus, and the familiarity of 
that great emperor; which, had he not been well-bred before, had been enough to civilise his 
conversation, and render him accomplished and knowing in all the arts of complacency and good 
behaviour ; and, in short, an agreeable companion for the retired hours and privacies of a favourite, 
who was first minister. So that, upon the whole matter, Persius may be acknowledged to be equal 
with him in those respects, though better born, and Juvenal inferior to both. If the advantage be 
any where, it is on the side of Horace ; as much as the court of Augustus Caesar was superior to that 
of Nero. As for the subjects which they treated, it will appear hereafter, that Horace writ not 
vulgarly on vulgar subjects, nor always chose them. His style is constantly accommodated to his 
subject, either high or low. If his fault be too much lowness, that of Persius 'is the fault of the 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



•;7u 



hardness of his metaphors, and obscurity; and so they are equal in the failings of their stylo, where 
Juvenal manifestly triumphs over both of them. 

The comparison betwixt Horace and Juvenal is more difficult ; because their forces were more 
equal. A dispute has always been, and ever will continue, betwixt the favourers of the two pi 
Non nostrum est tantas componere lites. I shall only venture to give my own opinion, and leave it fur 
better judges to determine. If it be only argued in general, which of them was the better poet, the 
victory is already gained on the side of Horace. Virgil himself must yield to him in the delicacy of 
his turns, his choice of words, and perhaps the purity of his Latin. He who says that Pindar is 
inimitable, is himself inimitable in his Odes. But the contention betwixt these two great masters, 
is for the prize of Satire ; in which controversy, all the Odes and Epodes of Horace are to stand 
excluded. I say this, because Horace has written many of them satirically, ais private 

enemies; yet these, if justly considered, are somewhat of the nature of the Greek Silli, which were 
invectives against particular sects and persons. But Horace had purged himself of this choler, before 
he entered on those discourses, which are more properly called the Roman Satiro. Ho has not now to 
do with a Lyce, a Canidia, a Cassius Severus, or a Meuas; but is to correct the vices and the follies of 
his time, and to give the rules of a happy and virtuous life. In a word, that former sort of satire, which 
is known in England by the name of lampoon, is a dangerous sort of Weapon, and lor the most part 
unlawful. We have no moral right on the reputation of other men. It is taking from them what we 
cannot restore to them. There are only two reasons, for which we may be permitted to write lampoi ins; 
and I will not promise that they can always justify us. The first is revenge, when we have been affronted 
in the same nature, or have been any ways notoriously abused, and can make ourselves no other repara- 
tion. And yet we know, that, in Christian charity, all offences are to be forgiven, as we expect the like 
pardon for those which we daily commit against Almighty God. And this consideration has often 
made me tremble when I was saying our Saviour's prayer; for the plain condition of the forgiven* 
which we beg, is the pardoning of others the offences which they have done to us ; for which reason I 
have many times avoided the commission of that fault, even when I have been notoriously provoked. 
Let not this, my lord, pass for vanity in me, for it is truth. More libels have been written against me, 
than almost any man now living ; and I had reason on my side, to have defended my own innocence. 
I speak not of my poetry, which I have wholly given up to the critics : let them use it as they please : 
posterity, perhaps, may be more favourable to me ; for interest and passion will lie buried in another 
age, and partiality and prejudice be forgotten. I speak of my morals, which have been sufficiently 
aspersed : that only sort of reputation ought to be dear to every honest man, and is to me. But let 
the world witness for me, that I have been often wanting to myself in that particular ; I have 
seldom answered any scurrilous lampoon, when it was in my power to have exposed my enemies ; 
and, being naturally vindicative, have suffered in silence, and possessed my soul in quiet. 

Any thing, though never so little, which a man speaks of himself, in my opinion, is still too much ; 
and therefore I will waive this subject, and proceed to give the second reason which may justify a 
poet when he writes against a particular person ; and that is, when he is become a public nuisance. 
All those, whom Horace in his Satires, and Persius and Juvenal have mentioned in theirs, with a 
brand of infamy, are wholly such. It is an action of virtue to make examples of vicious men. They 
may and ought to be upbraided with their crimes and follies; both for their amendment, if they are 
not yet incorrigible, and for the terror of others, to hinder them from falling into those enormities, 
which they see are so severely punished in the porsons of others. The first reason was only an excuse 
for revenge; but this second is absolutely of a poet's office to perform : but how few lampooners are 
now living, who are capable of this duty ! When they come in my way, it is impossible sometimes to 
avoid reading them. But, good God ! how remote they are, in common justice, from the choice of 
such persons as are the proper subject of satire ! And how little wit they bring for the support of 
their injustice ! The weaker sex is their most ordinary theme ; and the best and fairest are Bun I I 
be the most severely handled. Amongst men, those who are prosperously unjust) are entitled to 
panegyric; but afflicted virtue is insolently stabbed with all manner of reproaches; no decenqy is 
considered, no fulsomeness omitted; no venom is wanting, as far asdulnees can supply it: lor | 
is a perpetual dearth of wit; a barrenness of good sense and entertainment. The neglect "I the 
readers will soon put an end to this sort of scribbling. There can he no pleasantry, where there is 
no wit; no impression can be made, where there is no truth for the foundation. To conclude i thoy 
arc like tho fruits of the earth in this unnatural season : the coin which held up I I 



876 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



with raukness; but the greater part of the harvest is laid along, and little of good income and 
wholesome nourishment is received into the barns. This is almost a digression, I confess to your 
lordship ; but a just indignation forced it from me. Now I have removed this rubbish, I will return 
to the comparison of Juvenal and Horace. 

I would willingly divide the palm betwixt them, upon the two heads of profit and delight, which 
are the two ends of poetry in general. It must be granted, by the favourers of Juvenal, that Horace 
is the more copious and profitable in his instructions of human life ; but, in my particular opinion, 
which I set not up for a standard to better judgments, Juvenal is the more delightful author. I am 
profited by both, I am pleased with both ; but I owe more to Horace for my instruction, and more to 
Juvenal for my pleasure. This, as I said, is my particular taste of these two authors : they who will 
have either of them to excel the other in both qualities, can scarce give better reasons for their 
opinion than I for mine. But all unbiassed readers will conclude, that my moderation is not to be 
condemned : to such impartial men I must appeal ; for they who have already formed their judgment 
may justly stand suspected of prejudice; and though all who are my readers will set up to be my 
judges, I enter my caveat against them, that they ought not so much as to be of my jury ; or, if they be 
admitted, it is but reason that they should first hear what I have to urge in the defence of my opinion. 

That Horace is somewhat the better instructor of the two, is proved from hence, — that his 
instructions are more general, Juvenal's more limited. So that, granting that the counsels which they 
give are equally good for moral use, Horace, who gives the most various advice, and most applicable 
to all occasions which can occur to us in the course of our lives, — as including in his discourses, not 
only all the rules of morality, but also of civil conversation, — is undoubtedly to be preferred to him 
who is more circumscribed in his instructions, makes them to fewer people, and on fewer occasions, 
than the other. I may be pardoned for using an old saying, since it is true, and to the purpose : 
Bonum, quo communius, eb melius. Juvenal, excepting only his first Satire, is in all the rest confined 
to the exposing of some particular vice ; that he lashes, and there he sticks. His sentences are truly 
shining and instructive ; but they are sprinkled here and there. Horace is teaching us in every line, 
and is perpetually moral : he had found out the skill of Virgil, to hide his sentences ; to give you the 
virtue of them, without showing them in their full extent ; which is the ostentation of a poet, and 
not his art : and this Petronius charges on the authors of his time, as a vice of writing which was 
then growing on the age : ne sentential extra corpus orationis emineant : he would have them weaved 
into the body of the work, and not appear embossed upon it, and striking directly on the reader's 
view. Folly was the proper quarry of Horace, and not vice ; and as there are but few notoriously 
wicked men, in comparison with a shoal of fools and fops, so it is a harder thing to make a man wise, 
than to make him honest ; for the will is only to be reclaimed in the one, but the understanding is to 
be informed in the other. There are blind sides and follies, even in the possessors of moral 
philosophy ; and there is not any one sect of them that Horace has not exposed : which, as it was not 
the design of Juvenal, who was wholly employed in lashing vices, some of them the most enormous 
that can be imagined, so, perhaps, it was not so much his talent 

" Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico 
Tangit, et admissus circum praecordia ludit. 

This was the commendation which Persius gave him : where, by vitium, he means those little vices 
which we call follies, the defects of human understanding, or, at most, the peccadillos of life, rather . 
than the tragical vices, to which men are hurried by their unruly passions and exorbitant desires. 
But, in the word omne, which is universal, he concludes with me, that the divine wit of Horace left 
nothing untouched ; that he entered into the inmost recesses of nature ; found out the imperfections 
even of the most wise and grave, as well as of the common people ; discovering, even in the great 
Trebatius, to whom he addresses the first Satire, his hunting after business, and following the court, 
as well as in the persecutor Crispinus, his impertinence and importunity. It is true, he exposes 
Crispinus openly, as a common nuisance; but he rallies the other, as a friend, more finely. The 
exhortations of Persius are confined to noblemen ; and the stoic philosophy is that alone which lie 
recommends to them ; Juvenal exhorts to particular virtues, as they are opposed to those vices 
against which he declaims ; but Horace laughs to shame all follies, and insinuates virtue, rather by 
familiar examples than by the severity of precepts. 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



This last consideration seems to incline tbo balance on the side of Horace, and to give trim the 
preference to Juvenal, not only in profit, but in pleasure. But, after all, I must confess, th;it the 
delight which Horace gives me is but languishing. Be pleased still to understand, that I Bpeak of my 
own taste only : he may ravish other men; but I am too stupid and insensible to be tickled Where 

he barely grins himself, and, as Scaliger says, only shows his white teeth, lie cannot provoke me to 
any laughter. His urbanity, that is, his good manners, arc to be commended, but his wit is faint ; 
and his salt, if I may dare to say so, almost insipid. Juvenal is of a more vigorous and masculine wit ; 
he gives me as much pleasure as I can bear; ho fully satisfies my expectation ; he treats his subject 
home ; his spleen is raised, and ho raises mine : I have the pleasure of concernment in all he says ; 
he drives his reader along with him; and when he is at tho end of his way, I willingly stop with him. 
If he went another stage, it would be too far ; it would make a journey of a progress, and turn 
delight into fatigue. When he gives over, it is a sign tho subject is exhausted, and the wit of man 
can carry it no farther. If a fault can be justly found in him, it is, that ho is sometimes too 
luxuriant, too redundant; says more than he needs, like my friend the Plain- Dealt <\ but never more 
than pleases. Add to this, that his thoughts are as just as those of Horace, and much more elevated. 
His expressions are sonorous and more noble ; his verse more numerous, and his words are suitable 
to his thoughts, sublime and lofty. All theso contribute to the pleasuro of the reader; and the 
greater the soul of him who reads, his transports are the greater. Horace is always on the amble, 
Juvenal on tho gallop; but his way is perpetually on carpet-ground. He goes with more impetuosity 
than Horace, but as securely ; and the swiftness adds a more lively agitation to the spirits. The low 
style of Horace is according to his subject, that is, generally grovelling. I question not but he could 
have raised it; for the first Epistle of the second book, which he writes to Augustus, (a most instruc- 
tive satire concerning poetry,) is of so much dignity in the words, and of so much elegancy in the 
numbers, that the author plainly shows, the sermo pedestris, in his other Satires, was rather his choice 
than his necessity. He was a rival to Lucilius, his predecessor, and was resolved to surpass him in 
his own manner. Lucilius, as we see by his remaining fragments, minded neither his style, nor his 
numbers, nor liis purity of words, nor his run of verse. Horace, therefore, copes with him in that 
humble way of satire, writes under his own force, and carries, a dead-weight, that he may match his 
competitor in the race. This, I imagine, was the chief reason why he minded only the clearness of 
his satire, and the cleanness of expression, without ascending to those heights to which his own vigour 
might have carried him. But, limiting his desires only to the conquest of Lucilius, he had his ends 
of his rival, who lived before him ; but made way for a new conquest over himself, by Juvenal, his 
successor, He coidd not give an equal pleasure to his reader, because he used not equal instruments. 
The fault was in the tools, and not in the workman. But versification and numbers are the greatest 
pleasures of poetry: Virgil knew it, and practised both so happily, that, for aught I know, his greatest 
excellency is in his diction. In all other parts of poetry, he is faultless; but in this he placed his 
chief perfection. And give mo leave, my lord, since 1 have here an apt occasion, to say, that Virgil 
could have written sharper satires than either Horace or Juvenal, if he would have employed his 
talent that way. I will produce a verse and a half of his, in one of his Eclogues, to justify my 
opinion ; and with commas after every word, to show, that he has given almost as many lashes as he 
has written syllables : it is against a bad poet, whose ill verses he describes : — 

" Non tu, in triviig, indoctc, solebas, 

Stridenti, miserum, sttpulS, disperdere carmen ? " 

But, to return to my purpose. When there is anything deficient in numbers and sound, the reader is 
uneasy and unsatisfied ; he wants something of his complement, desires somewhat which he finds 
not: and this being the manifest defect of Horace, it is no wonder that, Ending it BUpplied in 
Juvonal, we are moro delighted with him. And, besides this, the sauce of Juvenal is mere poignant) 
to create in us an appetite of reading him. Tho meat of Horaco is moro nourishing : but the oook< ry 
of Juvenal moro exquisito : so that, granting Horaco to bo the more general philosopher, we cannot 
deny that Juvenal was the grcator poet, I mean in satire. His thoughts are Bhai per : his indif nation 
against vice is more vehement ; his spirit has moro of the commonwealth genius ! he treats tj ninny. 
and all tho vices attending it, as they deserve, with the utmost rigour: and consequently, a noble 
soul is bettor pleased with a zealous vindicator of Roman liberty, than with a temporising pot 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



well-mannered court slave, and a man who is often afraid of laughing in the right place ; who is 
ever decent, because he is naturally servile. After all, Horace had the disadvantage of the times in 
which he lived ; they were better for the man, but .worse for the satirist. It is generally said, 
that those enormous vices which were practised under the reign of Domitian, were unknown in the 
time of Augustus Ca?sar ; that therefore Juvenal had a larger field than Horace. Little follies were 
out of doors, when oppression was to be scourged instead of avarice ; it was no longer time to turn 
into ridicule the false opinions of philosophers, when the Roman liberty was to be asserted. There 
was more need of a Brutus in Domitian's days, to redeem or mend, than of a Horace, if he had then 
been living, to laugh at a fly-catcher. This reflection at the same time excuses Horace, but exalts 
Juvenal. — I have ended, before I was aware, the comparison of Horace and Juvenal, upon the topics 
of instruction and delight ; and, indeed, I may safely here conclude that common-place ; for, if we 
make Horace our minister of state in satire, and Juvenal of our private pleasures, I think the latter 
has no ill bargain of it. Let profit have the pre-eminence of honour, in the end of poetry. Pleasure, 
though but the second in degree, is the first in favour. And who would not choose to be loved 
bettei - , rather than to be more esteemed ? . But I am entered already upon another topic, which 
concerns the particular merits of these two satirists. — However, I will pursue my business where I 
left it, and cany it farther than that common observation of the several ages in which these authors 
flourished. 

When Horace writ his Satires, the monarchy of his Caesar was in its newness, and the government 
but just made easy to the conquered people. They could not possibly have forgotten the usurpation 
of that prince upon then- freedom, nor the violent methods which he had used, in the compassing 
that vast design : they yet remembered his proscriptions, and the slaughter of so many noble Romans, 
their defenders : amongst the rest, that horrible action of his, when he forced Livia from the arms of 
her husband, who was constrained to see her married, as Dion relates the story, and, big with child as 
she was, conveyed to the bed of his insulting rival. The same Dion Cassius gives us another instance 
of the crime before mentioned; that Cornelius Sisenna being reproached, in full senate, with the 
licentious conduct of his wife, returned this answer, " that he had married her by the counsel of 
Augustus;" intimating, says my author, that Augustus had obliged him to that marriage, that he 
might, under that covert, have the more free access to her. His adulteries were still before their 
eyes ; but they must be patient where they had not power. In other things that emperor was 
moderate enough : propriety was generally secured ; and the people entertained with public shows 
and donatives, to make them more easily digest their lost liberty. But Augustus, who was 
conscious to himself of so many crimes which he had committed, thought, in the first place, to 
provide for his own reputation, by making an edict against Lampoons and Satires, and the authors of 
those defamatory writings, which my author, Tacitus, from the law-term, calls famosos libellos. 

In the first book of his Annals, he gives the following account of it, in these words : Primus 
Augustus cogrdtionem de famosis libellis, specie legis ejus, tractavit ; commotus Cassii Severi libidime, qud 
vivos fceminasque illustres, procacibus scriptis diffamaverat. Thus in English : " Augustus was the first, 
who under the colour of that law took cognisance of lampoons ; being provoked to it, by the 
petulancy of Cassius Severas, who had defamed many illustrious persons of both sexes, in his 
writings." The law to which Tacitus refers, was Lex Icesw Majestatis; commonly called, for the sake 
of brevity, Majestas ; or, as we may say, high treason. He means not that this law had not been 
enacted formerly : for it had been made by the Decemviri, and was inscribed amongst the rest in 
the Twelve Tables; to prevent the aspersion of the Roman majesty, either of the people themselves, 
or their religion, or their magistrates : and the infringement of it was capital ; that is, the offender 
was whipt to death, with the fasces, which were borne before their chief officers of Rome. But 
Augustus was the first, who restored that intermitted law. By the words, wider colour of that law 
he insinuates that Augustus caused it to be executed, on pretence of those libels, which were written 
by Cassius Severus, against the nobility ; but, in truth, to save himself from such defamatory verses, 
Suetonius likewise makes mention of it thus : Sparsos de se in cwrid famosos libellos, nee expavit, et 
magnd curd redarguit. Ac ne requisitis quidem auctoribus, id modo censuit, cognoscendum posthac de 
iis qui libellos aut carmina ad infamiam cujuspiam sub alieno nomine edant. " Augustus was not 
afraid of libels," says that author; "yet he took all care imaginable to have them answered; and 
then decreed, that, for the time to come, the authors of them should be punished." But Aurelius 
makes it yet more clear, according to my sense, that this emperor for his own sake durst not permit 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 370 



them : Fecit id Augustus in speciem, et quasi gratificaretur populo Romano, et primoribiu urbis; ttd 
revera ut sibi comuleret: nam habuit in animo, comprimere nimiam quorundam procadtatem in loqumdo, 
a qud nee ipse exemptus fait. Nam suo nomine compescere erat invidiosum, sub ali< no facile et utile. 
Ergo specie legis tractavit, quasi populi Romani majestas infamaretur. This, I think, is a sufficient 
comment on that passage of Tacitus.— I will add only by the way, that the whole family of the Cffiears, 
and all their relations, were included in the law; because the majesty of the Romans, in the time of 
the empire, was wholly in that house; omnia Ccesar erat: they were all accounted sacred who 
belonged to him. As for Cassius Severus, he was contemporary with Horace; and was the sumo 
poet against whom he writes in his Epodes under this title, In Cassium Sevenm mdedicwto poetam ; 
perhaps intending to kill two crows, according to our proverb, with one stone, and revenge both 
himself and his emperor together. 

From hence I may reasonably conclude, that Augustus, who was not altogether so good as he was 
wise, had some by-respect in the enacting of this law ; for to do any thing for nothing, was not his 
maxim. Horace, as he was a courtier, complied with the interest of his master; and, avoiding the 
lashing of greater crimes, confined himself to the ridiculing of petty vices and common follies ; 
excepting only some reserved cases, in his Odes and Epodes, of his own particular quarrels, which 
either with permission of the magistrate, or without it, every man will revenge, though I say not that 
he should; for prior l&sit is a good excuse in the civil law, if Christianity had not taught us to 
forgive. However, he was not the proper man to arraign great vices, at least if the stories which we 
hear of him are time, — that he practised some, which I will not here mention, out of honour to him. 
It was not for a Clodius to accuse adulterers, especially when Augustus was of that number ; so that 
though his age was not exempted from the worst of villanies, there was no freedom left to reprehend 
them by reason of the edict; and our poet was not fit to represent them in an odious character, 
because himself was dipped in the same actions. Upon this account, without farther insisting on the 
different tempers of Juvenal and Horace, I conclude, that the subjects which Horace chose for satire 
are of a low r er nature than those of which Juvenal has written. 

Thus I have treated, in a new method, the comparison betwixt Horace, Juvenal, and Persius ; some- 
what of their particular manner belonging to all of them is yet remaining to be considered. Persius 
was grave, and particularly opposed his gravity to lewdness, which was the predominant vice in 
Nero's court, at the time when he published his Satires, which was before that emperor fell into the 
excess of cruelty. — Horace was a mild admonisher, a court-satirist, fit for tho gentle times of 
Augustus, and more fit, for the reasons which I have already given. Juvenal was as proper for his 
times, as they for theirs; his was an age that deserved a more severe chastisement; vices were more 
gross and open, more flagitious ; more encouraged by the example of a tyrant, and more protected by 
his authority. Therefore, wheresoever Juvenal mentions Nero, he means Domitian, whom he dl 
not attack in his own person, but scourges him by proxy. Heinsius urges in praise of Horace, that, 
according to the ancient art and law of satire, it should be nearer to comedy than tragedy ; not 
declaiming against vice, but only laughing at it. Neither Persius nor Juvenal were ignorant of this, 
for they had both studied Horace. And the thing itself is plainly true. But as they had read Horace, 
they had likewise read Lucilius, of whom Persius says, — secuit urban; . . . et genuinum fngit in Wit; 
meaning Mutius and Lupus ; and Juvenal also mentions him in these words : — 

" Ensc velut stricto, quoties Lucilius aniens 
Infremuit, rubet auditor, cui frigida mens est 
Criminibus. tacita sudaut pracordia culpa." 

So that they thought tho imitation of Lucilius was more proper to their purpose than that of 
Horace. "They changed satire, (says Holyday) but they changed it for the better.- for the business 
being to reform great vices, chastisement goes farther than admonition ; whereas a perpetual grin, 
like that of Horace, does rather anger than amend a man." 

Thus far that learned critic, Barton Holyday, whose interpretation and illustrations of Juvenal are 
as excellent, as the verse of his translation and his English are lame and pitiful. For it is nut enough 
to give us the meaning of a poet, which I acknowledge him to have performed most faithfully, but ho 
must also imitato his genius, and hie numbers, as t';u- as the English will come up to 1 oa of 

the original.— In few words, it is only for a poet to translate a poem. Holyday and Btapylton bad 
not enough considered this, when they attempted Juvenal: but I forbear reflections ; only I bog 



380 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



leave to take notice of this sentence, where Holyday says, "a perpetual grin, like that of Horace, 
rather angers than amends a man." I cannot give him up the manner of Horace in low satire so 
easily. Let the chastisement of Juvenal be never so necessary for his new kind of satire ; let him 
declaim as wittily and sharply as he pleases ; yet still the nicest and most delicate touches of satire 
consist in fine raillery. This, my lord, is your particular talent, to which even Juvenal could not 
arrive. It is not reading, it is not imitation of an author, which can produce this fineness ; it must be 
inborn ; it must proceed from a genius, and particular way of thinking, which is not to be taught ; 
and therefore not to be imitated by him who has it not from nature. How easy is it to call rogue 
and villain, and that wittily ! But how hard to make a man appear a fool, a blockhead, or a knave, 
without using any of those opprobrious terms ! To spare the grossness of the names, and to do the 
thing yet more severely, is to draw a full face, and to make the nose and cheeks stand out, and yet 
not to employ any depth of shadowing. This is the mystery of that noble trade, which yet no master 
can teach to his apprentice ; he may give the rules, but the scholar is never the nearer in his practice. 
Neither is it true, that this fineness of raillery is offensive. A witty man is tickled while he is hurt 
in this manner, and a fool feels it not. The occasion of an offence may possibly be given, but he 
cannot take it. If it be granted, that in effect this way does more mischief; that a man is secretly 
wounded, and though he be not sensible himself, yet the malicious world will find it out for him ; yet 
there is still a vast difference betwixt the slovenly butchering of a man, and the fineness of a stroke 
that separates the head from the body, and leaves it standing in its place. A man may be capable, as 
Jack Ketch's wife said of his servant, of a plain piece of work, a bare hanging; but to make a 
malefactor die sweetly, was only belonging to her husband. I wish I could apply it to myself, if the 
reader would be kind enough to think it belongs to me. The character of Zimri in my " Absalom," 
is, in my opinion, worth the whole poem : it is not bloody, but it is ridiculous enough ; and he, for 
whom it was intended, was too witty to resent it as an injury. If I had railed, I might have suffered 
for it justly ; but I managed my own work more happily, perhaps more dexterously. I avoided the 
mention of great crimes, and applied myself to the representing of blindsides, and httle extravagancies; 
to which, the wittier a man is, he is generally the more obnoxious. It succeeded as I wished; the 
jest went round, and he was laughed at in his turn who began the frolic. 

And thus, my lord, you see I have preferred the manner of Horace, and of your lordship, in this 
kind of satire, to that of Juvenal, and I think, reasonably. Holyday ought not to have arraigned so 
great an author, for that which was his excellency and his merit : or if he did, on such a palpable 
mistake, he might expect that some one might possibly arise, either in his own time, or after him, to 
rectify his error, and restore to Horace that commendation, of which he has so unjustly robbed him. 
And let the manes of Juvenal forgive me, if I say, that this way of Horace was the best for amending 
manners, as it is the most difficult. His was an ense rescindenckm ; but that of Horace was a pleasant 
cure, with all the limbs preserved entire ; and, as our mountebanks tell us in their bills, without 
keeping the patient within doors for a day. "What they promise only, Horace has effectually performed: 
yet I contradict not the proposition which I formerly advanced. Juvenal's times required a more 
painful kind of operation ; but if he had lived in the age of Horace, I must needs affirm, that he 
had it not about him. He took the method which was prescribed him by his own genius, which was 
sharp and eager ; he could not rally, but he could declaim ; and as his provocations were great, he 
has revenged them tragically. This notwithstanding, I am to say another word, which, as true as it 
is, will yet displease the partial admirers of our Horace. I have hinted it before, but it is time for 
me now to speak more plainly. 

This manner of Horace is indeed the best ; but Horace has not executed it altogether so happily, 
at least not often. The manner of Juvenal is confessed to be inferior to the former, but Juvenal has 
excelled him in his performance. Juvenal has railed more wittily than Horace has railed. Horace 
means to make his readers laugh, but he is not sure of his experiment. Juvenal always intends to 
move your indignation, and he always brings about his purpose. Horace, for aught I know, might 
have tickled the people of his age ; but amongst the moderns he is not so successful. They, who say 
he entertains so pleasantly, may perhaps value themselves on the quickness of their own understand- 
ings, that they can see a jest farther off than other men ; they may find occasion of laughter in the 
wit-battle of the two buffoons, Sarmentus and Cicerrus ; and hold their sides for fear of bursting, 
when Rupilius and Persius are scolding. For my own part, I can only like the characters of all four, 
which are judiciously given; but for" my heart I cannot so much as smile at their insipid raillery. 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRK. 381 



I see not why Persius should call upon Brutus to rovenge him on his adversary ; and that because ho 
had killed Julius Caesar, for endeavouring to bo a king, therefore he should be desired to murder 
Rupilius, only because his name was Mr. King. A miserable clench in my opinion, for Borace to 
record : I have heard honest Mr. Swan make many a better, and yet have had the graco to hold my 
countenance. But it may be puns were then in fashion, as they were wit in the sermons of i 
age, and in the court of King Charles II. I am sorry to say it, for the sake of Horace : but certain it 
is, he has no fine palate who can feed so heartily on garbage. 

But I have already wearied myself, and doubt not but I havo tired your lordship's patience, with 
this long, rambling, and I fear, trivial discourse. Upon the one half of the merits, that is, pli 
I cannot but conclude that Juvenal was the better satirist. — They, who will descend into his 
particular praises, may find them at large in the Dissertation of the learned Rigaltius to Thuanus. 
As for Persius, I have given the reasons why I think him inferior to both of them ; yet I have one 
thing to add on that subject. 

Bartcn Holyday, who translated both Juvenal and Persius, has mads this distinction betwixt 
them, which is no less true than witty, — that in Persius the difficulty is to find a meaning, in Juvenal 
to choose a meaning : so crabbed is Persius, and so copious is Juvenal; so much the understanding 
is employed in one, and so much the judgment in the other ; so. difficult it is to find any sense in tho 
former, and the best sense of the latter. 

If, on the other side, any one suppose I have commended Horace below his merit, when I have 
allowed him but the second place, I desire him to consider, if Juvenal, a man of excellent natural 
endowments, besides the advantages of diligence and study, and coming after him, and building upon 
his foundations, might not probably, with all these helps, surpass him ? And whether it be any 
dishonour to Horace to be thus surpassed, since no art or science is at once begun and perfected, but 
that it must pass first through many hands, and even through several ages 1 If Lucilius could add to 
Ennius, and Horace to Lucilius, why, without any diminution to the fame of Horace, might not 
Juvenal give the last perfection to that work 1 ? Or, rather, what disreputation is it to Horace, that 
Juvenal excels in the tragical satire, as Horace does in the comical ] I have read over attentively 
both Heinsius and Dacier, in their commendations of Horace ; but I can find no more in either of 
them, for the preference of him to Juvenal, than the instructive part ; tho part of wisdom, and not 
that of pleasure ; which, therefore, is here allowed him, notwithstanding what Scaligcr and Rigaltius 
have pleaded to the contrary for Juvenal. And, to show that I am impartial, I will here translate 
what Dacier has said on that subject. 

"I cannot give a more just idea of the two books of Satires made by Hoi-ace, than by comparing 
them to the statues of the Sileni, to which Alcibiadcs compares Socrates in the Symposium. They 
were figures, which had nothing of agreeable, nothing of beauty, on their outside ; but when any one 
took the pains to open them, and search into them, he there found the figures of all tho deities. So, 
in the shape that Horace presents himself to us in his Satires, we sco nothing, at the first view, which 
deserves our attention; it seems that he is rather an amusement for children, than for the serious 
consideration of men. But, when we take away his crust, and that which hides him from our sight. 
when we discover him to the bottom, then we find all the divinities in a full assembly ; that is to 
say, all the virtues which ought to be tho continual exercise of those, who seriously endeavour to 
correct their vices." 

It is easy to observe, that Dacier, in this noble similitude, has confined tho praise of his author 
wholly to the instructive part; the commendation turns on this, and so docs that which follows, 

"In these two books of satiro, it is tho business of Horace to instruct us how to combat our 
to regulate our passions, to follow nature, to give bounds to our desires, to distinguish betwixt truth 
and falsehood, and betwixt our conceptions of things, and things themselves; to come back from our 
projudicato opinions, to understand exactly tho principles and motives of all our actions; and to 
avoid tho ridicule into which all men necessarily fall, wdio are intoxicated with those notions which 
they have received from their masters, and which they obstinately retain, without examining v. 
or no they be founded on right reason. 

"In a word, he labours to render us happy in relation to ourselves; agreeable and faithful to OUT 
friends; and discreet, serviceable, and well-bred, in relation to those with whom we are obi 
livo, and to converse. To make his figures intelligible, to conduct his readers through the labyrinth 
of some perplexed scntonco, or obscure parenthesis, is no great matter : and, a Bpii (■ to ■->> . thcrv 



382 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



is nothing of beauty in all this, or what is worthy of a prudent man. The principal business, and 
which is of most importance to us, is to show the use, the reason, and the proof of his precepts. 

" They who endeavour not to correct themselves, according to so exact a model, are just like the 
patients who have open before them a book of admirable receipts for their diseases, and please 
themselves with reading it, without comprehending the nature of the remedies, or how to apply 
them to their cure." 

Let Horace go off with these encomiums, which he has so well deserved. 

To conclude the contention betwixt our three poets, I will use the words of Virgil, in his fifth 
iEneid, where iEneas proposes the rewards of the foot-race to the three first who should reach 
the goal : — ■ 

" Tres preamia primi 

Accipient, flavaque caput nectentur oliva." 

Let these three ancients be preferred to all the moderns, as first arriving at the goal ; let them all be 
crowned, as victors, with the wreath that properly belongs to satire; but, after that, with this 
distinction amongst themselves, 

" Primus equum phaleris insignera victor habeto." 

Let Juvenal ride first in triumph ; 

" Alter Amazoniam pharetram, plenamque sagittis 
Threiciis, lato quam circumplectitur auro 
Balteus, et tereti subnectit fibula gemma." 

Let Horace, who is the second, and but just the second, carry off the quivers and the arrows, 
as the badges of his satire, and the golden belt, and the diamond button ; 

Tertius Argolico hoc clypeo contentus abito." 

And let Persius, the last of the first three worthies, be contented with this Grecian shield, and with 
victory, not only over all the Gi'ecians, who were ignorant of the Roman satire, but over all the 
moderns in succeeding ages, except Boileau and your lordship. 

And thus I have given the history of Satire, and derived it as far as from Ennius to your 
lordship ; that is, from its first rudiments of barbarity to its last polishing and perfection ; which is, 
with Virgil, in his address to Augustus — - 

- Nomen fama tot ferre per annos, 



Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Caesar." 

I said only from Ennius ; but I may safely carry it higher, as far as Livius Andronicus ; who, as I 
have said formerly, taught the first play at Rome, in the year ab urbe conditd cccccxrv. I have since 
desired my learned friend, Mr. Maidwell, to compute the difference of times, betwixt Aristophanes 
and Livius Andronicus ; and he assures me, from the best chronologers, that " Plutus," the last of 
Aristophanes's plays, was represented at Athens, in the year of the 97th Olympiad, which agrees with 
the year urbis conditce cccxxiv. So that the difference of years betwixt Aristophanes and Andronicus 
is 150 ; from whence I have probably deduced, that Livius Andronicus, who was a Grecian, had read 
the plays of the Old Comedy, which were satirical, and also of the New ; for Menander was fifty 
years before him, which must needs be a great light to him in his own plays, that were of the satirical 
nature. That the Romans had farces before this it is true ; but then they had no communication 
with Greece ; so that Andronicus was the first who wrote after the manner of the old comedy in his 
plays : he was imitated by Ennius, about thirty years afterwards. Though the former writ fables, 
the latter, speaking properly, began the Roman satire ; according to that description which Juvenal 
gives of it in his first : — 

" Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, 
Gaudia, discursus, nostri est farrago libelli." 

This is that in which I have made bold to differ from Casaubon, Rigaltius, Dacier, and indeed from all 
the modern critics. — that not Ennius. but Andronicus, was the first, who, by the Archcea Comcedia 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 888 



of the Greeks, added many beauties to the first rude and barbarous Roman satire : which sort of 
poem though we had not derived from Rome, yet Nature teaches it mankind in all ages, and in 
every country. 

It is but necessary, that after so much has been said of Satire, some definition of it should be 
given. Heinsius, in his " Dissertations on Horace," makes it for me, in these words: "Satire IB a 
kind of poetry, without a scries of action, invented for the purging of our minds; in which human 
vices, ignorance, and errors, and all things besides, which arc produced from them in every man, are 
severely reprehended ; partly dramatically, partly simply, and sometimes in both kinds of speal: 
but, for the most part, figuratively, and occultly ; consisting in a low familiar way, chiefly in a sharp 
and pungent manner of speech ; but partly, also, in a facetious and civil way of jesting; by which 
either hatred, or laughter, or indignation, is moved." — Where I cannot but observe, that this obscure 
and perplexed definition, or rather description, of satire, is wholly accommodated to the Horatian 
way; and excluding the works of Juvenal and Pcrsius, as foreign from that kind of poem. The 
clause in the beginning of it (" without a scries of action") distinguishes satire properly from stage- 
plays, which are all of one action, and one continued scries of action. The end or scope of satire is 
to purge the passions ; so far it is common to the Satires of Juvenal and Persius. The rest which 
follows is also generally belonging to all three ; till he comes upon us, with the excluding clause — 
" consisting in a low familiar way of speech," — which is the proper character of Horace ; and from 
which, the other two, for their honour be it spoken, arc far distant. But how come lowncss of style, 
and the familiarity of words, to be so much the propriety of satire, that without them a poet can be 
no more a satirist, than without risibility he can be a man ? Is the fault of Horace to be made the 
virtue and standing rule of this poem] Is the grandc sophos of Persius, and the sublimity of Juvenal, 
to be circumscribed with the meanness of words and vulgarity of expression? If Horace refused the 
pains of numbers, and the loftiness of figures, arc they bound to follow so ill a precedent ) Let him 
walk a-foot, with his pad in his hand, for his own pleasure; but let not them be accounted no poets, 
who choose to mount, and show their horsemanship. Holyday is not afraid to say, that there was 
never such a fall, as from his Odes to his Satires, and that he, injuriously to himself, untuned his harp. 
The majestic way of Persius and Juvenal was new when they began it, but it is old to us ; and what 
poems have not, with time, received an alteration in their fashion ? " which alteration," says Holyday. 
"is to after-times as good a warrant as the first." Has not Virgil changed the manners of Homer's 
heroes in his ./Eneid! Certainly he has, and for the better; for Virgil's age was more civilised, and 
better bred ; and he writ according to the politeness of Rome, under the reign of Augustus Ca:sar, 
not to the rudeness of Agamemnon's age, or the times of Homer. Why should we offer to confine 
free spirits to one form, when we cannot so much as confine our bodies to one fashion of apparel < 
Would not Donne's satires, which abound with so much wit, appear more charming, if he had taken 
care of his words, and of his numbers ] But he followed Horace so very close, that of nee 
must fall with him ; and I may safely say it of this present age, that if we are not so groat wits as 
Donne, yet, certainly, we are better poets. 

But I have said enough, and it may be too much, on this subject. Will your lordship be ] ; 
to prolong my audience, only so far, till I tell you my own trivial thoughts, how a modern Satire 
should be made. I will not deviate in the least from the precepts and examples of the ancients, who 
were always our best masters. I will only illustrate them, and discover somo of the bidden beauties 
in their designs, that wo thereby may form our own in imitation of them. Will you please but to 
observe, that Persius, the least in dignity of all the three, has notwithstanding been the first, whi i 
discovered to us this important secretin the designing of a perfect satire, — that it ought only to 
treatof one subject; to be confined to one particular theme ; or, at least, to one principally. If ol 
vices occur in the management of the chief, they should only be transiently lashed, and no! be 
insisted on, so as to make the design double. As in a play of the English fashion, which we call a 
tragi-comedy, there is to be but one main design ; and though there be an underplot, or second walk 
of comical charactci-s and adventures, yet they are subservient to the chief fable, carried along under 
it, and helping to it; so that the drama may not seem a monster with two beads. Thus, the 
Copernican system of the planets makes the moon to be moved by the motion of the earth, and 
carried about her orb, as a dependent of her's. Mascardi, in his discourse of the Doppia faeola, 
or double talc in plays, gives an instance of it in the famous pastoral of Guarini, colled /'/'.■■ Pido; 
whero Corisca and the Satyr arc the under parte ; yet we may observe, thai Corisco is brought int.. 



384 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



the body of the plot, and made subservient to it. It is certain that the divine wit of Horace was not 
ignorant of this rule, — that a play, though it consists of many parts, must yet be one in the action, 
and must drive on the accomplishment of one design ; for he gives this very precept, — Sit quodvia 
simplex dwitaxat et wtvwm, ; yet he seems not much to mind it in his Satires, many of them consisting 
of more arguments than one ; and the second without dependence on the first. Casaubon has 
observed this before me, in his preference of Persius to Horace ; and will have his own beloved 
author to be the first who found out and introduced this method of confining himself to one subject. 
I know it may be urged in defence of Horace, that this unity is not necessary ; because the very 
word satura signifies a dish plentifully stored with all variety of fruit and grains. Yet Juvenal, 
who calls his poems a farrago, which is a word of the same signification with satwra, has chosen to 
follow the same method of Persius, and not of Horace ; and Boileau, whose example alone is a 
sufficient authority, has wholly confined himself, in all his satires, to this unity of design. That 
variety, which is not to be found in any one satire, is, at least, in many, written on several occasions. 
And if variety be of absolute necessity in every one of them, according to the etymology of the 
word, yet it may arise naturally from one subject, as it is diversely treated, in the several subordinate 
branches of it, all relating to the chief. It may be illustrated accordingly with variety of ex- 
amples in the subdivisions of it, and with as many precepts as there are members of it; which, 
altogether, may complete that olla, or hotch-potch, which is properly a satire. 

Under this unity of theme, or subject, is comprehended another rule for perfecting the design of 
true satire. The poet is bound, and that ex officio, to give his reader some one precept of 
moral virtue, and to caution him against some one particular vice or folly. Other virtues, subordinate 
to the first, may be recommended under that chief head ; and other vices or follies may be 
scourged, besides that which he principally intends. But he is chiefly to inculcate one virtue, and 
insist on that. Thus Juvenal, in every satire excepting the first, ties himself to one principal 
instructive point, or to the shunning of moral evil. Even in the sixth, which seems only an 
arraignment of the whole sex of womankind, there is a latent admonition to avoid ill women, by 
showing how very few, who are virtuous and good, are to be found amongst them. But this, 
though the wittiest of all his satires, has yet the least of truth or instruction in it. He has run 
himself into his old declamatory way, and almost forgotten that he was now setting up for a 
moral poet. 

Persius is never wanting to us in some profitable doctrine, and in exposing the opposite -vices 
to it. His kind of philosophy is one, which is the Stoic; and every satire is a comment on 
one particular dogma of that sect, unless- we will except the first, which is against bad writers ; 
and yet even there he forgets not the precepts of the Porch. In general, all virtues are 
everywhere to be praised and recommended to practice; and all vices to be reprehended, 
and made either odious or ridiculous ; or else there is a fundamental error in the whole design. 

I have already declared who are the only persons that are the adequate object of private 
satire, and who they are that may properly be exposed by name for public examples of vices 
and follies, and therefore I will trouble your lordship no farther with them. Of the best 
and finest manner of satire, I have said enough in the comparison betwixt Juvenal and 
Horace : it is that sharp, well-mannered way of laughing a folly out of countenance, of which 
your lordship is the best master in this age. I will proceed to the versification, which is 
most proper for it, and add somewhat to what I have said already on that subject. The 
sort of verse which is called bm'lesque, consisting of eight syllables, or four feet, is that 
which our excellent Hudibras has chosen. I ought to have mentioned him before, when I 
spoke of Donne; but by a slip of an old man's memory he was forgotten. The worth of 
his poem is too well known to need my commendation, and he is above my censure. His 
satire is of the Varronian kind, though unmixed with prose. The choice of his numbers is 
suitable enough to his design, as he has managed it ; but in any other hand, the shortness 
of his verse, and the quick returns of rhyme, had debased the dignity of style. And besides, 
the double rhyme, (a necessary companion of burlesque writing) is not so proper for manly 
satire ; for it turns earnest too much to jest, and gives us a boyish kind of pleasure. It 
tfckles awkwardly with a kind of pain, to the best sort of readers : we are pleased ungratefully, 
and, if I may say so, against our liking. We thank him not for giving us that unseasonable 
delight, when we know he could have given us a better, and more solid. He might have 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 385 



left that task to others, who, not being able to put in thought, can only make us grin with 

the excrescence of a word of two or three syllables in the close. It is, indeed, below so 

great a master to make use of such a little instrument. But his good sense is perpetually 

shining through all he writes : it affords us not the time of finding faults. We pass through 

the levity of his rhyme, and are immediately carried into some admirable useful thought 

After all, he has chosen this kind of verse, and has written the best in it : and had he 

taken another, he would always have excelled : as we say of a court-favourite, that whatsoever 

his office be, he still makes it uppermost, and most beneficial to himself. 

The quickness of your imagination, my lord, has already prevented me; and you know 

beforehand, that I would prefer the verse of ten syllables, which we call the Rn glinh heroic, 

to that of eight. This is truly my opinion; for this sort of number is more roomy; the 

thought can turn itself with greater ease in a larger compass. When the rhyme com 

thick upon us, it straitens the expression ; we are thinking of the close, when we should bo 

employed in adorning the thought. It makes a poet giddy with turning in a pace too narrow for 

his imagination; he loses many beauties, without gaining one advantage. For a burlesque rl. I 

have already concluded to be none; or, if it were, it is more easily purchased in ten syllables than in 

eight. In both occasions it is as in a tennis-court, when the strokes of greater force aro given, when 

we strike out and play at length. Tassoni and Boileau have left us the best examples of this way. in 

the "Secchia Rapita," and the "Lutriu;" and next them Merlin Cocaius, in his " Baldus." I will 

speak only of the two former, because the last is written in Latin veise. The " Secchia Rapita " is an 

Italian poem, a satire of the Varronian kind. It is written in the stanza of eight, which is their 

measure for heroic verse. The words are stately, the numbers smooth, the turn both of thoughts 

and words is happy. The first six lines of the stanza seem majestical and severe ; but the two last 

turn them all into a pleasant ridicule. Boileau, if I am not much deceived, has modelled from hence 

his famous " Lutrin." He had read the burlesque poetry of Scarron, with some kind of indignation, 

as witty as it was, and found nothing in France that was worthy of his imitation ; but lie copied the 

Italian so well, that his own may pass for an original. He writes it in the French heroic verse, and 

calls it an heroic poem ; his subject is trivial, but his verse is noble. I doubt not but he had Virgil 

in his eye, for we find many admirable imitations of him, and some parodies ; as particularly this 

passage in the fourth of the iEneids : — 

" Nee tibi diva parens, generis nee Dardanus auctor, 
Perfide; sed duris genuit te cautibua borrena 
Caucasus; Uyrcaniieque adiuoruut ubera tigres:" 

which he thus translates, keeping to the words, but altering the sense : — 

"Non, ton pere a Paris, ne fat point boulanger: 
Et tu n'es point du sang do Gervais, l'horloger: 
Ta mere ne fat point la maitresse d'un, coclie; 
Caucase dans ses flancs te forma d'une roche ; 
Une tigresse affreuse, en quelque autre (ScarttS, 
Te fit, avec son lait, succer sa cruauteV' 

And, as Virgil, in his fourth Georgic, of the Bees, perpetually raises the lowness of his subject, by the 
loftiness of his words, and ennobles it by comparisons drawn from empires, and from monarchs : — 

" Admiranda tibi levinm spectacnla renim, 
Magnanimosque duces, totiusque ordine gentis 
Mores et studia, et populos, et prailia dicam." 

And again : — 

" At genus immortale manct; multosquo per annos 
Stat fortuna domQs, et avi numerantur avoruui ; — " 

we see Boileau pursuing him in the same flights, and scarcely yielding to his master. This. I think, 
my lord, to be the most beautiful, and most noble kind of satire. Here is the map heroic 

finely mixed with the venom of the other; and raising the delight, which otherwise would bo i: 
vulgar, by the sublimity of the expression. I could say somewhat more of the delicacy of this and 
some other of his satires ; but it might turn to his prejudice, if it woro carried back to France. 



386 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



I have given your lordship but this bare hint, in what verse and in what manner this sort of 
satire may be best managed. Had I time, I could enlarge on the beautiful turns of words and 
thoughts, which are as requisite in this, as in heroic poetry itself, of which the satire is undoubtedly 
a species. With these beautiful turns, I confess myself to have been unacquainted, till about 
twenty years ago, in a conversation which I had with that noble wit of Scotland, Sir George 
Mackenzie; he asked me why I did not imitate in my verses the turns of Mr. Waller and Sir John 
Denham, of which he repeated many to me. I had often read with pleasure, and with some profit, 
those two fathers of our English poetry ; but had not seriously enough considered those beauties 
which give the last perfection to their works. Some sprinklings of this kind I had also formerly in my 
plays ; but they were casual, and not designed. But this hint, thus seasonably given me, first made 
me sensible of my own wants, and brought me afterwards to seek for the supply of them in other 
English authors. I looked over the darling of my youth, the famous Cowley ; there I found, instead 
of them, the points of wit, and quirks of epigram, even in the "Davideis," an heroic poem, which is 
of an opposite nature to those puerilities ; but no elegant turns either on the word, or on the thought. 
Then I consulted a greater genius (without offence to the manes of that noble author), I mean Milton; 
but as he endeavours every where to express Homer, whose age had not arrived to that fineness, I 
found in him a tine sublimity, lofty thoughts, which were clothed with admirable Grecisms, and 
ancient words, which he had been digging from the mines of Chaucer and Spenser, and which, with 
all their rusticity, had somewhat of venerable in them. But I found not there neither that for which 
I looked. At last I had recourse to his master, Spenser, the author of that immortal poem, called 
the " Fairy Queen ; " and there I met with that which I had been looking for so long in vain. 
Spenser had studied Virgil to as much advantage as Milton had done Homer ; and amongst the rest 
of his excellencies had copied that. Looking farther into the Italian, I found Tasso had done the 
same ; nay more, that all the sonnets in that language are on the turn of the first thought ; which 
Mr. Walsh, in his late ingenious preface to his poems, has observed. In short, Virgil and Ovid are 
the two principal fountains of them in Latin poetry. And the French at this day are so fond of 
them, that they judge them to be the first beauties : delicate et Men tourne, are the highest 
commendations which they bestow on somewhat which they think a masterpiece. 

An example of the turn on words, amongst a thousand others, is that in the last book of Ovid's 

" Metamorphoses : " 

" Heu ! quantum scelus est, in viscera, viscera condi ! 
Congestoque avidum pinguescere corpore corpus ; 
Alteriusque anitnantem animantis vivere leto." 

An example on the turn both of thoughts and words, is to be found in Catullus, in the complaint 
of Ariadne, when she was left by Theseus : — 

" Turn jam nulla viro juranti fcemina credat ; 
Nulla viri speret sermones esse fldeles ; 
Qui, dura aliquid cupiens animus pnegestit apisci, 
Nil metuunt jurare, nihil promittere parcunt: 
Sed simul ac cupidae mentis satiata libido est, 
Dicta nihil metuere, nihil perjuria curant." 

An extraordinary turn upon the words, is that in Ovid's "Epistolae Heroidum," of Sappho 
to Phaon : — 

" Si, nisi quae forma poterit te digna videri, 
Nulla futura tua est, nulla futura tua est." 

Lastly : A turn, which I cannot say is absolutely on words, for the thought turns with them, is in 
the fourth Georgic of Virgil ; where Orpheus is to receive his wife from hell, on express condition 
not to look on her till she was come on earth : — 

" Cam suhita incautum dementia cepit amantem 
Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Manes." 

I will not burthen your lordship with more of them ; for I write to a master who understands 
them better than myself. But I may safely conclude them to be great beauties. — I might descend 
also to the mechanic beauties of heroic verse ; but we have yet no English prosodia, not so much as a 



A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



tolerable dictionary, or a grammar; so that our language is in a manner barbarous ; and what 
government will encourage any one, or more, who are capable of refining it, I know not; but nothing 
under a public expence can go through with it. And I rather fear a declination of the language, than 
hope an advancement of it in the present age. 

I am still speaking to you, my lord, though, in all probability, you aro already out of hi 
Nothing, which my meanness can produce, is worthy of this long attention. But I to the 

last petition of Abraham ; if there be ten righteous lines, in tins vast preface, spare it for their sake ; 
and also spare the next city, because it is but a little one. 

I would excuse the performance of this translation, if it were all my own ; but the better, though 
not the greater part, being the work of some gentlemen, who have succeeded very happily in their 
undertaking, let their excellencies atone for my imperfections, and those of my sons. I have i 
some of the satires, which are done by other hands ; and they seem to me as perfect in their kind, as 
any thing I have seen in English verse. The common way which wo have taken, is not a literal 
translation, but a kind of paraphrase; or somewhat, which is yet more loose, betwixt a paraphrase 
and imitation. It was not possible for us, or any men, to have made it pleasant any other way. If 
rendering the exact sense of those authors, almost line for line, had been our bush 
Holyday had done it already to our hands: and, by the help of his learned notes and illustrations, not 
only Juvenal and Persius, but, what yet is more obscure, his own verses, might be understood. 

But he wrote for fame, and wrote to scholars : we write only for the pleasure and entertainment 
of those gentlemen and ladies, who, though they are not scholars, are not ignorant : persons of under- 
standing and good sense, who, not having been conversant in the original, or at least not having made 
Latin verse so much their business as to be critics in it, would be glad to find, if the wit of our two 
great authors be answerable to their fame end reputation in the world. We have, therefore, 
endeavoured to give the public all the satisfaction we are able in this kind. 

And if we are not altogether so faithful to our author as our predecessors Holyday and Stapylton, 
yet we may challenge to ourselves this praise, that we shall be far more pleasing to our readers. 'We 
have followed our authors at greater distance, though not step by step, as they have done ; for often- 
times they have gone so close, that they have trod on the heels of Juvenal and Persius, and hurt them 
by their too near approach. A noble author would not be pursued too close by a translator. We 
lose his spirit, when we think to take his body. The grosser part remains with us, but the soul is 
flown away in some noble expression, or some delicate turn of words, or thought. Thus Ho 
who made this way his choice, seized the meaning of Juvenal ; but the poetry has always escaped hiui. 

They who will not grant me, that pleasure is one of the ends of poetry, but that it is only a 
means of compassing the only end, which is instruction, must yet allow, that without the means of 
pleasure, the instruction is but a bare and dry philosophy: a crude preparation of morals, which we 
may have from Aristotle and Epictetus, with more profit than from any poet. Neither Holyday nor 
Stapylton have imitated Juvenal in the poetical part of him — his diction and his elocution. Nor had 
they been poets, as neither of them were, yet, in the way they took, it was impossible for thorn to 
have succeeded iu the poetic part. 

The English verse, which we call heroic, consists of no more than ten syllables ; tho Latin 
hexameter sometimes rises to seventeen ; as, for example, this verse in Virgil 

" Pulverulenta putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum." 

Here is the difference of no less than seven syllables in a line, betwixt the English and the Latin. 
Now the medium of these is about fourteen syllables; because the dactyle is a more frequent foot iu 
hexameters than tho spondee. But Holyday, without considering that he wrote with the disadl 
of four syllables less in eveiy verse, endeavours to make one of his lines to comprehend the 
of one of Juvenal's. According to the falsity of the proposition was the success. He was forced to 
crowd his verse with ill-sounding monosyllables, of which our barbarous language affords him a 
wild plenty; and by that means ho arrived at his pedantic end, which l IB ■ literal 

translation. His verses have nothing of verse in them, but only the worsl p n i of ii the rhyi 
that, into tho bargain, is far from good. But, which is more intolerable, by cramming hii ■'■ 
and worse-sounding monosyllables so close together, the very sense which he endeavOUl 
is become more obscure than that of his author; so that Holyday himself cannot be undei 

oo a 



388 A DISCOURSE ON SATIRE. 



without as large a commentary as that which he makes on his two authors. For my own part, I 
can make a shift to find the meaning of Juvenal without his notes; but his translation is more 
difficult than his author. And I find beauties in the Latin to recompense my pains ; but, in Holyday 
and Stapylton, my ears, in the first place, are mortally offended ; and then their sense is so perplexed, 
that I return to the original, as the more pleasing task, as well as the more easy. 

This must be said for our translation, that, if we give not the whole sense of Juvenal, yet we give 
the most considerable part of it : we give it, in general, so clearly, that few notes are sufficient to 
make us intelligible. We make our author at least appear in a poetic dress. We have actually made 
him more sounding, and more elegant, than he was before in English ; and have endeavoured to make 
him speak that kind of English, which he would have spoken had he lived in England, and had 
written to this age. If sometimes any of us (and it is but seldom) make him express the customs 
and manners of our native country rather than of Rome, it is, either when there was some kind of 
analogy betwixt their customs and ours, or when, to make him more easy to vulgar understandings, 
we give him those manners which are familiar to us. But I defend not this innovation, it is enough 
if I can excuse it. For, to speak sincerely, the manners of nations and ages are not to be confounded ; 
we should either make them English, or leave them Roman. If this can neither be defended nor 
excused, let it be pardoned at least, because it is acknowledged; and so much the more easily, as 
being a fault which is never committed without some pleasure to the reader. 

Thus, my lord, having troubled you with a tedious visit, the best manners will be shown in the 
least ceremony. I will slip away while your back is turned, and while you are otherwise employed ; 
with great confusion for having entertained you so long with this discourse, and for having no other 
recompense to make you, than the worthy labours of my fellow-undertakers in this work, and the 
thankful acknowledgments, prayers, and perpetual good wishes, of, 

My Lord, 

Your lordship's most obliged, most humble, and most obedient Servant, 

JOHN DRYDEN. 



August Vs. 1692. 



THE FIRST SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



389 



THE 



FIRST SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The poet gives us first a kind of humorous reason for his 
writing: That being provoked by hearing so many ill 
poets rehearse their works, lie does himself justice on 
them, by giving them as bad as they bring. But since 
no man will rank himself with ill writers, 'tis easy to 
conclude, that if such wretches could draw an audience, 
he thought it no hard matter to excel them, and gain a 
greater esteem with the public. Next ho informs us 
more openly why he rather addicts himself to Satire, 
than any other kind of poetiy. And here he discovers 
that it is not so much his indignation to ill poets, as to 
ill men, which has prompted him to Write. lie therefore 
gives us a summary and general view of the vices and 
follies reigning in his time. So that this first Satire is 
the natural groundwork of all the rest. Herein he con- 
fines himself to no one subject, but strikes indifferently 
at all men in his way: in every following Satire he has 
chosen some particular moral which he would inculcate ; 
and lashes some particular vice or folly (an art with 
which our lampooners are not much acquainted). But 
our poet being desirous to reform his own age, and not 
daring to attempt it by an overt act of naming living 
persons, inveighs only against those who were infamous 
in the times immediately preceding his, whereby he not 
only gives a fair warning to great men, that their me- 
mory lies at the mercy of future poets and historians, 
but also, with a finer stroke of his pen, brands even the 
living, and personates them under dead men's names. 

I have avoided as much as I could possibly the borrowed 
learning of marginal notes and illustrations, and for that 
reason have translated this Satire somewhat largely; 
and freely own (if it be a fault) that 1 have likewise 
omitted most of the proper names, because I thought 
they would not much edify the reader. To conclude, if 
in two or three places I have deserted all the commen- 
tators, it is because they first deserted my author, or at 
least have left him in so much obscurity, that too much 
room is left for guessing. 



Still shall I hear, and never quit the score, 
Stunn'd with hoarse Codrus' Theseid, o'er and 

o'er] 
Shall this man's Elegies and t'other's Play 
Unpunish'd murder a long summer's day? 
Huge Telephus, a formidable page, s 

Cries vengeance ; and Orestes' bulky rage, 
Unsatisfied with margins closely writ, 
Foams o'er the covers, and not finish'd yet. 
No man can take a more familiar note 
Of his own home, than I of Vulcan's grot, 10 



Ver. 1. Still shall I hear,'] It is not without caution, and 
a fear of reprehension, that I venture to mention what may 
appear too personal, that when I first had the honour of 
presiding at Winchester school, I found the youths of the 
upper class were in the habit of frequently repeating, with- 
out book, the Satires of Juvenal. I soon perceived, that, 
from the multiplicity of allusions to Unman history, man- 
ners, customs, and opinions, they unavoidably could not 
understand half they repeated. And I also perceived that 
thoir compositions were unnaturally and Improperly tinc- 
tured with a mixture of Juvenal's harsh, far-fetched, me- 
taphorical, and tumid expressions, and of the purity of 
Virgil and Horace. I therefore laid aside the practice, and 
adhered closely and solely to the two last-mentioned au- 
thors. After our author himself has so clearly and co- 
piously, in his dedication, marked the charaoterlstical 
differences betwixt Horace and Juvenal, it would be vain 
and superfluous to attempt to add any thing on a subject 
so exhausted. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 2. Codrus] Or it may bo Cordus, a bad poet who 
wrote the life and actions of Theseus. 



Ver. 5. 
Ver. 6. 



Telephus,] Tho name of a tragedy. 
■ Orestes] Another tragedy. 



Or Mars his grove, or hollow winds that blow 
From ^Etna's top, or tortured ghosts below. 
I know by rote the famed exp oco ; 

The Centaurs' fury, and the golden Qeaoe ; 
Through the thick shades th' eternal scribbler 
bawls, •* 

And shakes the statues on their pedestals. 
The best and worst on the same theme employs 
His muse, and plagues us with an equal noise. 

Provoked by thi ihlo fools, 

I left declaiming in pedantic schools; * 

Where, with men boj -. 1 strove to got renown, 
Advising Sylla to a private gown. 
But, since the world with writing is possoss'd, 
I'll versify in spite; and do my b( 
To make as much waste paper OS the n a 

But why I lift aloft the Satire's rod, 
And tread the path which famed Lucilius trod, 
Attend the causes which my Muse have led : 
When sapless eunuchs mount the marriage-bed, 
When mannish Mevia, that two-handed whore, M 
Astride on horseback hunts the Tuscan boar, 
When all our lords are by his wealth outvied, 
Whose razor on my callow beard was tried ; 
When I behold the spawn of conquer'd Nile, 
Crispinus, both in birth and manners vile, 
Pacing in pomp, with cloak of Tynan dye, 
Changed oft a day for needless luxury ; 
And finding oft occasion to be fann'd, 
Ambitious to produce his lady-hand ; 
Charged with light summer-rings his fingers sweat, 
Unable to support a gem of weight : 
Such fulsome objects meeting everywhere, 
'Tis hard to write, but harder to foi 

To view so lewd a town, and to refrain, 
What hoops of iron could my spleen contain ! ** 
When pleading Matho, borne abroad for air, 
With his fat paunch fills his uew-fashion'd chair, 
And after him the wretch in pomp convey'd, 
Whose evidence his lord and friend betray'd, 
And but tho wish'd occasion docs attend 
From the poor nobles the last spoils to rend, 
Whom ev'u spies dread as their superior Bend, 
And bribe with presents; or, when presents fail, 
They send their prostituted wives for boil : 

Ver. ii. Mars his grove,] Some commentator! 

take this grove to in- a place where poets were used 
peat thelrworks t" the people; but, more probably, both 
this and Vulcan's grot, or cave, and the real "I the pi 
and names bare mentioned, are only meant for the common- 
places of Homer, in his Iliads and OdyaseyS. 

Ver. 17. The best and worst] That is the best and the 
worst poets. 

Ver. 20. I left declaiming] But he did not forsake his 
declamatory style. Dr. J. WARTOH. 

Ver. 22. .-i" ; "'"' of the themes 

given in the schools of rhetoricians, in the deuberatrre 
kind: Whether Sylls should la] down thesupi 
of dictatorship, or still keep it. 

Ver. 27. Lucilius] The first satirist of tho Romans, 

who wrote long before Horace. 

Ver. 80. Mevia,] A. name put for any Impudent 

or mannish woman. 

Yer. 88. Whoso razor, &c| Jurat n '" r 

grown wealthy. 

Ver. 86. < "°" ,,v ,,i * 

riches transformed Into • nobleman, 

Ver. 40. ' 
Romans were grown bo eflemlns 

iron Ught rings In the summer, and nea»Mf in u>« 
winter. 

v , r ,, ; . unoui lawyer, iDonibnct 

in other places by Juvenal and ttaruaL 



390 



THE FIRST SATIRE OP JUVENAL. 



"When night-performance holds the place of merit, 

And brawn and back the next of kin disherit; 56 

For such good parts are in preferment's way, 

The rich old madam never fails to pay 

Her legacies, by Nature's standard given, 

One gains an ounce, another gains eleven : 60 

A dear-bought bargain, all things duly weigh'd, 

For which their thrice concocted blood is paid : 

With looks as wan, as he who in the brake 

At unawares has trod upon a snake ; 

Or play'd at Lyons a declaiming prize, 65 

For which the vanquish'd rhetorician dies. 

What indignation boils within my veins, 
When perjured guardians, proud with impious 

gains, 
Choke up the streets, too narrow for their trains ! 
Whose wards by want betray'd, to crimes are led 70 
Too foul to name, too fulsome to be read ! 
When he who pill'd his province 'scapes the laws, 
And keeps his money, though he lost his cause : 
His fine begg'd off, contemns his infamy, 
Can rise at twelve, and get him drunk ere three : " 5 
Enjoys his exile, and, condemn'd in vain, 
Leaves thee, prevailing province, to complain ! 

Such villanies roused Horace into wrath : 
And 'tis, more noble to pursue his path, 
Than an old tale of Diomede to repeat, m 

Or labouring after Hercules to sweat, 
Or wandering in the winding maze of Crete ; 
Or with the winged smith aloft to fly, 
Or fluttering perish with his foolish boy. 

With what impatience must the Muse behold M 
The wife, by her procuring husband sold 1 
For though the law makes null th.' adulterer's 

deed 
Of lands to her, the cuckold may succeed ; 
Who his taught eyes up to the ceiling throws, 
And sleeps all over but his wakeful nose. 90 

When he dares hope a colonel's command, 
Whose coursers kept, ran out his father's land ; 
Who, yet a stripling, Nero's chariot drove, 
WhhTd o'er the streets, while his vain master 

strove 
With boasted art to please his eunuch-love. M 

Would it not make a modest author dare 
To draw his table-book within the square, 
And fill with notes, when lolling at his ease, 
Mecosnas-like, the happy rogue he sees 
Borne by six wearied slaves in open view, 10 ° 

Who cancell'd an old will, and forged a new ; 
Made wealthy at the small expense of signing 
With a wet seal, and a fresh interlining 1 

The lady, next, requires a lashing line, 
Who squeezed a toad into her husband's wine : 105 



Ver. 65. 



- at Lyons] A city in Prance, where an- 



nual sacrifices and games were made in honour of Augustus 
Csesar. 

Ver. 77. 'prevailing province, &c] Here the poet 

complains that the governors of provinces, heing accused 
for their unjust exactions, though they were condemned at 
their trials, yet got off by bribery. 

Ver. 78. ■ Horace] Who wrote satires : 'tis more 

noble, says our author, to imitate him in that way, than to 
write the labours of Hercules, the sufferings of Dioiuedes 
and his followers, or the flight of Dsedalus who made the 
labyrinth, and the death of his son Icarus. 

Ver. 95. ■ his eunuch-love.'] Nero married Sporus, 

an eunuch ; though it may be the poet meant Nero's mis- 
tress in man's apparel. 

Ver. 99. Mecosnas-like,] Mecajnas is often taxed by 
Seneca and others for his effeminacy. 



So well the fashionable med'cine thrives, 
That now 'tis practised ev'n by country wives : 
Poisoning, without regard of fame or fear : 
And spotted corps are frequent on the bier. 
Would'st thou to honours and preferments climb? 
Be bold in mischief, dare some mighty crime, 1U 
Which dungeons, death, or banishment deserves : 
For virtue is but drily praised, and sterves. 
Great men, to great crimes, owe their plate 

emboss'd, 
Fair palaces, and furniture of cost ; 116 

And high commands : a sneaking sin is lost. 
AVho can behold that rank old lecher keep 
His son's corrupted wife, and hope to sleep ? 
Or that male-harlot, or that unfledged boy, 
Eager to sin, before he can enjoy 1 120 

If nature could not, anger would indite 
Such woful stuff as I or Shadwell write. 

Count from the time, since old Deucalion's boat, 
Raised by the flood, did on Parnassus float ; 
And scarcely mooring on the cliff, implored J 25 
An oracle how man might be restored; 
When soften'd stones and vital breath ensued, 
And virgins naked were by lovers view'd ; 
What ever since that Golden Age was done, 
What human kind desires, and what they shun, 130 
Rage, passions, pleasures, impotence of will, 
Shall this satirical collection fill. 

What age so large a crop of vices bore, 
Or when was avarice extended more ? 
When were the dice with more profusion thrown ] 
The well-fill'd fob not emptied now alone, 136 

But gamesters for whole patrimonies play; 
The steward brings the deeds which must convey 
The lost estate : what more than madness reigns, 
When one short sitting many hundreds drains, 140 
And not enough is left him to supply 
Board-wages, or a footman's livery ? 

What age so many summer-seats did see 1 
Or which of our forefathers fared so well, 
As on seven dishes, at a private meal 1 145 

Clients of old were feasted ; now a poor 
Divided dole is dealt at th' outward door ; 
Which by the hungry rout is soon dispatch'd : 
The paltry largess, too, severely watch'd 
Ere given ; and every face observed with care, 15 ° 
That no intruding guest usurp a share. 
Known, you receive : the crier calls aloud 
Our old nobility of Trojan blood, 
Who gape among the crowd for their precarious 

food. 
The prastors' and the tribunes' voice is heard ; 155 
The freedman jostles, and will be preferr'd ; 
First come, first served, he cries ; and I, in spite 
Of your great lordships, will maintain my right. 
Though born a slave, though my torn ears are 

bored, 
'Tis not the birth, tis money makes the lord. 16 ° 



Ver. 118. and hope to sleep f] The meaning is, 

that the very consideration of such a crime, will hinder a 
virtuous man from taking his repose. 

Ver. 123. Deucalion and Pyrrha, when the world was 
drowned, escaped to the top of Mount Parnassus ; and were 
commanded to restore mankind by throwing stones over 
their heads. The stones he threw became men, and those 
she threw became women. 

Ver. 159. though my torn ears are bored,] The 

ears of all slaves were bored as a mark of their servitude ; 
which custom is still usual in the East Indies, and in other 
parts, even for whole nations ; who bore prodigious holes 
in their ears, and wear vast weights at them. 



THE FIRST SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 






The rent of five fair houses I receive; 

What greater honours can the purple give? 

The poor patrician is reduced to keep, 

In melancholy walks, a grazier's sheep : 

Not Pallas nor Licinius had my treasure ; 165 

Then let the sacred tribunes wait my leisure. 

Once a poor rogue, 'tis true, I trod the street, 

And trudged to Rome upon my naked feet : 

Gold is the greatest god ; though yet we see 

No temples raised to Money's majesty, W 

No altars fuming to her power divine, 

Such as to Valour, Peace, and Virtue shine, 

And Faith, and Concord : where the stork on high 

Seems to salute her infant progeny : 

Presaging pious love with her auspicious cry. 175 

But since our knights and senators account 
To what their sordid begging vails amount, 
Judge what a wretched share the poor attends, 
Whose whole subsistence on those alms depends ! 
Their household fire, their raiment, and their food, 
Prevented by those harpies ; when a wood 1(il 
Of littera thick besiege the donor's gate, 
And begging lords and teeming ladies wait 
The promised dole : nay, some have learn'd thetrick 
To beg for absent persons ; feign them sick, 185 
Close mew'd in their sedans, for fear of air : 
And for their wives produce an empty chair. 
This is my spouse : dispatch her with her share. 
'Tis Galla : Let her ladyship but peep : 
No, Sir, 'tis pity to disturb her sleep. IM 

Such fine employments our whole days divide : 
The salutations of the morning-tide 
Call up the sun ; those ended, to the hall 
We wait the patron, hear the lawyers bawl ; 
Then to the statues ; where amidst the race 195 
Of conquering Rome, some Arab shows his face, 
Inscribed with titles, and profanes the place ; 
Fit to be piss'd against, and somewhat more. 
The great man, home conducted, shuts his door ; 
Old clients, wearied out with fruitless care, 20 ° 
Dismiss their hopes of eating, and despair. 
Though much against the grain forced to retire, 
Buy roots for supper, and provide a fire. 

Ver. 163. The poor patrician] The poor nobleman. 

Ver. 165. ■ — — Pallas nor Licinius] Pallas, a slave 
freed by Claudius Caesar, and raised by bis favour to great 
riches. Liciuius was another wealthy frecdinan, belonging 
to Augustus. 

Ver. 173. where the stork on high, &c.] Perhaps 

the storks were used to build on the top of the temple de- 
dicated to Concord. 

Ver. 181. Prevented by those harpies;] He calls the 
Roman knights, &c. harpies, or devonrei'B. In those days 
the rich made doles intended for the poor; but the great 
were either so covetous, or so needy, that they came in 
their litters to demand their shares of the largess; and 
thereby prevented, and consequently starved the poor. 

Ver. 189. 'Tis Galla, &c] The meaning is, that no- 
blemen would cause empty litters to he carried to the 
giver's door, pretending their wives were within them : 
'Tis Galla, that is, my wife. The next words, Let her lady- 
ship but peep, arc of the servant who distributes the dole; 
let me see her, that I may be sure she is within the litter. 
The husband answers, She is asleep, and to open the litter 
would disturb her rest. 

Ver. 195. Then to the statues, &c] The poet here tells 
you bow the idle passed their time: in going first I" tl»- 
levees of the great, then to the hall, that is, to the temple 
o." Apollo, to hear the lawyers plead, then to the market- 
place of Augustus, where the statues of the famous Romans 
were set in ranks on pedestals; amongst which statues 
wero seen those of foreigners, such as Arabs dVo. ; who, for 
no desert, but only on the account of their wealth, or favour, 
were placed amongst the noblest. 



Meantime his lordship lolls within tit esse, 
Pampering his paunch with foreign rantisa, ** 
Both sen ami land are ran lack'd for the . 

And his own gut the sole invil 

.Such plate, such tables, difihe I t»ell, 

That whole estates arc swallow'd at a '.. 

Ev'n parasites are banish'd from bis board : ila 

CB a sordid and luxurious loi 
Prodigious throat, for which wholo bo» -6 are 

dress'd ; 
(A creature forzn'd to furnish out a feast.) 
lint present punishment pursues his maw, 

i surfeited and swelid, the peacock r ,\V :,i 
He bears into the bath ; whence want of breath, 
Repletions, apoplex, intestate death. 
His fate makes table talk, divulged with scorn, 
And he, a jest, into his grave is borne. 

No age can go beyond us : future times m , 

Can add no farther to the present crimes. 
Our sons but the same things can wish and do ; 
Vice is at stand, and at the highest (low; 
Then, Satire, spread thy sails; take all the winds 

can blow. 
Some may, perhaps, domand what Muse can 

yield 
Sufficient strength for such a spacious field? 
From whence can be derived so Lai 
Bold truths to speak, and spoken to maintain ; 
When goddike freedom is so far bereft 
The noble mind, that scarce the name is left? ao 
Ere scandalum maynalum was begot, 
No matter if the great forgave or not : 
But if that honest licence now you take, 
If into rogues omnipotent you rake, 
Death is your doom, impaled upon a stake. •* 
Smear'd o'er with wax, and set on (ire, to Light 
The streets, and make a dreadful blaze by night 

Shall they, who dreneh'd throe uncles in a 
draught 
Of poisonous juice, be then in triumph brought, 
Make lanes among the people where thi 
And, mounted high on downy chariots, throw 
Disdainful glances on the crowd below ? 
Be silent, and beware, if such you 
'Tis defamation but to say, That 's he ! 

Against bold Turnus the great Trojan arm, :ti 
Amidst their strokes the poet gets no harm : 
Achilles may in epic verse l» 
And none of all his Myrmidons complain : 
Hylas may drop his pitcher, none will cry ; 
Not if he drown himself for company : 
But when Lucilius brandishes bis pen, 
And flashes in the nice of guilty men, 
A cold sweat stands in drops on every part; 
And rage succeeds 1 b to smart 

Muse, 1m- advised ; 'tis past considering time, *** 
When enter'd once the dangerous Lists of rhyme : 
Since none the living villains dan- implead, 
Arraign them in the persons of the dead. 

Ver. 281. S>« scandalnm] A strange Introdi 

offence purely Em.'lisl". followed Immediately 

i 

ladyship; and his lordship, 

Vc-r MS, 
write an heroic poem, such a- thai • -i \ 
the duel of Turnus ana A 
of Achilles and Hector; or llu> death ol I 
- i",.r water, di 
11 aftar lb Hut 'Us danseroiu to writ* 
satire like Lucilius. 



THE 



THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The story of this Satire speaks itself. Umbritius, the sup- 
posed friend of Juvenal, and himself a poet, is leaving 
Rome, and retiring to Cumae. Our author accompanies 
him out of town. Before they take leave of each other, 
Umbritius tells his friend the reasons which oblige him 
to lead a private life, in an obscure place. He complains 
that an honest man cannot get his bread at Rome. That 
none but flatterers make their fortunes there. That 
Grecians and other foreigners raise themselves by those 
sordid arts which he describes, and against which he 
bitterly inveighs. He reckons up the several incon- 
veniences which arise from a city life; and the many 
dangers which attend it. Upbraids the noblemen with 

' covetousness, for not rewarding good poets ; and arraigns 
the government for starving them. The great art of this 
Satire is particularly shown, in common-places ; and 
drawing in as many vices as could naturally fall into 
the compass of it. 

Grieved though I am an ancient friend to lose, 

I like the solitary seat he chose : 

In quiet Cumse fixing his repose : 

Where, far from noisy Eome secure he lives, 

And one more citizen to Sibyl gives : 5 

The road to Bajae, and that soft recess, 

"Which all the gods with all their bounty bless. 

Though I in Prochyta with greater ease 

Could live, than in a street of palaces. 

What scene so desert, or so full of fright, 10 

As towering houses tumbling in the night, 

And Rome on fire beheld by its own blazing 

light? 
But worse than all, the clattering tiles ; and worse 
Than thousand padders, is the poet's curse. 
Rogues that in dog-days cannot rhyme forbear : 15 
But without mercy read, and make you hear. 
Now while my friend, just ready to depart, 
Was packing all his goods in one poor cart-; 
He stopp'd a little at the Conduit-gate, 
Where Numa modell'd once the Roman state, 20 
In mighty councils with his Nymph retired : 
Though now the sacred shades and founts are 

hired 
By banish'd Jews, who their whole wealth can 

lay 
In a small basket, on a wisp of hay ; 
Yet such our avarice is, that every tree M 

Pays for his head ; nor sleep itself is free : 
Nor place, nor persons, now are sacred held, 
From their own grove the Muses are expell'd. 
Into this lonely vale our steps we bend, 
I and my sullen discontented friend : ^ 



Ver. 3. 



Cumas] 



A small city in Campania, near 
Puteoli, or Puzzolo, as it is called. The habitation of the 
Cmnsean Sibyl. 

Ver. 6. Sajce,"] Another little town in Campania, 

near the sea: a pleasant place. 

Ver. 8. Prochyta] A small barren island belonging to 
the kingdom of Naples. 

Ver. 15. in dog-days] The poets in Juvenal's 

time used to rehearse their poetry in August. 

Ver. 20. Numa] The second king of Rome ; who 

made their laws, and instituted their religion. 

Ver. 21. Nymph] Nigeria, a nymph, or goddess ; 

with whom JSIuma feigned to converse by night ; and to be 
instructed by her, in modelling his superstitions. 



The marble caves, and aqueducts we view ; 

But how adulterate now, and different from the 

true ! 
How much more beauteous had the fountain been 
Embellish'd with her first created green, 
Where crystal streams through living turf had 

run, 3* 

Contented with an urn of native stone ! 

Then thus Umbritius (with an angry frown, 
And looking back on this degenerate town) : 
Since noble arts in Rome have no support, 
And ragged virtue not a friend at court, i0 

No profit rises from th ungrateful stage, 
My poverty increasing with my age, 
'Tis time to give my just disdain a vent, 
And, cursing, leave so base a government. 
Where Daedalus his borrow'd wings laid by, * 
To that obscure retreat I choose to fly : 
While yet few furrows on my face are seen, 
While I walk upright, and old age is green, 
And Lachesis has somewhat left to spin. 
Now, now 'tis time to quit this cursed place, m 
And hide from villains my too honest face : 
Here let Arturius live, and such as he : 
Such manners will with such a town agree. 
Knaves who in full assemblies have the knack 
Of turning truth to lies, and white to black ; 65 
Can hire large houses, and oppress the poor 
By farm'd excise ; can cleanse the common-shore; 
And rent the fishery ; can bear the dead; 
And teach their eyes dissembled tears to shed, 
All this for gain ; for gain they sell their very 

head. w 

These fellows (see what fortune's power can do) 
Were once the minstrels of a country show : 
Follow'd the prizes through each paltry town, 
By trumpet-cheeks and bloated faces known. 
But now, grown rich, on drunken holidays, w 

At their own costs exhibit public plays ; 
Where influenced by the rabble's bloody will, 
With thumbs bent back, they popularly kill. 
From thence return'd, their sordid avarice rakes 
In excrements again, and hires the jakes. 70 

Why hire they not the town, not every thing, 
Since such as they have fortune in a string ) 
Who, for her pleasure, can her fools advance ; 
And toss 'em topmost on the wheel of chance. 
What's Rome to me, what business have I there, 75 
I who can neither lie, nor falsely swear] 

Ver. 31. The marble, caves,] The preference here given 
to the beauties of simple nature above those of art, is re- 
markable. — The lines of the original are worth quoting, as 
written in a pure taste, and very different from the turgid 
declamatory style into which Juvenal too frequently falls : 

" Quanto prsestantius esset 

Numen aquae viridi si margine clauderet undas 
Herba, nee ingenuum violarent marmora tophum." 

The translation is quite equal, if not superior. Violarent 
is a strong and emphatical word, but is answered by adul- 
terate ; as is ingenuum by living turf, and contented. Dr. J. 
Waeton. 

Ver. 45. Where Daedalus, &c] Meaning at Cumaj. 

Ver. 49. ■ Lachesis] One of the three Destinies, 

whose office was to spin the life of every man : as it was of 
Clotho to hold the distaff, and Atropos to cut the thread. 

Ver. 52. Arturius] Any debauched wicked fellow who 
gains by the times. 

Ver. 68. With thumbs bent back,] In a prize of sword- 
players, when one of the fencers had the other at his mercy, 
the vanquished party implored the clemency of the spec- 
tators. If they thought he deserved it not, they held up 
their thumbs and bent them backwards, in sign of death. 



THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 






Nor praise my patron's undeserving rhymes, 

Nor yet comply with him, nor with his times ; 

Unskill'd in schemes by planets to foreshow, 

Like canting rascals, how the wars will go : ^ 

I neither will, nor can prognosticate, 

To the young gaping heir, his father's fate : 

Nor in the entrails of a toad have pried, 

Nor carried bawdy presents to a bride : 

For want of these town-virtues, thus, alone, m 

I go conducted on my way by none : 

Like a dead member from the body rent ; 

Maim'd, and unuseful to the government. 

Who now is loved, but he who loves the times, 
Conscious of close intrigues, and dipp'd in crimes ; 
Labouring with secrets which his bosom burn, 91 
Yet never must to public light return ? 
They get reward alone who can betray : 
For keeping honest counsels none will pay. 
He who can Verres, when he will, accuse, 9i 

The purse of Verres may at pleasure use : 
But let not all the gold which Tagus hides, 
And pays the sea in tributary tides, 
Be bribe sufficient to corrupt thy breast ; 
Or violate with dreams thy peaceful rest. ,0 ° 

Great men with jealous eyes the friend behold, 
Whose secrecy they purchase with their gold. 

I haste to tell thee, nor shall shame oppose, 
What confidants our wealthy Romans chose : 
And whom I most abhor : to speak my mind, 105 
I hate, in Rome, a Grecian town to find : 
To see the scum of Greece transplanted here, 
Received like gods, is what I cannot bear. 
Nor Greeks alone, but Syrians here abound ; 
Obscene Orontes diving under ground, uo 

Conveys his wealth to Tyber's hungry shores, 
And fattens Italy with foreign whores : 
Hither their crooked harps and customs come : 
All find receipt in hospitable Rome. 
The barbarous harlots crowd the public place : 11B 
Go, fools, and purchase an unclean embrace ; 
The painted mitre court, and the more painted 

face. 
Old Romulus and father Mars look down, 
Your herdsmen primitive, your homely clown, 
Is turn'd a beau in a loose tawdry gown. 12 ° 

His once unkemb'd, and horrid locks, behold 
Stilling sweet oil : his neck inchain'd with gold; 
Aping the foreigners, in every dress ; 
Which, bought at greater cost, becomes him less. 
Meantime they wisely leave their native land ; '-•' 
From Sicyon, Samos, and from Alaband, 
And Amydon, to Rome they swarm in shoals ; 
So sweet and easy is the gain from fools. 
Poor refugees at first, they purchase here : 
And, soon as denizen'd, they domineer. I3 ° 

Grow to the great, a flattering servile rout : 
Work themselves inward, and their patrons out. 



Ver. 95. Verres,"] Pra>tor in Sicily, contemporary 

with Cicero; by whom accused of oppressing the province! 

he was condemned: his name is used here for any rich 
vicious man. 

Ver. 97. Tagus] A famous river in Spain, which 

discharges itself into tin' ocean near Lisbon in Portugal. 
It was held of old to be full of golden sands. 

Ver. 110. Orontrs] The greatest river of Syria: the 
poet here puts the river for the Inhabitants of Syria. 

Ver. 111. Tuber'] The river which runs by Rome. 

Ver. 118. Romulus,] First king of Koine ; son of 

Mars, as the poets feign: the first Konians were originally 
herdsmen. 



Quick-witted, brazen-faced, with fluent tongues, 

Patient of labours, and dissembling wrongs. 

Riddle me this, and guess him if you can, lls 

Who bears a nation in a single man i 

A cook, a conjurer, a rhetorician, 

A painter, pedant, a geometrician, 

A dinner on the ropes, and a physician. 

All tilings the hungry (ircck exactly knows: 1<u 

And bid him go to heaven, to heaven lie goes. 

In short, no Scythian, Moor, or Tbracian born, 

lint in that town which arms and arts adorn. 

Shall he be placed above me at the board, 

In purple clothed, and lolling like a lord f l4i 

Shall he before rue sign, whom i other day 

A Bmall-craft vessel hither did convey; 

Where stow'd withpruni -.and rotten figs, he lay? 

How little is the privilt \ 

Of being born a citizen of R >me ! uo 

The Greeks get all by fulsome flatteries ; 

A most peculiar stroke they have at lies. 

They make a wit of their insipid friend ; 

His blobber-lfps, and beetle-brows commend ; 

His long crane neck, and narrow shoulders praise ; 

You'd think they were describing Hercules. "' 

A creaking voice for a clear treble goes ; 

Though harsher than a cock that treads and crows. 

We can as grossly praise : but, to our grief, 

No flattery but from Grecians gains belief. 16 ° 

Besides these qualities, we must agree 

They mimic better on the stage than we : 

The wife, the whore, the shepherdess they play, 

In such a free, and such a graceful way, 

That we believe a very woman shown, 16i 

And fancy something underneath the gown. 

But not Antiochus, nor Stratocles, 

Our ears and ravish'd eyes can only please : 

The nation is composed of such as these. 

All Greece is one comedian : laugh, and they 1JV 

Return it louder than an ass can bray : 

Grieve, and they grieve ; if you weep silently, 

There seems a silent echo in their eye ; 

They cannot mourn like you, but they can cry. 

Call for a fire, their winter clotlies they take : '"■• 

Begin but you to shiver, and they shake : 

In frost and snow, if you complain of heat, 

They rub th' unsweating brow, and swear they 

sweat. 
We live not on the square witli such as these, 
Such are our betters who can better please : "" 
Who day and night are like a lookmg-gl 
Still ready to reflect their patron's I 
The panegyric hand, and lifted eye, 
Prepared for some new piece of flattery. 
Ev'n nastiness, occasions will afford ; 
They praise a belching, or well-pissing lord. 
Besides, there 's nothing sacred, nothing free 
From bold attempts of their rank lechery. 
Through the whole family their labours run; 
The daughter is debauch'd, the wife is won : 
Nor 'scapes the bridegroom, or the blooming son. 
If none they find for their lewd purposi 
They with the walls and verj mmiU 

search the secrets of tin' hou 

Are WOIBhipp'd there, and fcaid for what they 
know. 

Ver. 148. P'it in Ihnl Mirn. Ac] He mean* Atti. 
which l'ulla . ■! arms and art*, wu pair 

Ver. 107. Ami" Two famooa 

i mimics, or acton, In <<■■ 



394 



THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



And, now we talk of Grecians, cast a view 
On what, in schools, their men of morals do ; 
A rigid Stoic his own pupil slew : 
A friend, against a friend of his own cloth, 
Turn'd evidence, and murder'd on his oath. 200 
What room is left for Romans in a town 
Where Grecians rule, and cloaks control the 

gown 1 
Some Diphilus, or some Protogenes, 
Look sharply out, our senators to seize : 
Engross 'em wholly, by their native art, 205 

And fear'd no rivals in their bubbles' heart ; 
One drop of poison in my patron's ear, 
One slight suggestion of a senseless fear, 
Infused with cunning, serves to ruin me ; 
Disgraced, and banish'd from the family. 210 

In vain forgotten services I boast ; 
My long dependance in an hour is lost : 
Look round the world, what country will appear, 
Where friends are left with greater ease than 

here ? 
At Rome (nor think me partial to the poor) 215 
All offices of ours are out of door : 
In vain we rise, and to their levees run ; 
My lord himself is up, before, and gone : 
The praetor bids his lictors mend their pace, 
Lest his colleague outstrip him in the race : 22 ° 
The childless matrons are, long since, awake ; 
And, for affronts, the tardy visits take. 

'Tis frequent, here, to see a free-born son 
On the left hand of a rich hireling run : 
Because the wealthy rogue can throw away, 225 
For half a brace of bouts, a tribune's pay : 
But you, poor sinner, though you love the vice, 
And like the whore, demur upon the price : 
And, frighted with the wicked sum, forbear 
To lend a hand, and help her from the chair. 23 ° 

Produce a witness of unblemish'd life, 
Holy as Numa, or as Numa's wife, 
Or him who bid th' unhallow'd flames retire, 
And snatch'd the trembling goddess from the fire. 
The question is not put, how far extends 235 

His piety, but what he yearly spends ; 
Quick, to the business ; how he lives and eats ; 
How largely gives ; how splendidly he treats : 
How many thousand acres feed his sheep ; 
What are his rents 1 what servants does he keep % 
Th' account is soon cast up ; the judges rate 241 
Our credit in the court by our estate. 
Swear by our gods, or those the Greeks adore, 
Thou art as sure forsworn, as thou art poor : 
The poor must gain their bread by perjury ; 245 
And e'en the gods, that other means deny, 
In conscience must absolve 'em, when they lie. 

Add, that the rich have still a gibe in store ; 
And will be monstrous witty on the poor : 
For the torn surtout and the tatter'd vest, 250 

The wretch and all his wardrobe are a jest: 
The greasy gown, sullied with often turning, 
Gives a good hint, to say, The man 's in mourning : 
Or if the shoe be ript, or patches put, 
He 's wounded ! see the plaister on his foot. 255 



Ver. 198. A rigid. Stoic, &c] Publius Egnatius, a Stoic, 
falsely accused Bareas Soranus ; as Tacitus tells us. 

Ver. 203. Diphilus and Protogenes were Grecians living 
in Rome. 

Ver. 233. Or him who bid, &c] Lucius Metellus, the 
high priest ; who, when the temple of Vesta was on fire, 
saved the Palladium. 



Want is the scorn of every wealthy fool ; 
And wit in rags is turn'd to ridicule. 

Pack hence, and from the cover'd benches rise, 
(The master of the ceremonies cries) 
This is no place for you, whose small estate 2M 
Is not the value of the settled rate : 
The sons of happy punks, the pandar's heir, 
Are privileged to sit in triumph there, 
To clap the first, and rule the theatre. 
Up to the galleries, for shame, retreat ; 2C5 

For, by the Roscian law, the poor can claim no 

seat. 
Who ever brought to his rich daughter's bed 
The man that poll'd but twelvepence for his head ? 
Who ever named a poor man for his heir, 
Or call'd him to assist the judging chair? s "° 

The poor were wise, who, by the rich oppress'd, 
AVithdrew, and sought a sacred place of rest. 
Once they did well, to free themselves from scorn; 
But had done better never to return. 
Rarely they rise by virtue's aid, who lie T,! ' 

Plunged in the depth of helpless poverty. 

At Rome 'tis worse ; where house-rent by the 

year, 
And servants' bellies cost so devilish dear ; 
And tavern-bills ran high for hungry cheer. 
To drink or eat in earthenware we scorn, 280 

Which cheaply country cupboards does adorn : 
And coarse blue hoods on holidays are worn. 
Some distant parts of Italy are known, 
Where none, but only dead men, wear a gown : 
On theatres of turf, in homely state, 285 

Old plays they act, old feasts they celebrate : 
The same rude song returns upon the crowd, 
And, by tradition, is for wit allow'd. 
The mimic yearly gives the same delights ; 
And in the mother's arms the clownish, infant 

frights. sm 

Their habits (undistinguish'd by degree) 
Are plain, alike ; the same simplicity, 
Both on the stage, and in the pit, you see. 
In his white cloak the magistrate appears ; 
The country bumpkin the same livery wears. 295 
But here, attired beyond our purse we go, 
For useless ornament and flaunting show : 
We take on trust, in purple robes to shine ; 
And poor, are yet ambitious to be fine. 
This is a common vice, though all things here 30 ° 
Are sold, and sold unconscionably dear. 
What will you give that Cossus may but view 
Your face, and in the crowd distinguish you ; 
May take your incense like a gracious god, 
And answer only with a civil nod 1 30s 

To please our patrons, in this vicious age, 
We make our entrance by the favourite page ; 
Shave his first down, and when he polls his hair, 
The consecrated locks to temples bear : 
Pay tributary cracknels, which he sells, 310 

And, with our offerings, help to raise his vails. 

Who fears, in country towns, a house's fall, 
Or to be caught betwixt a riven wall 1 

Ver. 266. For, by the Roscian law, &c] Roscius, a tribune, 
who ordered the distinction of places in public shows, be- 
twixt the noblemen of Rome and the plebeians. 

Ver. 284. Where none, but only dead men, &c] The 
meaning is, that men in some parts of Italy never wore a 
gown (the usual habit of the Romans) till they were buried 
in one. 

Ver. 302. Cossus Cossus is here taken for any great 



THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 






But we inhabit a weak city here ; 

Which buttresses and props but scarcely bear : 3:: ' 

And 'tis the village mason's daily calling, 

To keep the world's metropolis from falling, 

To cleanse the gutters, and the chinks to close, 

And, for one night, secure his lord's repose. 

At (JumEe we can sleep, quite round the year, *-'" 

Nor falls, nor fires, nor nightly dangers fear ; 

While rolling flames from Roman turrets fly, 

And the pale citizens for buckets cry. 

Thy neighbour has removed his wretched store 

(Few hands will rid the lumber of the poor) 3 ' 25 

Thy own third story smokes, while thou, supine, 

Art drench'd in fumes of undigested wine. 

For if the lowest floors already burn, 

Cock-lofts and garrets soon will take the turn. 

Where thy tame pigeons next the tiles were bred, 

Which, in their nests unsafe, are timely fled. wl 

Codrus had but one bed, so short to boot, 
That his short wife's short legs hung dangling out; 
His cupboard's head six earthen pitchers graced, 
Beneath 'em was his trusty tankard placed. 335 
And, to support this noble plate, there lay 
A bending Chiron cast from honest clay ; 
His few Greek books a rotten chest contain'd ; 
Whose covers much of mouldiness complain'd : 
Where mice and rats devour'd poetic bread ; 34 ° 
And with heroic verse luxuriously were fed. 
'Tis true, poor Codrus nothing had to boast, 
And yet poor Codrus all that nothing lost. 
Begg'd naked through the streets of wealthy 

Rome ; 
And found not one to feed, or take him home. W5 

But if the palace of Arfcurius bum, 
The nobles change their clothes, the matrons 

mourn ; 
The city praetor will no pleadings hear; 
The very name of fire we hate and fear ; 
And look aghast, as if the Gauls were here. S5C 
While yet it bums, th' officious nation flies, 
Some to condole, and some to bring supplies : 
One sends him marble to rebuild, and one 
White naked statues of the Parian stone, 
The work of Polyclete, that seem to live ; SM 

While others images for altars give ; 
One books and screens, and Pallas to the breast ; 
Another bags of gold, and he gives best. 
Childless Arturius, vastly rich before, 
Thus by his losses multiplies his store : 
Suspected for accomplice to the fire, 
That burnt his palace but to build it higher. 

But, could you be content to bid adieu 
To the dear play-house, and the players too : 
Sweet country-seats are purchased everywhere, 3M 
With lands and gardens, at less price than here 
You hire a darksome doghole by the year. 
A small convenience, decently prepared, 
A shallow well, that rises in your yard, 
That spreads his easy crystal streams around, 3 '° 
And waters all the pretty spot of ground. 
There, love the fork, thy garden cultivate, 
And give thy frugal friends a Pythagorean treat. 

Ver. 330. Where thy tame pigeons, &c] The Romans 
used to breed their tamo pigeons in their garrets. 

Vcr. 332. Codrus] A learned man, very poor: by liis 
books supposed to be a poet; for, in ail probability, the 
heroic verses here mentioned, which rats and mice de- 
voured, were Homer's works. 

Ver. 373. a Pythagorean treat,] He means herbs, 

roots, fruits, and salads. 



'Tis somewhat to be lord of some small ground, 
In which a lizard may. at least, turn round. W 

Tis frequent, here, for want of sleep to die; 
Which funics of und 
And, witli imperfect heat, in 
What house secure from noise tin: poor can 
When cv'n the rich can scarce afford to Bleep 
So dear it costs to purchase rest in Rome; 
And hence the sources of diseases coine. 
The drover who his fellow -drover i< 

In narrow passages of windii ^ 

The waggoners, tl their standing teams, 

Would wake ov'n drOVi from his dreams. 

And yet the wealthy will not brook delay. 

But sweep above our heads, and make their way ; 

In lofty litters borne, and read and m 

Or sleep at ease ; the shutters make it night a8 ° 

Vet still he reaches, first, the public place : 

The prcasc before him stops the client's pace. 

The crowd that follows crush his pantL 

And trip his heels ; he walks not, hut he rides. 

One elbows him, one justlcs in the shoal : 39S 

A rafter breaks his head, or chairman's pole : 

Stocking'd with loads of fat town-dirt he 

And some rogue-soldier, with his hob-nail'd shoes, 

Indents his legs behind in bloody rows. 

See with what smoke our doles we celebrate : ** 
A hundred guests, invited, walk in Btal 
A hundred hungry slaves, with their Dutch 

kitchens wait. 
Huge pans the wretches on their head must bear, 
Which scarce gigantic Corbulo could rear : 
Yet they must walk upright beneath the load ; *» 
Nay, run, and running blow the .sparkling flames 

abroad. 
Their coats, from botching newly brought, are 

torn : 
Unwieldy timber-trees in waggons borne, 
Stretch'd at their length, beyond their carriage lie ; 
That nod, and threaten ruin from on high. '" 
For, should their axle break, its overthrow 
Would crush, and pound to dust, the crowd 

below ; 
Nor friends their friends, nor sires their sons 

could know : 
Nor limbs, nor bones, nor carcass would remain : 
But a mash'd heap, a hotchpotch of the slain. ui 
One vast destruction; not the soul aha 
But bodies, like the soul, invisible are flown. 
Meantime, unknowing of their fellows' late. 
The servants wash the platter, scour the plate. 
Then blow the lire, with puffing cheeks, and 
The rubbers, and the bathing sheet- display; 
And oil them first j and each is handy in his way. 
But he, for whom this busy care they take, 
Poor ghost, is wandering by the Stygian lake : 

Affrighted with the ferryman's grim face; 
New to the horrors of that uncouth place : 

J I is passage begs with - 

And wai i things to .i fare. 

Return we to tin dai of the night; 

,nl i;r,(,, behold our houses' dreadful height : ° 

y pri .|oi. hmons 

general in Nero's tun 

. .,,, rwords i li to death by thai tyrai 

Greece, in rewi • •■■ 

not onlj tall, ,l b* M,l - S *l 

portlonah 

Ver. 186. - ''"' ■'• ■"" : " ' ferry" 

man -I In II, u 



396 



THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



From whence come broken potsherds tumbling 

down ; 
And leaky ware, from garret windows thrown : 
Well may they break our heads, that mark the 

flinty stone. 
'Tis want of sense to sup abroad too late ; 
Unless thou first hast settled thy estate. 435 

As many fates attend, thy steps to meet, 
As there are waking windows in the street. 
Bless the good gods, and think thy chance is rare 
To have a piss-pot only for thy share. 

The scouring drunkard, if he does not fight 440 
Before his bed-time, takes no rest that night. 
Passing the tedious hours in greater pain 
Than stern Achilles, when his friend was slain : 
'Tis so ridiculous, but so true withal, 
A bully cannot sleep without a brawl : 445 

Yet though his youthful blood be fired with 

wine, 
He wants not wit the danger to decline : 
Is cautious to avoid the coach and six, 
And on the lackeys will no quarrel fix. 
His train of flambeaux, and embroider'd coat, 4sn 
May privilege my lord to walk secure on foot. 
But me, who must by moon-light homeward bend, 
Or lighted only with a candle's end, 
Poor me he fights, if that be fighting, where 
He only cudgels, and I only bear. 4S5 

He stands, and bids me stand : I must abide ; 
For he 's the stronger, and is drunk beside. 
Where did you whet your knife to-night, he 

cries, 
And shred the leeks that in your stomach rise 1 
Whose windy beans have stuff 'd your guts, and 

where 46u 

Have your black thumbs been dipt in vinegar? 
With what companion cobbler have you fed, 
On old ox-cheeks, or he-goat's tougher head 1 
What, are you dumb 1 Quick, with your answer, 

quick, 
Before my foot salutes you with a kick. , 405 
Say, in what nasty cellar under ground, 
Or what church-porch, your rogueship may be 

found 1 
Answer, or answer not, 'tis all the same : 
He lays me on, and makes me bear the blame. 
Before the bar, for beating him, you come ; 470 
This is a poor man's liberty in Rome. 
You beg his pardon ; happy to retreat 
With some remaining teeth, to chew your meat. 

Nor is this all ; for, when retired, you think 
To sleep securely ; when the candles wink, 4J5 
When every door with iron chains is barr'd, 
And roaring taverns are no longer heard; 
The ruffian robbers by no justice awed, 
And unpaid cut-throat soldiers, are abroad, 
Those venal souls, who, harden'd in each ill, 480 
To save complaints and prosecution, kill. 
Chased from their woods and bogs, the padders 

come 
To this vast city, as their native home; 
To live at ease, and safely skulk in Rome. 

The forge in fetters only is employ'd ; 485 

Our iron mines exhausted and destroy'd 
In shackles ; for these villains scarce allow 
Goads for the teams, and ploughshares for the 

plough, 

Ver. 443. stern Achilles,] The friend of Achilles 

was Patroclus, who was slain by Hector. 



happy ages of our ancestors, 
Beneath the kings and tribunitial powers ! 49 ° 

One jail did all their criminals restrain; 
Which, now, the walls of Rome can scarce contain. 

More I could say, more causes I could show 
For my departure ; but the sun is low : 
The waggoner grows weary of my stay ; 49S 

And whips his horses forwards on their way. 

Farewell ; and when, like me, o'erwhelm'd with 
care, 
You to your own Aquinum shall repair, 
To take a mouthful of sweet country air, 
Be mindful of your friend ; and send me word, 500 
What joys your fountains and cool shades afford : 
Then, to assist your satires, I will come ; 
And add new venom, when you write of Rome. 

Ver. 490. Beneath the Icings, &c] Rome was originally 
ruled by kings, till, for the rape of Lueretia, Tarquin the 
Proud was expelled. After which it was governed by two 
Consuls, yearly chosen ; but tliey oppressing the people, 
the commoners mutinied, and procured tribunes to be 
created, who defended their privileges, and often opposed 
the consular authority, and the senate. 

Ver. 498. Aquinum'] Aquinum was the birth-place 

of Juvenal. 

Ver.503. Andaddnew venom, &c] In 1738, London, an imi- 
tation of this Satire, was published by Dr. Johnson ; which, 
from the spirit and strength with which it was written, by 
the poignancy of its invectives and correctness of its style, 
and very dexterous accommodation of ancient sentiments 
and images to modern, was read with universal avidity and 
applause, especially by all those persons who were in op- 
position to Government, who, at that time, were some of 
the ablest men in the kingdom. It instantly excited the 
curiosity, and perhaps the jealousy, of Pope; for impartial 
criticism must confess, that it is equal to his Imitations of 
Horace. As his Two Dialogues and London were pub- 
lished in the same week, they were frequently compared ; 
and, as I was informed by a contemporary, many readers 
gave the preference to Johnson. Ic was with difficulty he 
could find a purchaser for the copy, till Dodsley, who had 
more taste and sense than usually falls to the lot of his 
brethren, generously purchased it. It may be amusing to 
compare a few passages with the original : 

" Give to St. David's one true Briton more." 

" Unum civem donate Sibylloe." 

" Here malice, rapine, accident conspire, 
And now a rabble rages, now a fire : 
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, 
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey." 

" Deterius credas horrere iucendia, lapsus 
Tectorum assiduos, et mille pericula ssevse 
Urbis." 
The lawyer is most happily added. 

" And here a female atheist talks you dead." 
This is inferior to the original ; for, after enumerating 
the variety of evils that infest the city, he adds, with much 
pleasantry, as the most grievous and tormenting of all, 
" Augusto recitantes mense poetas." 
The atheist is too serious an example, and out of place. 
" All Marlborough hoarded, and all Villiers spent," 
is improved from 

" Tanti tibi non sit opaci 

Omnis arena Tagi." 

But nothing can be more happily touched than the cha- 
racter of the voluble obsequious Frenchman, ready to un- 
dertake all offices, trades, and employments : 

" omnia novit 

Graxulus esuriens, in ccelum jusseris ibit." 
" All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows, 
And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes." 
He has improved the following lines, 

" optima Sorae 

Aut Fabrateria? domus, aut Frusinone paratur." 

by a stroke of satire on houses of men of rank forsaken by 
their owners : 



THE 



SIXTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



THE ARGUMENT, 

This Satire, of almost double length to any of the rest, 
is a bitter invective against the fair sex. 'Tis, indeed, a 
common-place, from whence all the moderns have no- 
toriously stolen their sharpest railleries. In his ntber 
Satires, the poet has only glanced on some particular 
women, and generally scourged the men. But this he 
reserved wholly for the ladies. How they had offended 
him, I know not : but upon the whole matter he is not to 
foe excused for imputing to all, the vices of some few 
amongst them. Neither was it generously done of him, 
to attack the weakest as well as the fairest part of the 
creation : neither do I know what moral he could reason- 
ably draw from it. It could not be to avoid the wliole 
sex, if all had been true which he alleges against them : 
for that had been to put an end to human kind. And to 
bid us beware of their artifices, is a kind of silent ac- 
knowledgment, that they have more wit than men : which 
turns the satire upon us, and particularly upon the poet; 
"who thereby makes a compliment, where he meant a 
libel. If he intended only to exercise his wit, he has 
forfeited his judgment, by making the one half of his 
readers his mortal enemies; and amongst the men, all 
the happy lovers, by their own experience, will disprove 
his accusations. The whole world must allow this to he 
the wittiest of his satires ; and truly he had need of all 
his parts, to maintain, with so much violence, so unjust 
a charge. I am satisfied he will bring but few over to 
his opinion: and on that consideration chiefly I ventured 
to translate him. Though there wanted not another 
reason, which was, that no one else would undertake it : 
at least, Sir C. S. who could have done more right to the 
author, after a long delay, at length absolutely refused 
so ungrateful an employment; and every one will grant, 
that the work must have been imperfect and lame, if it 
had appeared without one of the principal members be- 
longing to it. Let the poet therefore bear the blame of 
his own invention ; and let me satisfy the world, that I 
am not of his opinion. Whatever his Roman ladies were, 
the English are free from all his imputations. They 
will read with wonder and abhorrence the vices of an age, 
which was the most infamous of any on record. They 
will bless themselves when they behold those examples, 
related of Domitian's time : they will give back to an- 
tiquity those monsters it produced ; and believe with 
reason, that the species of those women is extinguished, 
or at least that they were never here propagated. I may 
safely therefore proceed to the argument of a Satire, which 
is no way relating to them; and first observe, that my au- 
thor makes their lust the most heroic of their vices ; the 
rest are in a manner hut digression. He skims them over; 
hut he dwells on this : when he seems to have taken his 
last leave of it, on the sudden he returns to it: 'tis one 
branch of it in Hippia, another in Messalinfl, but lust is 
the main body of the tree. He begins with this text in 
the first line, and takes it up with intermissions to the 
end of the chapter. Every vice is a loader, hut that's a 
ten. The fillers, or intermediate parts, are their revenge; 
their contrivances of secret crimes ; their arts to bide 
them ; their wit to excuse them ; and their impudence to 
own them, when they can no longer be kept secret. Then 
the persons to whom they are most addicted, and on 
whom they commonly bestow the last favours : as stage- 
players, fiddlers, singing-boys, and fencers. Those who 



" Then might'st thou find some elegant retreat, 
Some hireling senator's deserted seat." 
Bnt the keenest stroke of Johnson's satire was his appli- 
cation of the following lines : 

" ut timeas ne 

Vomer deficiat, ne mame et sarcula desint,'" 
from the quantity of iron used in fetters for felons, which, 
with a most severe sarcasm on the frequent visits to ; 
ver, he renders thus: 

"Lest ropes he wanting in the tempting Spring, 
To rig another convoy for the Kin-.'' 
Dr. Johnson was frequently urged to give a complete 
translation of Juvenal ; a work for wbli d pecu- 

liarly qualified, from the nature and turn Ol 111 
his love of splendid and pompous diction. Dr. .1. Warton. 



pass for chaste amongst them, are not reallrio; but only 
for their vast do,, . ,1 |,y 

their own husbands. That tiny are Imperious, domineer- 
ing, scolding wives; set up for learning and criticism In 
poetry, but are false Jud I hi. h 

was then the fiial with 

us). That they |'l al the bar, and jilii', 

at the bear-garden. That the; 

mongers: wrangle with their neighbours »\ u), and 

beat their servants at borne. That the) lle-ln for new 
faces once a month : are sluttish with their husbands In 
private; and paint and dress in public for their lovers. 
That they deal with Jews, diviners, and fbrtune-tel 
learn the arts of miscarrying, and barrenness. Buj chil- 
dren, and produce them for their own. Murder th<-ir 
husband's sons if they stand in their way ti 
and make their adulterers bis heirs. From hem 
poet proceeds to show the occasions of all 
their original, and how they were Introduced In i 
by peace, wealth, and luxury. In conclusion, if we will 
take the word of our malicious author, bad women aro 
the general standing rule; and the good, but boiuu lew 
exceptions to it. 

In Saturn's reign, at Nature's early birth, 
There was that thing call'd ch rth ; 

When in a narrow cave, their common abode, 
The sheep, the shepherds, and their gods were 

laid : 
When reeds and loaves, and hides of beasts were 

spread B 

By mountain housewives for their homely 1 
And mossy pillows raised, for the rude husbands' 

hem I. 
Unlike the niceness of our modern dames, 
(Affected nymphs with new-affected names :) 
The Cynthias and the Lesbias of our years, 10 

Who for a sparrow's death dissolve in b 
Those first unpolish'd matrons, big and bold, 
Gave suck to infants of gigantic mould; 
Rough as their savage lords who ranged the 

wood, 
And fat with acorns belch'd their windy food. ls 
For when the world was buxom, fresh and young, 
Her sons were undebauch'd, and therefore strong : 
And whether born in kindly beds of earth, 
Or struggling from the teeming oaks to birth, 
Or from what other atoms they be 
No sires they had, or, if a sire, the miii. 
Some thin remain 

Ev'n under Jove, but Jove without a beard : 
Before the servile Greeks had learnt to swear 
By heads of kings, while yet the bounteous year 
Her common fruits in open plain * 

Ere thieves were fear'd, or gardens were inclosed. 
At length uneasy Justice upwards flew, 
And both the sisters to the stars withdrew ; 
From that old era whoring did be 
So venerably ancient is the sin. 
Adulterers next invade the nuptial 
And marriage-beds cieak'd with a foreign weight ; 
All other ills did iron times adorn ; 
But whores and silver in one age were born. 

Yet thou, they say, for marriage dost provide: 
Ts this an age to buckle with a bride I 
They Bay thy hair the curling ari is ti 
Tho wedding-ring perhaps already bought : 

Ver. 1. In Saturn's m>i,] In the G 

Ver. 16, And JM with aeons) Acorns wcro the br 
mankind, before corn was found. 

Ver. 28. / ■'•' ms I ■ •' u " , '' 1 

father Into banishment, I 
to the i 

Ver. 28. ' n\r* 

Justice and l """ ™J ' 



A sober man like thee to change his life ! ^ 

What fury would possess thee with a wife 1 

Art thou of every other death bereft, 

No knife, no ratsbane, no kind halter left ? 

(For every noose compared to hers is cheap) 

In there no city-bridge from whence to leap ? 45 

Would'st thou become her drudge, who dost 

enjoy 
A better sort of bedfellow, thy boy ? 
He keeps thee not awake with nightly brawls, 
Nor with a begg'd reward thy pleasure palls ; 
Nor with insatiate heavings calls for more, 50 

When all thy spirits were drain'd out before. 
But still Ursidius courts the marriage-bait, 
Longs for a son to settle his estate, 
And takes no gifts, though every gaping heir 
Would gladly grease the rich old bachelor. 65 

What revolution can appear so strange, 
As such a lecher such a life to change ? 
A rank, notorious whoremaster, to choose 
To thrust his neck into the marriage-noose ! 
He who so often in a dreadful fright 60 

Had in a coffer 'scaped the jealous cuckold's 

sight, 
That he, to wedlock dotingly betray'd, 
Should hope in this lewd town to find a maid ! 
The man 's grown mad : to ease his frantic pain, 
Run for the surgeon ; breathe the middle vein : C5 
But let a heifer with gilt horns be led 
To Juno, regent of the marriage-bed, 
And let him every deity adore, 
If his new bride prove not an arrant whore 
In head and tail, and every other pore. 70 

On Ceres' feast, restrain'd from their delight, 
Few matrons, there, but curse the tedious night : 
Few whom their fathers dare salute, such lust 
Their kisses have, and come with such a gust. 
With ivy now adorn thy doors, and wed ; 75 

Such is thy bride, and such thy genial bed. 
Think'st thou one man is for one woman meant 1 
She, sooner, with one eye would be content. 

And yet, 'tis noised, a maid did once appear 
In some small village, though fame says not 
where : 80 

'Tis possible ; but sure no man she found ; 
'Twas desert, all, about her father's ground : 
And yet some lustful god might there make bold ; 
Are Jove and Mars grown impotent and old ? 
Many a fair nymph has in a cave been spread, ^ 
And much good love without a feather-bed. 
Whither would'st thou to choose a wife resort, 
The Park, the Mall, the Play-house, or the Court? 
Which way soever thy adventures fall, 
Secure alike of chastity in all. 90 

One sees a dancing-master capering high, 
And raves, and pisses, with pure ecstasy : 
Another does, with all his motions, move, 
And gapes, and grins, as in the feat of love ; 
A third is charm'd with the new opera notes, 95 
Admires the song, but on the singer dotes : 
The country lady in the box appears, 
Softly she warbles over all she hears ; 
And sucks in passion, both at eyes and ears. 

The rest (when now the long vacation 's come, 
The noisy hall and theatres grown dumb) l01 



Ter. 71. On Geres' feast,"] When the Eoman women 
were forbidden to tied with their husbands. 

Ver. 84. Are Jove and Mars] Of whom more fornicating 
stories are told than any of the other gods. 



Their memories to refresh, and cheer their hearts, 

In borrow'd breeches act the players' parts. 

The poor, that scarce have wherewithal to eat, 

Will pinch, to make the singing-boy a treat. 105 

The rich, to buy him, will refuse no price ; 

And stretch his quail-pipe, till they crack his voice. 

Tragedians, acting love, for lust are sought : 

(Though but the parrots of a poet's thought.) 

The pleading lawyer, though for counsel used, n0 

In chamber-practice often is refused. 

Still thou wilt have a wife, and father heirs ; 

(The product of concurring theatres.) 

Perhaps a fencer did thy brows adom, 

And a young sword-man to thy lands is born. 115 

Thus Hippia loathed her old patrician lord, 
And left him for a brother of the sword : 
To wondering Pharos with her love she fled, 
To show one monster more than Afric bred : 
Forgetting house and husband, left behind, 12 ° 
Ev'n children too ; she sails before the wind ; 
False to 'em all, but constant to her kind. 
But, stranger yet, and harder to conceive, 
She could the play-house and the players leave. 
Born of rich parentage, and nicely bred, 125 

She lodged on down, and in a damask bed ; 
Yet daring now the dangers of the deep, 
On a hard mattress is content to sleep. 
Ere this, 'tis true, she did her fame expose : 
But that, great ladies with great ease can lose. 130 
The tender nymph could the rude ocean bear : 
So much her lust was stronger than her fear. 
But, had some honest cause her passage press'd, 
The smallest hardship had disturb'd her breast : 
Each inconvenience makes their virtue cold ; 13S 
But womankind, in ills, is ever bold. 
Were she to follow her own lord to sea, 
What doubts or scruples would she raise to stay t 
Her stomach sick, and her head giddy grows ; 
The tar and pitch are nauseous to her nose. M0 
But in love's voyage nothing can offend ; 
Women are never sea-sick with a friend. 
Amidst the crew, she walks upon the board ; 
She eats, she drinks, she handles every cord : 
And if she spews, 'tis thinking of her lord. 14s 

Now ask, for whom her friends and fame she 

lost? 
What youth, what beauty could th' adulterer boast? 
What was the face, for which she could sustain 
To be call'd mistress to so base a man ? 
The gallant, of his days had known the best : 15 ° 
Deep scars were seen indented on his breast ; 
And all his batter'd limbs required their needful 

rest. 
A promontory wen, with grisly grace, 
Stood high, upon the handle of his face : 
His blear eyes ran in gutters to his chin : 155 

His beard was stubble, and his cheeks were thin. 
But 'twas his fencing did her fancy move : 
'Tis arms and blood and cruelty they love. 
But should he quit his trade, and sheathe his sword, 
Her lover would begin to be her lord. 16 ° 

This was a private crime ; but you shall hear 
What fruits the sacred brows of monarchs bear : 
The good old sluggard but began to snore, 
When from his side up rose th' imperial whore : 

Ver. 118. Tc wondering Pharos] She fled to Egypt, 
which wondered at the enormity of her crime. 

Ver. 163. He tells the famous story of Messalina, wife 
to the emperor Claudius. 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 






She who preferr'd the pleasures of the night 1M 

To pomps, that are but impotent delight ; 

Strode from the palace, with an eager pace, 

To cope with a more masculine embrace; 

Muffled she march'd, like Juno in a cloud, 

Of all her train but one poor wench allow'd, 17 ° 

One whom in secret service she could trust ; 

The rival and companion of her lust. 

To the known brothel-house she takes her way ; 

And for a nasty room gives double pay : 

That room in which the rankest harlot lay. '"•' 

Prepared for fight, expectingly she lies, 

With heaving breasts, and with desiring eyes. 

Still as one drops, another takes his place, 

And baffled still succeeds to like disgrace. 

At length, when friendly darkness is expired, ls " 

And every strumpet from her cell retired, 

She lags behind, and lingering at the gate, 

With a repining sigh submits to fate : 

All filth without, and all a fire within, 

Tired with the toil, unsated with the sin, 18i 

Old Caesar's bed the modest matron seeks ; 

The steam of lamps still hanging on her cheeks, 

In ropy smut : thus foul, and thus bedight, 

She brings him back the product of the night. 

Now should I sing what poisons they provide ; 
With all their trumpery of charms beside ; ''•" 
And all their arts of death : it would be known 
Lust is the smallest sin the sex can own. 
Caesinia still, they say, is guiltless found 
Of every vice, by her own lord renown'd : 1M 

And well she may, she brought ten thousand 

pound. 
She brought him wherewithal to be call'd 

chaste ; 
His tongue is tied in golden fetters fast : 
He sighs, adores, and courts her every hour ; 
Who would not do as much for such a dower 1 - 00 
She writes love-letters to the youth in grace ; 
Nay, tips the wink before the cuckold's face ; 
And might do more ; her portion makes it 

good ; 
Wealth has the privilege of widowhood. 

These truths with his example you disprove, soi 
Who with his wife is monstrously in love : 
But know him better; for I heard him Bwear, 
'Tis not that she 's his wife, but that she 's fair. 
Let her but have three wrinkles in her face, 
Let her eyes lessen, and her skin unbrace, 
Soon you will hear the saucy steward say, 
Pack up with all your trinkets, and away ; 
You grow offensive both at bed and board ; 
Your betters must be had to please my lord. 

Meantime she 's absolute upon the throne : s15 
And, knowing time is precious, loses none : 
She must have flocks of sheep, with wool more 

fino 
Than silk, and vineyards of the noblest wine ; 
Whole droves of pages for her train she craves : 
And sweeps the prisons for attending slaves. aD 
In short, whatever in her eyes can come, 
Or others have abroad, she wants at home. 
When winter shuts the seas, and fleecy snows 
Make houses white, she to the merchant goes; 
Rich crystals of the rock she takes up there, "" 
Huge agate vases, and old China ware : 



Ver. 204. Wealth has the privilege, &0.] His mi 
is, that a wife who brings a large dowry may Uu what she 
pleases, and has all tlie privileges of a widow. 



Then Berenice's ring her finger pro 
More precious made by I ves: 

And infamously dear : a brotl i 
Ev'n God's anointed, and of Judah **• 

Where barefoot they approach thi 
And think it only mm to irina 

But is none worthy fco 1 wife 

In all this town ! Suppose her fri ife, 

Rich, fair, and fruitful, of unblemish'd life; a5 
Chaste as the Sabines, whose prevailing chan 

Dismissed their husbands', and their broti 

arms : 
Grant her, besides, of noble blood, that ran 
In ancient veins ere heraldry began : 
Suppose all these, and take a ord, ; *' 

A black swan is not half BO ran- a bird. 
A wife, so hung with virtues, Buch a freight, 
What mortal ahou 

Some country-girl I ey bred, 

Would I much rather than Cornelia \\> 
If supercilious, haughty, proud, and vain, 
She brought her father's triumphs in her train. 
Away with all yoh i nian state, 

Let vanquish'! 1 Hannibal wit! wait, 

Too burly and too big to pass my narrow gate. ^° 

O Paean, cries Amphion, bend thy bow 
Against my wife, and let nry childri u go : 
But sullen P;can shoots at sons and mothers too. 
His Niobe and all his boys he lost ; 
Ev'n her who did her numerous offspring boast, ** 
As Bur and fruitful as the sow that carried 
The thirty pigs at one large litter farrow'd. 

What beauty or what chastity can bear 
So great a price I if stately and severe. 
She still insults, and you must still adore ; 56D 

Grant that the honey 's much, the gall is more 
Upbraided with the virtues she i 
Seven hours in twelve, you loathe the wifo you 

praise : 
Some faults, though small, intolerable grow; 
For what so nauseous and affected t"". 
As those that think they due perfection want. 
Who have not learn'd to lisp the Grecian cant! 
In Greece, their whole accomplishments they seek: 
Their fashion, breeding, language, must be Greek : 
But raw. in all that docs to Rome bi long, 
They scorn to cultivate' their mother tongue. 

In Creek they Batter, all their teal's they sj.eak. 

Tell all tli. ; nay, they scold in Greek; 

Ev'n in the feat of love, they use that tougue. 
Such affectations may become the yon: 

But thou, old hag. of threescore years and three. 
Is showing of thy parts in Creek lor tl 
Zuh Kal 4*uxh ! All those tender v. 
The momentary trembling bliss atfords, 

Vcr. 227. Berenice's ring] A rins nf pront priro, 

which Herod "" 

was Km -, but tributary toll I 

y,. n ._>!.-,. 

of the' family of the Corai III; 

African was descended, «ii" triumphed over Baa 

Ver 261. Aeon, Ac.] known iahta 

of Nio'l 

Apollo who witl. hia arrows kil 

.ha'. She was more (hi 

Apollo's mother. 

V,.,. »hH< 

sow, in Virgil, who rartowed U li 

Ver. 887. — < . tl,. n lo»rat 



400 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



The kind soft murmurs of the private sheets, 28 ° 
Are bawdy, while thou speak'st in public streets. 
Those words have fingers ; and their force is such, 
They raise the dead, and mount him with a touch. 
But all provocatives from thee are vain : 
No blandishment the slacken'd nerve can strain. 2a ' 

If then thy lawful spouse thou canst not love, 
"What reason should thy mind to marriage move 'i 
Why all the charges of the nuptial feast, 
Wine and desserts, and sweet-meats to digest ? 
Th' endowing gold that buys the dear delight, 290 
Given for their first and only happy night] 
If thou art thus uxoriously inclined, 
To bear thy bondage with a willing mind, 
Prepare thy neck, and put it in the yoke : 
But for no mercy from thy woman look. 2M 

For though, perhaps, she loves with equal fires, 
To absolute dominion she aspires ; 
Joys in the spoils, and triumphs o'er thy purse ; 
The better husband makes the wife the worse. 
Nothing is thine to give, or sell, or buy, 30 ° 

All offices of ancient friendship die ; 
Nor hast thou leave to make a legacy. 
By thy imperious wife thou art bereft 
A privilege, to pimps and pandars left ; 
Thy testament 's her will ; where she prefers 305 
Her ruffians, drudges, and adulterers, 
Adopting all thy rivals for thy heirs. 

Go drag that slave to death : Your reason, why 
Should the poor innocent be doom'd to die ] 
What proofs 1 For, when man's life is in debate, 
The judge can ne'er too long deliberate. 3U 

Call 'st thou that slave a man ? the wife replies : 
Proved, or unproved, the crime, the villain dies. 
I have the sovereign power to save or kill ; 
And give no other reason but my will. 315 

Thus the she-tyrant reigns, till pleased with 
change, 
Her wild affections to new empires range : 
Another subject-husband she desires : 
Divorced from him, she to the first retires, 
While the last wedding-feast is scarcely o'er, S2 ° 
And garlands hang yet green upon the door. 
So still the reck'ning rises ; and appears, 
In total sum, eight husbands in five years. 
The title for a tomb-stone might be fit ; 
But that it would too commonly be writ. 325 

Her mother living, hope no quiet day; 
She sharpens her, instructs her how to flay 
Her husband bare, and then divides the prey. 
She takes love-letters, with a crafty smile, 
And, in her daughter's answer, mends the style. 
In vain the husband sets his watchful spies ; 3S1 
She cheats their cunning, or she bribes their eyes. 
The doctor's call'd; the daughter, taught the trick, 
Pretends to faint ; and in full health is sick. 
The panting stallion, at the closet-door, 335 

Hears the consult, and wishes it were o'er. 
Canst thou, in reason, hope, a bawd so known 
Should teach her other manners than her own ? 
Her interest is in all th' advice she gives : 
'Tis on the daughter's rents the mother lives. 310 



Ver. 303. All the Romans, even the most inferior, and 
most infamous sort of them, had the power of making wills. 

Ver. 308. Go drag that slave, &c] These are the words 
of the wife. 

Ihid. Your reason, why, &c] The answer of the 

fcushand. 
Ver. 312. CalVst thou that slave a man ?~\ The wife again. 



No cause is tried at the litigious bar, 
But women plaintiffs or defendants are, 
They form the process, all the briefs they write ; 
The topics furnish, and the pleas indite ; 
And teach the toothless lawyer how to bite. 345 

They turn viragos too ; the wrestler's toil 
They try, and smear their naked limbs with oil : 
Against the post their wicker shields they crush, 
Flourish the sword, and at the plastron push. 
Of every exercise the mannish crew 3S0 

Fulfils the parts, and oft excels us too ; 
Prepared not only in feign'd fights t' engage, 
But rout the gladiators on the stage. 
What sense of shame in such a breast can lie, 
Inured to arms, and her own sex to fly 1 365 

Yet to be wholly man she would disclaim ; 
To quit her tenfold pleasure at the game, 
For frothy praises and an empty name. 
Oh, what a decent sight 'tis to behold 
All thy wife's magazine by auction sold ! 36 ° 

The belt, the crested plume, the several suits 
Of armour, and the Spanish leather boots ! 
Yet these are they, that cannot bear the heat 
Of figured silks, and under sarcenet sweat. 
Behold the strutting Amazonian whore, 36S 

She stands in guard with her right foot before : 
Her coats tuck'd up ; and all her motions just, 
She stamps and then cries, hah ! at every thrust : 
But laugh to see her, tired with many a bout, 
Call for the pot, and like a man piss out. &° 

The ghosts of ancient Romans, should they rise, 
Would grin to see their daughters play a prize. 

Besides, what endless brawls by wives are bred: 
The curtain-lecture makes a mournful bed. 
Then, when she has thee sure within the sheets, 375 
Her cry begins, and the whole day repeats. 
Conscious of crimes herself, she teases first ; 
Thy servants are accused ; thy whore is cursed ; 
She acts the jealous, and at will she cries ; 
For women's tears are but the sweat of eyes. 3S0 
Poor cuckold-fool, thou think'st that love sincere, 
And suck'st between her lips the falling tear : ' 
But search her cabinet, and thou shalt find 
Each tiller there with love-epistles lined. 
Suppose her taken in a close embrace, 3S5 

This you would think so manifest a case, 
No rhetoric could defend, no impudence out- 
face: 
And yet ev'n then she cries the marriage-vow 
A mental reservation must allow ; 
And there 's a silent bargain still implied, 39U 

The parties should be pleased on either side : 
And both may for their private needs provide. 
Though men yourselves, and women us you call, 
Yet homo is a common name for all. 
There 's nothing bolder than a woman caught ; 39S 
Guilt gives them courage to maintain their fault. 

You ask from whence proceed these monstrous 
crimes 1 
Once poor, and therefore chaste, in former times, 
Our matrons were : no luxury found room 
In low-roofd houses, and bare walls of loam ; 409 
Their hands with labour harden'd while 'twas light, 
And frugal sleep supplied the quiet night, 
While, pinch'd with want, their hunger held 'em 

straight ; 
When Hannibal was hovering at the gate : 

Ver. 404. Hannibal] A famous Carthaginian 

captain ; who was upon the point of conquering the Romans. 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



401 



But wanton now, and lolling at our case, * a 

Wo suffer all th' inveterate ills of peace, 
And wasteful riot ; whose destructive charms 
Eevenge the vanquished world, of our victorious 

arms. 
No crime, no lustful postures are unknown ; 
Since Poverty, our guardian god, is gone : 41 ° 

Pride, laziness, and all luxurious arts, 
Pour like a deluge in, from foreign parts : 
Since gold obscene and silver found the way, 
Strange fashions with strange bullion to convey, 
And our plain simple manners to betray. '" 5 

What care our drunken dames to whom they 
spread 1 
Wine no distinction makes of tail or head ; 
Who, lewdly dancing at a midnight ball, 
For hot eringoes and fat oysters call : 
Full brimmers to their fuddled noses thrust ; 42 ° 
Brimmers, the last provocatives of lust. 
When vapours to their swimming brains advance, 
And double tapers on the tables dance. 

Now think what bawdy dialogues they havo, 
What Tullia talks to her confiding slave, •* 

At Modesty's old statue ; when by night 
They make a stand, and from their litters light : 
The good man early to the levee goes, 
And treads the nasty paddle of his spouse. 

The secrets of the goddess named the Good, 430 
Are ev'n by boys and barbers understood : 
Where the rank matrons, dancing to the pipe, 
Gig with their bums, and are for action ripe ; 
With music raised, they spread abroad their hair; 
And toss their heads like an enamour'd mare : 435 
Laufella lays her garland by, and proves 
The mimic lechery of manly loves. 
Eank'd with the lady the cheap sinner lies ; 
For here not blood, but virtue, gives the prize. 
Nothing is feign'd in this venereal strife ; ii0 

'Tis downright lust, and acted to the life. 
So full, so fierce, so vigorous, and so strong, 
That, looking on, would make old Nestor young. 
Impatient of delay, a general sound, 
An universal groan of lust goes round ; ' H5 

For then, and only then, the sex sincere is found. 
Now is the time of action ; Now begin, 
They cry, and let the lusty lovers in. 
The whoresons are asleep ; then bring the slaves, 
«A.nd watermen, a race of strong-back'cl knaves. 450 

I wish, at least, our sacred rites were free 
From those pollutions of obscenity : 
But 'tis well known what singer, how disguised, 
A lewd audacious action enterprised : 
Into the fair, with women mix'd, he went, *• 

Arm'd with a huge two-handed instrument ; 
A grateful present to those holy quires, 
Where the mouse, guilty of his sex, retires : 
And ev'n male-pictures modestly are veil'd ; 
Yet no profancucss on that age prevail'd ; 4C0 

No scoffers at religious rites are found; 
Though now, at every altar they abound. 

I hear your cautious counsel, you would say, 
Keep close your women under lock and key : 

Ver. 430. 77ic Good goddess.] At whoso feasts no men 
were to be present. 

Ver. 443. Nestor) Who lived three hundred years. 

Ver. 468. what singer, See.] He alludes 

story of P. Clodius, who, di ul ed In the habit of n. 
ringing woman, went into the house of Cawar, whore the 
teas! of the Good goddess was celebrated, to lind an oppor- 
tunity with Cresar's wife Pompola. 



But who shall keep those keepers ! 

nursed 
In craft : begin with those, and bribe '< m first 
The sex is turn'd all whore ; they lore the gaiao: 
And mistresses and maids are both the .-aim:. 

Tho poor Ogulnia, on the poet's day, 
Will borrow clothes, and chair, to see the play:*" 
She, who before had mortgaged her estate, 
And pawn'd the last remaining piece of plate. 
Some are reduced their utmost shifts to try : 
But women have no shame of poverty. 
They live beyond their stint ; as if their Bton 
The more exhausted, would increase the more : 
Some men, instructed by the labouring ant, 
Provide against th' extremities of want ; 
But womankind, that never knows a mi 
Down to the dregs their sinking fortune drain : 
Hourly they give, and Bpend, and waste, and 
wear, ■ 

And think no pleasure can be bought too dear. 
There are, who in soft eunuchs place their bl 
To shun the scrubbing of a be 
And 'scape abortion ; but their solid joy 
Is when tho page, already past a buy, 
Is eapon'd late ; and to the gelder shown, 
With his two pounders to perfection grown. 
When all the navel-string could give, appears ; 
All but the beard, and that's the barber's lu<s. 
not theirs. * M 

Seen from afar, and famous for his ware, 
He struts into the bath, among the fair : 
Th' admiring crew to their devotions fall ; 
And, kneeling, on their new Priapu 
Kerved for his lady's use, and with her lies ; 43i 
And let him drudge for her, if thou art wise, 
Rather than trust him with thy faVrite boy ; 
He proffers death, in proffering to enjoy. 

If songs they love, the singer's voice they force 
Beyond his compass till his quail-pipe 's hoarse ; 
His lute and lyre with their embrace is worn ; wl 
With knots they trim it, and with gems adorn: 
Run over all the strings, and kiss the case; 
And make love to it, in the master's place. 

A certain lady once of high degree, 
To Janus vow'd and Vesta's d 
That Pollio might, in singing, win the prizo ; 
Pollio the dear, the darling of her c 
She pra/d, and bribed; what could she more 

have done 
For a sick husband or an only son ? 
With her face veil'd, and heaving up her hands, 
The shameless suppliant at the altar Ste 
The forms of prayer she solemnly pursues ■ 
And, pale with fear, the ofl'ci'd entrails views. 
Answer, ye Powers : for, if you beard her row,"* 
Your godahips, sure, had little else to do. 

This is not all : for actors they implo 
An impudence not known to heaven 1 • 
Th' Aruspex, tired with this religious rout, 
Is forced to stand BO Ion tho gout 

Ver 486. He taxes women with tli.ir loving Mnraehs, 
: no children; but adds, thai th 

unucha ms are gelded when they an already at tho 

manl I. 

\ , , i;u. fWaput] Th* 

\ Bl .. . '> ' I '"'?■• 

Ver .Mr. Thai mob an aoow « 1 """ "" >' ' ,,Vl ' ml K M 

i ihc prize. 
Ver. 619. W I ' ■■■•' "■' ' hn [ ,n,,u 

of the naorlfli 



402 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



But suffer not thy wife abroad to roam ; 

If she loves singing, let her sing at home ; 

Not strut in streets, with Amazonian pace ; 

For that 's to cuckold thee before thy face. 

Their endless itch of news comes next in 
play ; 525 

They vent their own, and hear what others say. 

Know what in Thrace, or what in France is done ; 

Th' intrigues betwixt the stepdame, and the son. 

Tell who loves who, what favours some partake ; 

And who is jilted for another's sake. 530 

What pregnant widow in what month was made ; 

How oft she did, and doing, what she said. 
She, first, beholds the raging comet rise : 

Knows whom it threatens, and what lands de- 
stroys. 

Still for the newest news she lies in wait ; M5 

And takes reports just entering at the gate. 

Wrecks, floods, and fires : whatever she can meet, 

She spreads ; and is the fame of every street. 
This is a grievance ; but the next is worse ; 

A very judgment, and her neighbours' curse : 54 ° 

For, if their barking dog disturb her ease, 

No prayer can bind her, no excuse appease. 

Th' unmanner'd malefactor is arraign'd ; 

But first the master, who the cur maintain'd, 

Must feel the scourge ; by night she leaves her 
bed, 645 

By night her bathing equipage is led, 

That marching armies a less noise create ; 

She moves in tumult, and she sweats in state. 

Meanwhile, her guests their appetites must keep ; 

Some gape for hunger, and some gasp for sleep. 

At length she comes, all flush'd ; but ere she 
sup, M1 

Swallows a swinging preparation-cup ; 

And then to clear her stomach spews it up. 

The deluge-vomit all the floor o'erflows, 

And the sour savour nauseates every nose. 655 

She drinks again ; again she spews a lake ; 

Her wretched husband sees, and dares not speak ; 

But mutters many a curse against his wife ; 

And damns himself for choosing such a life. 
But of all plagues, the greatest is untold : 6C0 

The book-learn'd wife in Greek and Latin bold. 

The critic-dame, who at her table sits ; 

Homer and Virgil quotes, and weighs their wits ; 

And pities Dido's agonizing fits. 

She has so far th' ascendant of the board, 6G5 

The prating pedant puts not in one word : 

The man of law is non-pluss'd, in his suit ; 

Nay, every other female tongue is mute. 

Hammers, and beating anvils, you would swear, 

And Vulcan with his whole militia there. 5 '° 

Tabors and trumpets cease ; for she alone 

Is able to redeem the labouring Moon. 

EVn wit 's a burthen, when it talks too long : 

But she, who has no continence of tongue, 

Should walk in breeches, and should wear a 
beard, 675 

And mix among the philosophic herd. 

Oh, what a midnight curse has he, whose side 

Is pester'd with a mood and figure bride ! 

Ver. 570. Vulcan] The god of smiths. 

Ver. 571. Tabors and trumpets, &c] The ancients 
thought that with such sounds they could bring the moon 
out of her eclipse. 

Ver. 578. a mood and figure bride I] A woman 

who has learned logic 



Let mine, ye gods ! (if such must be my fate) 
No logic learn, nor history translate ; 580 

But rather be a quiet, humble fool : 
I hate a wife to whom I go to school. 
Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows 
Where noun, and verb, and participle grows ; 
Corrects her country neighbour ; and, a-bed, 685 
For breaking Priscian's, breaks her husband's 
head. 

The gaudy gossip, when she 's set agog, 
In jewels dress' d, and at each ear a bob, 
Goes flaunting out, and, in her trim of pride, 
Thinks all she says or does is justified. 69 ° 

When poor, she 's scarce a tolerable evil ; 
But rich, and fine, a wife 's a very devil. 

She duly, once a month, renews her face ; 
Meantime, it lies in daub, and hid in grease ; 
Those are the husband's nights ; she craves her 
due, 695 

He takes fat kisses, and is stuck in glue. 
But, to the loved adulterer when she steers, 
Fresh from the bath, in brightness she appears : 
For him the rich Arabia sweats her gum ; 
And precious oils from distant Indies come : M0 
How haggardly soe'er she looks at home. 
Th' eclipse then vanishes ; and all her face 
Is open'd, and restored to every grace, 
The crust removed, her cheeks as smooth as silk. 
Are polish'd with a wash of asses' milk ; mi 

And should she to the farthest North be sent, 
A train of these attend her banishment. 
But hadst thou seen her plaster'd up before, 
'Twas so unlike a face, it seem'd a sore. 

'Tis worth our while to know what all the day 61 ° 
They do, and how they pass their time away; 
For, if o'er-night the husband has been slack, 
Or counterfeited sleep, and turn'd his back, 
Next day, be sure, the servants go to wrack. 
The chambermaid and dresser are call'd whores • 
The page is stripp'd, and beaten out of doors. 6I5 
The whole house suffers for the master's crime : 
And he himself is warn'd to wake another time. 

She hires tormentors by the year ; she treats 
Her visitors, and talks : but still she beats ; 620 
Beats while she paints her face, surveys her gown, 
Casts up the day's account, and still beats on : 
Tired out, at length, with an outrageous tone, 
She bids 'em in the devil's name be gone. 
Compared with such a proud, insulting dame, 625 
Sicilian tyrants may renounce then; name. 

For, if she hastes abroad to take the air, 
Or goes to Isis' church (the bawdy-house of 

prayer) 
She hurries all her handmaids to the task ; 
Her head, alone, will twenty dressers ask. 63 ° 
Psecas, the chief, with breast and shoulders bare, 
Trembling, considers every sacred hair ; 
If any straggler from his rank be found, 
A pinch must, for the mortal sin, compound. 
Psecas is not in fault ; but, in the glass, 
The dame 's offended at her own ill face. 
The maid is banish'd ; and another girl 
More dexterous, manages the comb and curl ; 

Ver. 586. A woman-grammarian, who corrects her hus- 
band for speaking false Latin, which is called breaking 
Priscian's head. 

Ver. 607. A train of these] That is, of she-asses. 

Ver. 626. Sicilian tyrants] Are grown to a proverb in 
Latin, for their cruelty. 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OP JUVENAL. 



403 



The rest are suminon'd on a point so nice; 
And first, the grave old woman gives advice. ew 
The next is call'd, and so the turn goes round, 
As each for age, or wisdom, is renown'd : 
Such counsel, such deliberate care they take, 
As if her life and honour lay at stako : 
With curls on curls, they build her head before, W5 
And mount it with a formidable tower. 
A giantess she seems ; but look behind, 
And then she dwindles to the pigmy kind. 
Duck-legg'd, short-waisted, such a dwarf sho is, 
That she must rise on tiptoes for a kiss. M0 

Meanwhile, her husband's whole estate is spent ; 
He may go bare, while she receives his rent. 
She minds him not ; she lives not as a wife, 
But like a bawling neighbour, full of strife : 
Near him, in this alone, that she extends M5 

Her hate to all his servants and his friends. 
Bellona's priests, an eunuch at their head, 
About the streets a mad procession lead ; 
The venerable gelding, large, and high, 
O'erlooks the herd of'his inferior fry. 
His awkward clergymen about him pranco ; 
And beat the timbrels to their mystic dance. 
Guiltless of testicles, they tear their throats, 
And squeak, in treble, their unmanly notes. 
Meanwhile, his cheeks the mitred prophet swells, 
And dire presages of the year forctels. ^ 

Unless with eggs (his priestly hire) they haste 
To expiate, and avert th' autumnal blast. 
And add beside a murrcy-colour'd vest, 
Which, in their places, may receive the pest : W 
And, thrown into the flood, their crimes may 

bear, 
To purge th' unlucky omens of the year. 
Th' astonish'd matrons pay, before the rest ; 
That sex is still obnoxious to the priest. 

Through iee they beat, and plunge into the 
stream, 6;i 

If so the god has warn'd 'em in a dream. 
Weak in their limbs, but in devotion strong, 
On their bare hands and feet they crawl along 
A whole field's length, the laughter of the throng. 
Should Io (Io's priest I mean) command 6SU 

A pilgrimage to Meroe's burning sand, 
Through deserts they would seek the secret 

spring ; 
And holy water, for lustration, bring. 
How can they pay their priests too much respect, 
Who trade with heaven, and earthly gains neg- 
lect? m 
With him, domestic gods discourse by night : 
By day, attended by his quire in white, 
The bald-pate tribe runs madding through the 

street, 
And smile to see with how much' ease they cheat. 
The ghostly sire forgives the wife's delights, C '' M 
Who sins, through frailty, on forbidden nights ; 
And tempts her husband in the holy time, 
When carnal pleasure is a mortal crime. 
The sweating imago shakes his head, but ho 
With mumbled prayers atones the deity. 

Ver. 645. This dressing tip the head so high, which we 
call a tower, was an ancient way amongst the B 

Ver. 667. Bellona's priests,] Were a sort of fortune- 
tellers ; and the high-priest an eunuch. 

Ver. 6G9. And add beside, &C.~] A garment was given to 
tho priest, which he threw into the river; and that, they 
thought, bore all tho sins of the people, which were tin 
with it. 



The pious priesthood the l';it goose receive, 

And they once bribed, tho godhead mu.->t forgive. 

No sooner these remove, but full of feur, 
A gipsy Jewess whisper.-; in your ear, 
And begs an alms: an high-priest ; s dang] 

she, :»' 

Versed in their Talmud, and divinity, 
And prophesies beneath a shady tree. 
Her goods a basket, and old hay her I 
She strolls, and. telling fortunes, gains her bread : 
Farthings, and -some small monies, an- I 
Yet she interprets all your dream < u6 

Foretols th' estate, when the rich uncle dies, 
And sees a sweetheart in the sacrifice. 
Such toys a pigeon's entrails can disclose: 
Which yet th' Armenian augur far outgoes : 71u 
In dogs, a victim more obseine, he rakes, 
And murder'd infants for inspection taki 
For gain, his impious practdc 
For gain, will his accomplices accuse. 

More credit, yet, is to Chaldeans given ; "' ' 

What they foretel, is deein'd the i ven. 

Their answers, as from Mammon's altar, come ; 
Since now tho Delphian oracles are dumb. 
And mankind, ignorant of future fate, 
Believes what fond astrologers relate. 

Of these the most in vogue is he, who, sent 
Beyond seas, is return'd from banishment ; 
His art who to aspiring Otho sold, 
And sure succession to the crown foretold. 
For his esteem is in liis exile placed ; 
The more believed, tho more he was disgraced. 
No astrologie wizard honour gains, 
Who has not oft been banish'd, <>r in chains. 
He gets renown, who, to the halter near, 
But narrowly escapes, and buys it dear. 

From him your wife inquires the planets' will, 
When the black jaundice shall her mother kill : 
Her sister's and her uncle's end would know : 
But, first, consults his art, when you shall go. 
And, what's the greatest gift that heaven can 
give, "-^ 

If, after her, th' adulterer shall live. 
She neither knows nor cares to know the rest : 
If Mars and Saturn shall the world in' 
Or Jove and Venus, with their friendly rays, 
Will interpose, and bring us better days. 

Beware the woman too, and shun her sight, 
Who in these studies does herself delight. 
By whom a greasy almanac is borne, 
With often handling, like chafed amber, worn : 
Not now consulting, but consulted, she 
Of the twelve houses, and their lords, is fiei'. 
She. if the scheme a fatal journey show, 
Stays safe at home, but lets her husband go. 
If but a mile she travel out of town, 
The planetary hour must first be known. 
And lucky moment : if her eye but aches 
Or itches, its decumbiture she takes i 
No nourishment receives in hi 
But what tho stars and Ptolemy shall pli 

Ver. 715. Chaldeans are thought !•> have bean the Brut 

Ver. 7'.':;. Otho ■"" < ■ it I Oolbt, in I «hlch 

was loretold lam by an Mb 

Ver. 788. U u and Satuni mv the t»-.> unfjcluiaWs 

I Jupiter and Venn*, tho two fortunate. 
\,r. 754. ltoltmy] A famous astrologar, »n 

Egyptian. 



The middle sort who have not much to spare, 
To chiromancers' cheaper art repair, 756 

Who clap the pretty palm, to make the lines 

more fair. 
But the rich matron, who has more to give, 
Her answers from the Brachman will receive : 769 
Skill'd in the globe and sphere, he gravely stands, 
And, with his compass, measures seas and lands. 

The poorest of the sex have still an itch 
To know their fortunes, equal to the rich. 
The dairymaid inquires if she shall take 
The trusty tailor, and the cook forsake. 7M 

Yet these, though poor, the pain of childbed 
bear ; 
And, without nurses, their own infants rear : 
You seldom hear of the rich mantle, spread 
For the babe, born in the great lady's bed. 
Such is the power of herbs ; such arts they use 
To make them barren, or their fruit to lose. 771 
But thou, whatever slops she will have bought, 
Be thankful, and supply the deadly draught : 
Help her to make man-slaughter ; let her bleed, 
And never want for savin at her need. 77S 

For, if she holds till her nine months be run, 
Thou may'st be father to an iEthiop's son ; 
A boy, who, ready gotten to thy hands, 
By law is to inherit all thy lands : 
One of that hue, that, should he cross the way, 78 ° 
His omen would discolour all the day. 

I pass the foundling by, a race unknown, 
At doors exposed, whom matrons make their own : 
And into noble families advance 
A nameless issue, the blind work of chance. 7S5 
Indulgent Fortune does her care employ, 
And, smiling, broods upon the naked boy : 
Her garment spreads, and laps him in the fold, 
And covers, with her wings, from nightly cold : 
Gives him her blessing ; puts him in a way ; ' 90 
Sets up the farce, and laughs at her own play. 
Him she promotes ; she favours him alone, 
And makes provision for him as her own. 

The craving wife the force of magic tries, 
And philters for th' unable husband buys : 79S 
The potion works not on the part design'd ; 
But turns his brains, and stupefies his mind. 
The sotted moon-calf gapes, and staring on, 
Sees his own business by another done : 
A long oblivion, a benumbing frost, 80 ° 

Constrains his head ; and yesterday is lost : 
Some nimbler juice would make him foam and 

rave, 
Like that Ccesonia to her Caius gave : 
Who, plucking from the forehead of the foal 
His mother's love, infused it in the bowl : m 

The boiling blood ran hissing in his veins, 
Till the mad vapour mounted to his brains. 

Ver. 759. The Braehmans are Indian philosophers, who 
remain to this day; and hold, after Pythagoras, the transla- 
tion of souls from one hody to another. 

Ver. 777. to an JEthiop's son /] His meaning is, 

help her to any kind of slops, which may cause her to 
miscarry ; for fear she may he brought to bed of a black- 
moor, which thou, being her husband, art bound to father ; 
and that bastard may, by law, inherit thy estate. 

Ver. 781 . His omen, &c] The Romans thought it ominous 
to see a blackmoor in the morning, if he were the first man 
they met. 

Ver. 803. Cresonia, wife to Caius Caligula, the great 
tyrant : 'tis said she gave him a love-potion, which, flying 
up into his head, distracted him, and was the occasion of 
his committing so many acts of cruelty. 



The Thunderer was not half so much on fire 
When Juno's girdle kindled his desire. 
What woman will not use the poisoning trade, 81 
When Caesar's wife the precedent has made ? 
Let Agrippina's mushroom be forgot, 
Given to a slavering, old, unuseful sot ; 
That only closed the driveling dotard's eyes, 
And sent his godhead downward to the skies. 315 
But this fierce potion calls for fire and sword ; 
Nor spares the commons, when it strikes the 

lord: 
So many mischiefs were in one combined; 
So much one single poisoner cost mankind. 

If stepdames seek their sons-in-law to kill, 820 
'Tis venial trespass ; let them have their will : 
But let the child, entrusted to the care 
Of his own mother, of her bread beware : 
Beware the food she reaches with her hand ; 
The morsel is intended for thy land. 825 

Thy tutor be thy taster, ere thou eat ; 
There 's poison in thy drink, and in thy meat. 
You think this feign'd ; the satire in a I'age 
Struts in the buskins of the tragic stage, 
Forgets his business is to laugh and bite ; sst 

And will of deaths and dire revenges write. 
Would it were all a fable that you read ! 
But Drymon's wife pleads guilty to the deed. 
I (she confesses) in the fact was caught, 
Two sons despatching at one deadly draught. 83i 
What, two ! two sons, thou viper, in one day ! 
Yes, seven, she cries, if seven were in my way. 
Medea's legend is no more a lie ; 
One age adds credit to antiquity. 
Great ills, we grant, in former times did reign, m 
And murders then were done ; but not for gain. 
Less admiration to great crimes is due, 
Which they through wrath, or through revenge, 

pursue. 
For, weak of reason, impotent of will, 
The sex is hurried headlong into ill : 
And, like a cliff from its foundations torn, 
By raging earthquakes, into seas is borne. 
But those are fiends, who crimes from thought 

begin : 
And, cool in mischief, meditate the sin. 
They read th' example of a pious wife, 
Redeeming, with her own, her husband's life ; 
Yet, if the laws did that exchange afford, 
Would save their lapdog sooner than their lord. 

Where'er you walk, the Belides you meet ; 
And Clytemnestras grow in every street : 

Ver. 808. The Thunderer, &c] The story is in Homer; 
where Juno borrowed the girdle of Venus, called Cestos, 
to make Jupiter in love with her, while the Grecians and 
Trojans were fighting, that he might not help the latter. 

Ver. 812. Agrippina was the mother of the tyrant Nero, 
who poisoned her husband Claudius, that Nero might 
succeed, who was her son, and not Britannicus, who was 
the son of Claudius, by a former wife. 

Ver. 833. The widow of Drymon poisoned her sons, that 
she might succeed to their estate. This was done either in 
the poet's time, or just before it. 

Ver. 838. Medea, out of revenge to Jason, who had for- 
saken her, killed the children which she had by him. 

Ver. 854. the Belides] "Who were fifty sisters, 

married to fifty young men, their cousin- germans ; and 
killed them all on their wedding-night, excepting Hyper- 
mnestra, who saved her husband Linus. 

Ver. 855. Clytemnestra] The wife of Agamemnon, 

who, in favour to her adulterer iEgysthus was consenting 
to his murder. 



THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



40.-, 



But here 's the difference ; Agamemnon's wife 
Was a gross butcher, with a bloody knife ; 
But murder now is to perfection grown, 
And subtle poisons are enrploy'd alone ; 
Unless some antidote prevents their arts, m 

And lines with balsam all the nobler parts : 
In such a case, reserved for such a need, 
Bather than fail, the dagger does the deed. 



TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The poet's design, in this divine Satire, is to represent the 
various wishes and desires of mankind ; and to set out 
the folly of them. He runs through all the several heads 
of riches, honours, eloquence, fame for martial achieve- 
ments, long life, and beauty; and gives instances, in 
each, how frequently they have proved the ruin of those 
that owned them. He concludes, therefore, that since we 
generally choose so ill for ourselves, we should do better 
to leave it to the gods, to make the choice for us. All we 
can safely ask of heaven, lies within a very small com- 
pass. 'Tis but health of body and mind. And if we 
have these, it is not much matter what we want besides; 
for we have already enough to make us happy. 

Look round the habitable world, how few 
Know their own good ; or knowing it, pursue ! 
How void of reason are our hopes and fears ! 
What in the conduct of our life appears 
So well design'd, so luckily begun, 6 

But, when we have our wish, we wish undone? 

Whole houses, of their whole desires possess'd, 
Are often ruin'd, at their own request. 
In wars and peace, things hurtful we require, 
When made obnoxious to our own desire. I0 



Ver. 863. Rather than fail,") It will easily be understood 
why it was impossible to make a single observation on 
this Sixth Satire, which, as he finely says in another 
place, is, 

Too foul to name, too fulsome to be read. 
Yet Lud. Prateiis wrote long notes for the use of the 
Dauphin, under the inspection of Bossuet. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1. Look round] There is not perhaps in our lan- 
guage a poem, of the moral and didactic species, written 
with more vigorous and strong sentiments, more pene- 
trating and useful observations on life, in a diction remark- 
ably close and compact, than the Vanity of Human Wisln-s, 
by Dr. Johnson, in imitation of this Tentli Satire of his 
favourite Juvenal. In point of sprightliness, and poig- 
nancy of wit and sarcasm, it may not be equal to his 
imitation of the Third ; but indeed the nature and tone of 
the two pieces are essentially different; for here all is 
serious, solemn, and even devout. The evils of life are 
indeed aggravated and painted in the darkest and most 
disagreeable colours; but such an unwarrantable repre- 
sentation was a favourite topic with our author, touched as 
he was with a morbid melancholy; hut surely to ma] sift 
and dwell too much on these evils, is, after all, very false 
philosophy, and an affront to our most benevolent and 
bounteous Creator. Those who hold this uncomfortable 
and gloomy opinion, would do well to consider attentively 
what such men as Cudworth, Archbishop King, Huto] 
and Balguy, have so strongly urged in confutation • >!' this 
opinion of the prepollence of evil in the world. It may not 
be unpleasant to lay before the reader some passages of 
Johnson's imitations, which seem particularly happy In 
the accommodation of modern facts and chat 
ancient; and we may imagine he put forth all his strength 
■when he was to contend with Dryden. He certainly would 
not have succeeded co well if he had ever attempted to 
imitate Horace. Dr. J. Wabton. 



With laurels some have fatally been orown'd ; 
Some, who the depths of eloquence have found, 
In that unnavigab were drown'd. 

The brawny fool, who did hie vigour boast, 
In that presuming confidence was ! 
But more have been by aval 
And heaps of money crowded in the chest : 
Unwieldy sums of wealth, which higher mount 
Than files of marshall'd figures can account. 
To which the stores oi I Bale, *° 

Would look like little dolphins, when they 6ail 
In the vast shadow of the British whale. 

For this, in Nero's arbitrary time, 
When virtue was a guilt, and wealth a crime. 
A troop of cut-throat guards were sent to ;-eize M 
The rich men's goods, and gut their pahv 
The mob, commission'd bj the government, 
Are seldom to an empty garret sent 
The fearful passenger, who travels late, 
Charged with the carriage of a paltry plate, * 
Shakes at the moonshine shadow of a rush ; 
And sees a red-coat rise from every bush : 
The beggar sings, ev'n when he sees the place 
Beset with thieves, and never mends his pace. 

Of all the vows, the first and chief request M 
Of each is, to be richer than the n 
And yet no doubts the poor man's draught control, 
He dreads no poison in his homely bowl ; 
Then fear the deadly drug, when gems divine 
Enchase the cup, and sparkle in the wine. 

Will you not now the pair of sages praise, 
Who the same end pursued, by several ways ! 
One pitied, one contemu'd the woful times : 
One laugh'd at follies, one lamented crimes : 
Laughter is easy ; but the wonder lies, 
What store of brine supplied the weeper's eyes. 
Democritus could feed his spleen, and shake 
His sides and shoulders till he felt 'em ache ; 
Though in his country-town no lictore were, 
Nor rods, nor axe, nor tribune did appear ; 
Nor all the foppish gravity of show, 
Which cunning magistrates on crowds bestow. 

What had he done, had he beheld on high 
Our pnotor seated, in mock majesty ; 
His chariot rolling o'er the dusty place, 
While, with dumb pride, and a set formal fuce, 
He moves, in the dull ceremonial track, 
With Jove's embroider'd coat upon his 1 
A suit of hangings had not more opprees'd 
His shoulders, than that long, laborious \e>t : 
A heavy gewgaw (call'd a crown), that spread 
About his temples, drown'd his narrow head : 
And would havo crush'd it with the massy freight, 
But that a sweating slave Bustam'd the weight: 
A slave in the same chariot seen to ride, 
To mortify the mighty madman's pi 
Add now th' imperial eagle, raised on high, 
With golden beak (the mark of maj 
Trumpets before, and on the left and rigl i, 
A cavalcade of nobles, all in white : 



Ver. 14. Milo, of Crotona, who, for a trial of 
going to rend an oak, perished in the attempt . I 
were caught in the trunk of It, and ho was divuureu by 
wild beasts. 

Ver. 63. What had he dtmr,] All this l« Ms*, I 
unavoidable marks of state uud dlstiuctiou lu i 
country. Or. .1. W aktox. 

Ver. 66. To mortify] 0"° o{ bJji happiest alliterations. 

Dr. J. Wauu'.n. 



406 



THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



In their own natures false and flattering tribes, 
But made his friends, by places and by bribes. 

In his own age, Democritus could find 
Sufficient cause to laugh at human kind : 
Learn from so great a wit ; a land of bogs 75 

With ditches fenced, a heaven fat with fogs, 
May form a spirit fit to sway the state ; 
And make the neighbouring monarchs fear their 
fate. 

He laughs at all the vulgar cares and fears ; 
At their vain triumphs, and their vainer tears : w 
An equal temper in his mind he found, 
WhenPortuneflatter'd him, and when shefrown'd. 
'Tis plain, from hence, that what- our vows re- 
quest, 
Are hurtful things, or useless at the best. 

Some ask for envied power ; which public hate 
Pursues, and hurries headlong to their fate : 86 
Down go the titles ; and the statue crown'd, 
Is by base hands in the next river drown'd. 
The guiltless horses, and the chariot wheel, 
The same effects of vulgar fury feel : m 

The smith prepares his hammer for the stroke, 
While the lung'd bellows hissing fire provoke ; 
Sejanus, almost first of Roman names, 
The great Sejanus crackles in the flames : 
Form'd in the forge, the pliant brass is laid 95 
On anvils ; and of head and limbs are made 
Pans, cans, and piss-pots, a whole kitchen trade. 

Adorn your doors with laurels ; and a bull, 
Milk-white, and large, lead to the Capitol ; 
Sejanus with a rope is dragg"d along, 10 ° 

The sport and laughter of the giddy throng ! 
Good Lord, they cry, what Ethiop lips he has, 
How foul a snout, and what a hanging face ! 
By heaven, I never could endure his sight ; 
But say, how came his monstrous crimes to light ? 
What is the charge, and who the evidence, 106 
(The saviour of the nation and the prince 1) 
Nothing of this ; but our old Csesar sent 
A noisy letter to his parliament : 
Nay, Sirs, if Caesar writ, I ask no more, 110 

He 's guilty ; and the question 's out of door. 

Ver. 93. Sejanus was Tiberius's first favourite, and 
•while lie continued so had the highest marks of honour 
bestowed on him: statues and triumphal chariots were 
everywhere erected to him ; but as soon as he fell into 
disgrace with the emperor, these were all immediately 
dismounted, and the senate and common people insulted 
over him as meanly as they had fawned on him before. 

Ver. 94. The great Sejanus,'] Modern history could not 
afford a more proper substitute for Sejanus, to exemplify 
the lamentable end of ambitious projects, than what 
Johnson has given us in the following lines, in the 
character and fate of Wolsey: — 

" In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, 
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand : 
To him the church, the realm, their powers consign, 
Thro' him the rays of regal bounty shine ; 
Still to new heights his restless wishes tower, 
Claim leads to claim, and power advances power ; 
Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, 
And rights submitted left him none to seize. 
At length his sovereign frowns — the train of state 
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate ; 
"Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye, 
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly: 
At once is lost the pride of awful state, 
The golden canopy, the glittering plate, 
The regal palace, the luxurious board, 
The liveried army, and the menial lord; 
With age, with cares, with maladies opprest, 
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest ; 
Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, 
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings." 

Dr. J. Wakton. 



How goes the mob 1 (for that 's a mighty thing,) 
When the king 's trump, the mob are for the king: 
They follow fortune, and the common cry 
Is still against the rogue condemn'd to die. " 5 

But the same very mob, that rascal crowd, 
Had cried Sejanus, with a shout as loud; 
Had his designs (by fortune's favour bless' d) 
Succeeded, and the prince's age oppress'd. 
But long, long since, the times have changed their 
face, 12U 

The people grown degenerate and base ; 
Not suffer'd now the freedom of their choice, 
To make their magistrates, and sell their voice. 

Our wise forefathers, great by sea and land, 
Had once the power and absolute command ; vs 
All offices of trust, themselves disposed ; 
Raised whom they pleased, and whom they pleased 

deposed. 
But we, who give our native rights away, 
And our enslaved posterity betray, 
Are now reduced to beg an alms, and go 13 ° 

On holidays to see a puppet-show. 

There was a damn'd design, cries one, no doubt; 
For warrants are already issued out ; 
I met Brutidius in a mortal fright ; 
He 's dipp'd for certain, and plays least in sight : 135 
I fear the rage of our offended prince, 
Who thinks the senate slack in his defence ! 
Come, let us haste, our loyal zeal to show, 
And spurn the wretched corpse of Caesar's foe : 
But let our slaves be present there, lest they I4 ° 
Accuse their masters, and for gain betray. 
Such were the whispers of those jealous times, 
About Sejanus' punishment and crimes. 

Now tell me truly, would'st thou change thy fate 
To be, like him, first minister of state ? 145 

To have thy levees crowded with resort 
Of a depending, gaping, servile court : 
Dispose all honours of the sword and gown, 
Grace with a nod, and ruin with a frown : 
To hold thy prince in pupilage, and sway 150 

That monarch, whom the master'd world obey 1 
While he, intent on secret lusts alone, 
Lives to himself, abandoning the throne ; 
Coop'd in a narrow isle, observing dreams 
With flattering wizards, and erecting schemes ! 

I well believe, thou would'st be great as he ; I56 
For every man 's a fool to that degree ; 
All wish the dire prerogative to kill ; 
Ev'n they would have the power, who want the 
will :. 1W 

But would'st thou have thy wishes understood, 
To take the bad together with the good, 
Would'st thou not rather choose a small renown, 
To be the mayor of some poor paltry town, 
Bigly to look, and barbarously to speak ; 
To pound false weights, and scanty measures 
break? 165 

Then, grant we that Sejanus went astray 
In every wish, and knew not how to pray : 



Ver. 135. plays least] One of his vulgar modern 

ideas. Dr. J. Waeton. 

Ver. 146. To have] Here are six nervous and finished 
lines to atone for 135. Dr. J Wakton. 

Ver. 154. The island of. Caprese, which lies about a 
league out at sea from the Campanian shore, was the scene 
of Tiberius's pleasures in the latter part of his reign. 
There he lived for some years with diviners, soothsayers, 
and worse company ; and from thence despatched all his 
orders to the senate. 



THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



*07 



For he who grasp'd the world's exhausted store, 
Yet never had enough, but wish'd for more, 
Raised a top-heavy tower, of monstrous height, 
Which, mouldering, crush'd him undemoath the 
weight. ffl 

What did the mighty Pompey's fall beget 1 
It ruin'd him, who, greater than the Great, 
The stubborn pride of Roman nobles broke ; 
And bent their haughty necks beneath his yoke : 
What else but his immoderate lust of power, OT 
Prayers made and granted in a luckless hour ? 
For few usurpers to the shades descend 
By a dry death, or with a quiet end. 

The boy, who scarce has paid his entrance down 
To his proud pedant, or declined a noun, 181 

(So small an elf, that when the days are foul, 
He and his satchel must be borne to school,) 
Yet prays, and hopes, and aims at nothing less, 
To prove a Tully, or Demosthenes ; . 185 

But both those orators, so much renown'd, 
In their own depths of eloquence were drown'd : 
The hand and head were never lost, of those 
Who dealt in doggrel, or who punn'd in prose. 
" Fortune foretuned the dying notes of Rome, 19 ° 
Till I, thy consul sole, consoled thy doom." 
His fate had crept below the lifted swords, 
Had all his malice been to murder words. 
I rather would be Msevius, thrash for rhymes 
Like his, the scorn and scandal of the times, W5 
Than that Philippic, fatally divine, 
Which is inscribed the second, should be mine. 

Nor he, the wonder of the Grecian throng, 
Who drove them with the torrent of his tongue, 

Ver. 173. Julius Caesar, who got the better of Pompey, 
that was styled the Great. 

Ver. 185. Demosthenes and Tully both died for their 
oratory. Demosthenes gave himself poison to avoid being 
carried to Antipater, one of Alexander's captains, who had 
then made himself master of Athens. Tully was murdered 
by Marc Anthony's order, in return for those invectives he 
had made against him. 

Ver. 186. But both those orators,'] Lydiat, mentioned by 
Johnson in the subsequent imitation, was not generally 
known, though a very learned man, and able mathematician, 
and many persons inquired who he was. Galileo was well 
chosen to exemplify the hard fate of a very illustrious 
philosopher. 

" Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, 
And pause awhile from letters, to be wise ; 
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 
See nations slowly wise, and meanly just, 
To buried Merit raise the tardy bust. 
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, 
Hear Lydiat? s life, and Galileo's end." 
I cannot forbear adding, that Johnson made an alteration 
in the fourth of these lines; at first it stood, 

Toil, envy, want, the garret, and the jail. 
When Lord Chesterfield disappointed him of the patron- 
age he expected, he suddenly altered it to 

the patron, and the jail. 

This Mr. William Collins informed me of, who was pre- 
sent at the time. He himself at last met with a suitable 
reward for his labours, by the gracious and genenni , p . m inn 
which the King gave him of 3001. a year. And a superb 
monument and statue of him is erected in St. Paul's 
cathedral. Dr. J. Wabton. 

Ver. 190. The Latin of this couplet is a famons vffl 
Tully's, in which he sets out. the happiness of his own 
consulship ; famous for the vanity, and the ill poetry of it ; 
for Tully, as he had a good deal of the one, so he had no 
great share of the other. 

Ver. 196. The orations of Tully against Marc Anthony 
were styled by him Philippics, in imitation of Demosthenes, 
who had given that name before to those he made against 
Philip of Macedon. 



Who shook the theatres, and gway'd the .^ute *"" 
Of Athens, found a more propitious fate ; 
Whom, born beneath a boding horoscope, 
His sire, the blear-eyed Vulcan of a shop, 
From Mars his forge, sent to Mine] ,lg, 

To learn the unlucky art of wheedling fools. ** 

With itch of honour, and opinion, vain, 
All things beyond their native worth wo strain : 
The spoils of war, brought to Feretriau Jove, 
An empty coat of armour hung above 
The conqueror's chariot, and in triumph borne, m 
A streamer from a boarded galley torn, 
A chapfall'n beaver loo 'by 

The cloven helm, an arch of victory, 
On whose high convex sits a captive foe, 
And sighing casts a mournful look below; :u 

Of every nation, each illustrious name, 
Such toys as these have cheated into fame : 
Exchanging solid quiet, to obtain 
The windy satisfaction of the brain. 

So much the thirst of honour fires the blood; 
So many would be great, so few be good. aa 

For who would Virtue for herself r 
Or wed, without the portion of reward 1 
Yet this mad chase of fame, by few pursued, 
Has drawn destruction on the multitude : 
This avarice of praise in times to come, 
Those long inscriptions, crowded on the I 
Should some wild fig-tree take her native bent, 
And heave below the gaudy monument, 
Would crack the marble titles, and disperse ^ 
The characters of all the lying verse : 
For sepulchres themselves must crumbling fall 
In time's abyss, the common grave of all. 

Great Hannibal within the balance lay ; 
And tell how many pounds his ashes weigh ; "• 
Whom Afric was not able to contain, 
Whose length runs level with the Atlantic main, 
And wearies fruitful Nilus, to convey 
His sun-beat waters by so long a way : 
Which Ethiopia's double clime divides, 
And elephants in other mountains hides. 
Spain first he won, the Pyreneana pass'd, 
And steopy Alps, the mounds that Nature cast: 
And with corroding juices, its he went, 
A passage through the living rocks lie rent 5,u 
Then, like a torrent, rolling from on high, 
He pours his headlong rage on Italy ; 

Ver.205. ToUnrn) A just definition of eloquence, and 
its abuse, especially in democracies. Dr. .1 . \V utnnf, 

Ver. 208. This is a mock account of a Roman triumph. 

Ver.247. He pours Ma headlong] Charles XII. of Sweden 
was a very favourite character of Dr. Johnson. Though he 
condemned so many of the other works of Voltaire, J 
used to speak in the terms of high approbation of bis 
history of this extraordinary warrior. 
" On what foundation ' rri"r"s pride, 

How just his hopes, lei i Ida : 

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire, 

A frame of adamant, s soul of Are : 

O'er l.ive.oVr tear extends his wide domain, 

UtH-onquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain. 

No joys to him pad leld. 

War sounds the trump, be rushes to the Bold. 

Behold surrounding kings tl tna, 

And one capitulate, and on 

Peace courts his hand, bu rchanns i" i 

main. 

On Mi i ' 

And all In- mil 

And nation ion hi 

Famine guards the 
And \\ niter bUTiOadeS ' i"»t; 



408 



THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



In three victorious battles overrun ; 
Yet, still uneasy, cries, There 's nothing done, 
Till level with the ground their gates are laid ; 250 
And Punic flags on Roman towers display'd. 

Ask what a face belong'd to his high fame : 
His picture scarcely would deserve a frame : 
A sign-post dauber would disdain to paint 
The one-eyed hero on his elephant. 26S 

Now what 's his end, charming Glory ! say, 
What rare fifth act to crown this huffing play ? 
In one deciding battle overcome, 
He flies, is banish'd from his native home : 
Begs refuge in a foreign court, and there 26 ° 

Attends, his mean petition to prefer; 
Repulsed by surly grooms, who wait before 
The sleeping tyrant's interdicted door. 

What wondrous sort of death has heaven 
design'd, 
Distinguished from the herd of human kind, 265 
For so untamed, so turbulent a mind ! 
Nor swords at hand, nor hissing darts afar, 
Are doom'd to avenge the tedious bloody war ; 
But poison, drawn through a ring's hollow plate, 
Must finish him ; a sucking infant's fate. 27 ° 

Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious fool, 
To please the boys, and be a theme at school. 

One world sufficed not Alexander's mind : 
Coop'd up, he seem'd in earth and seas confined : 
And, struggling, stretch'd his restless limbs about 
The narrow globe, to find a passage out. ^ 

Yet, enter'd in the brick-built town, he tried 
The tomb, and found the strait dimensions wide : 
" Death only this mysterious truth unfolds, 
The mighty soul, how small a body holds ! " 280 

Old Greece a tale of Athos would make out, 
Cut from the continent, and sail'd about ; 
Seas hid with navies, chariots passing o'er 
The channel, on a bridge from shore to shore : 
Rivers, whose depth no sharp beholder sees, 285 
Drunk at an army's dinner, to the lees ; 

He comes ; nor want, nor cold, his course delay. 
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day : 
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, 
And shows his miseries in distant lands. 
Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, 
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
But did not chance at length her error mend ? 
Did not subverted empire mark his end? 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 
He left the name, at which the world grew pale, 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale." 

I do not recollect any passage in the works of Pope, of 
greater energy and force of expression than the foregoing 
passage. The last lines do not tally with the original ; for 
contempt is heightened by the address, 

" I, demens, et sfevas curre per Alpes, 
Ut pueris placeas et declamatio fias." 

De. J. Wakton. 
Ver. 278. Babylon, where Alexander died. 

Ver. 282. Xerxes is represented in history after a very 
romantic manner, affecting fame beyond measure, and 
doing the most extravagant things to compass it. Mount 
Athos made a prodigious promontory in the ^Egasan sea ; 
he is said to have cut a channel through it, and to have 
sailed round it. He made a bridge of boats over the Hel- 
lespont, where it was three miles broad ; and ordered a 
whipping for the winds and seas, because they had once 
crossed his designs, as we have a very solemn account of 
it in Herodotus. But after all these vain boasts, he was 
shamefully beaten by Themistocles at Salamis, and re- 
turned home, leaving most of his fleet behind him. 



With a long legend of romantic things, 
Which in his cups the bousy poet sings. 
But how did he return, this haughty brave, 
Who whipp'd the winds, and made the sea his 
slave? 29 ° 

(Though Neptune took unkindly to be bound ; 
And Eurus never such hard usage found 
In his .(Eolian prisons under-ground ;) 
What god so mean, ev'n he who points the way, 
So merciless a tyrant to obey ! M 

But how return'd he ? let us ask again : 
In a poor skiff he pass'd the bloody main, 
Choked with the slaughter'd bodies of his train. 
For fame he pray'd, but let the event declare 
He had no mighty penn'worth of his prayer. 30 ° 

Jove, grant me length of life, and years good 
store 
Heap on my bending back, I ask no more. 
Both.sick and healthful, old and young, conspire 
In this one silly mischievous desire. 
Mistaken blessing, which old age they call, a V 
'Tis a long, nasty, darksome hospital, 
A ropy chain of rheums ; a visage rough, 
Deform' d, unfeatured, and a skin of buff. 
A stitch-fall'n cheek, that hangs below the jaw; 
Such wrinkles, as a skilful hand would draw 310 
For an old grandam ape, when, with a grace, 
She sits at squat, and scrubs her leathern face. 

In youth, distinctions infinite abound ; 
No shape, or feature, just alike are found ; 
The fair, the black, the feeble, and the strong ; 315 
But the same foulness does to age belong, 
The selfsame palsy, both in hmbs and tongue. 
The skull and forehead one bald barren plain ; 
And gums unarm'd to mumble meat in vain : 
Besides the eternal drivel, that supplies 320 

The dropping beard, from nostrils, mouth, and 

eyes. 
His wife and children loathe him, and, what's 

worse, 
Himself does his offensive carrion curse ! 
Flatterers forsake him too ; for who would kill 
Himself, to be remember'd in a will ? 325 

His taste, not only pall'd to wine and meat, 
But to the relish of a nobler treat. 
The limber nerve, in vain provoked to rise, 
Inglorious from the field of battle flies : 
Poor feeble dotard, how could he advance 330 
With his blue head-piece, and his broken lance? 
Add, that endeavouring still without effect, 
A lust more sordid justly we suspect. 

Those senses lost, behold a new defeat, 
The soul dislodging from another seat. 33s 

What music, or enchanting voice, can cheer 
A stupid, old, impenetrable ear? 
No matter in what place, or what degree 
Of the full theatre, he sits to see ; 
Cornets and trumpets cannot reach his ear : 34 ° 
Under an actor's nose he 's never near. 

His boy must bawl, to make him understand 
The hour o' th' day, or such a lord 's at hand : 
The little blood that creeps within his veins 
Is but just warm'd in a hot fever's pains. 3ts 

In fine, he wears no limb about him sound : 
With sores and sicknesses beleaguer'd round : 

Ver. 295. Mercury, who was a god of the lowest size, 
and employed always in errands between heaven and hell; 
and mortals used him accordingly, for his statues were 
anciently placed where roads met, with directions on the 
fingers of them pointing out the several ways to travellers. 



THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



MO 



Ask me their names, I sooner could relate 
How many drudges on salt Hippia wait ; 
What crowds of patients the town-doctor kills, 3S0 
Or how, last fall, he raised the weekly bills : 
What provinces by Basilus were spoil'd, 
What herds of heirs by guardians are beguiled : 
How many bouts a day that bitch has tried ; 
How many boys that pedagogue can ride ! 355 
What lands and lordships for their owner know 
My quondam barber, but his worship now. 

This dotard of his broken back complains, 
One, his legs fail, and one, his shoulder pains : 
Another is of both his eyes bereft ; m 

And envies who has one for aiming left. 
A fifth, with trembling lips expecting stands, 
As in his childhood, cramm'd by others' hands : 
One, who at sight of supper open'd wide 
His jaws before, and whetted grinders tried; 3M 
Now only yawns, and waits to be supplied : 
Like a young swallow, when with weary wings 
Expected food her fasting mother brings. 

His loss of members is a heavy curse, 
But all his faculties decay' d, a worse ! S! ' 3 

His servants' names he has forgotten quite ; 
Knows not his friend who supp'd with him last 

night ; 
Not eVn the children he begot and bred ; 
Or his will knows 'em not : for, in then - stead, 
In form of law, a common hackney jade, 3!i 

Sole heir, for secret services, is made : 
So lewd, and such a batter'd brothel whore, 
That she defies all comers at her door. 
Well, yet suppose his senses are his own, 
He lives to be chief mourner for his son : 
Before his face his wife and brother burns ; 
He numbers all his kindred in their urns. 
These are the fines he pays for living long ; 
And dragging tedious age in his own wrong : 
Griefs always green, a household still in tears, 333 
Sad pomps, a threshold throng'd with daily biers, 
And liveries of black for length of years. 

Next to the raven's age, the Pylian king 
Was longest lived of any two-lcgg'd thing ; 
Bless'd, to defraud the grave so long, to mount 39 ° 
His number'd years, and on his right hand count; 
Three hundred seasons, guzzling must of wine : 
But, hold a while, and hear himself repine 
At fate's unequal laws ; and at the clue 
Which, merciless in length, the midmost sister 
drow. wi 

Ver. 383. Tliese are the fines] There is something very 
tender and pathetic in the following lines of Johnson on 
this subject : — 

" Yet ev'n on this her load Misfortune flings, 
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings, 
New sorrow rises as the day returns, 
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. 
Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, 
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear. 
Year chases year, decay pursues dei 
Still drops some joy from withering life away. 
New forms arise, and different views engage, 
Superfluous lags the veteran on the si i. ; 
Till pitying Nature signs the last release. 
And bids afflicted Worth retire to peace." 

Dr. J.Warton. 
Ver. 388. Nestor, king of I'ylos, who was 800 yew 
according to Homer's account ; at least, as he is understood 
by his expositors. 

Ver. 391. The ancients counted by their fingers: their 
left hands served them till they came up to an hundred; 
after that they used their right, to express all 
numbers. 
Ver. 395. The Fates were throe sisters, which hud all 



When his brave son upon the funeral pyre 

He saw extended, and hi- beard on fire, 

He turu'd, and weeping, ask'd his friends, what 

crime 
Had cursed bis age to this unhappy time 1 

Thus mourn'd old Peleus for Achillea slain, ** 
And thus Ulysses' father did complain. 

How fortunate an end had Priam made, 
Among his ancestors a mighty shade, 
While Troy yet stood ; when Hector, with the 

race 
Of royal bastards, might his funeral grace ; ** 
Amidst the tears of Trojan dames iiiurnd, 
And by his loyal daughters truly mourn'd ! 
Had heaven so bles^l him, he bad died beforo 
The fatal fleet to Sparta Paris bore. 
But mark what age produced ; he lived to see * i0 
His town in flames, his fallidg monarchy : 
In fine, the feeble sire, reduced by fate 
To change his sceptre for a sword, too late, 
His last effort before Jove's altar tries ; 
A soldier half, and half a sacrifice : ni 

Falls like an ox, that waits the coming blow ; 
Old and unprofitable to the plough. 

At least, he died a man ; his queen survived, 
To howl, and in a barking body lived. 

I hasten to our own ; nor will relate 4M 

Great Mithridates', and rich Crccsus' fato ; 
Whom Solon wisely counsell'd to attend 
The name of happy, till he knew his end. 

That Marius was an exile, that he fled, 
Was ta'en, in ruin'd Carthage beggM his bread, 4ii 
All these were owing to a life too long : 
For whom had Rome beheld so happy, young 1 
High in his chariot, and with laurel crown'd, 
When he had led the Cimbrian captives round 
The Roman streets ; descending from his state, *° 
In that blest hour he should have lx-__;'d his fate; 
Then, then, he might have died of all admired, 
And his triumphant soul with shouts expired. 

Campania, fortune's malice to prevent, 
To Porupey an indulgent fever sent ; 
But public prayers imposed on heaven, to give 
Their much-loved leader an unkind reprieve. 



some peculiar business assigned them by the pot I 

of men. The first held the distaff, the 
second spun the thread, and the third cut It. 

Ver. 11 1. Whilst Troy was sacking by the Crooks, old 
King Priam la said to have buckled on his armour to 
them; which he had no bi >' he was mat by 

l'yrrhus, and slain before the altar of .Inpitor, in his own 

vhc story finely told in Viigil's 
^Eneid. 

Ver. 41S. Hecuba, bis queen, escaped the swnrdi of the 
Grecians, and outlived him. It seems she behaved I 
so fiercely and uneasily to her husband's nrartheran virile 
she lived', that the poets thought fit to turn her into a 
bitch, when she died, 

Ver. -121. Mithridates, after he had disputed the ■ 
of the world, for forty years together, with the Roman*, was 
at last deprived of 1 i i > ■ and empire by Pompi ] tin 

Ibid. Croesus, in the midst of his prosperity, making 
his bo;, st to Solo,, don happy be was, rocelrod thl« an 
from the wise man : "Thai no one could pronounce hi 
happy till be saw what his and ih old be." The truth "f 
casus (bund, whan hawai put in chains by Cyras, 
and condemned to die. 

Ver. 485. Pompey, in the midst of his glory, Ml brio a 

tde public supplications for him ' «*' 

. Med to rtolcmy. I 

protection al his court, bad his bead 
• •ar. 



410 



THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



The city's fate and his conspired to save 
The head, reserved for an Egyptian slave. 

Cethegus, though a traitor to the state, 440 

And tortured, 'scaped this ignominious fate : 
And Sergius, who a bad cause bravely tried, 
All of a piece, and undiminish'd, died.. 

To Venus, the fond mother makes a prayer, 
That all her sons and daughters may be fair : 445 
True, for the boys a mumbling vow she sends ; 
But, for the girls, the vaulted temple rends : 
They must be finish'd pieces : 'tis allow'd 
Diana's beauty made Latona proud, 
And pleased, to see the wondering people pray 45 ° 
To the new-rising sister of the day. 

And yet Lucretia's fate would bar that vow : 
And fair Virginia would her fate bestow 
On Rutila ; and change her faultless make 
For the foul rumple of her camel back. 453 

But, for his mother's boy, the beau, what 
frights 
His parents have by day, what anxious nights ! 
Form join'd with virtue is a sight too rare : 
Chaste is no epithet to suit with fair. 
Suppose the same traditionary strain 46 ° 

Of rigid manners in the house remain ; 
Inveterate truth, an old plain Sabine's heart ; 
Suppose that Nature, too, has done her part ; 
Infused into his soul a sober grace, 
And blush'd a modest blood into his face, 4G3 

(For Nature is a better guardian far, 
Than saucy pedants, or dull tutors are :) 
Yet still the youth must ne'er arrive at man ; 
(So much almighty bribes and presents can ;) 
Ev'n with a parent, where persuasions fail, 4 '° 
Money is impudent, and will prevail. 

We never read of such a tyrant king, . 
Who gelt a boy deform'd, to hear him sing. 
Nor Nero, in his more luxurious rage, 
E'er made a mistress of an ugly page : 4 ' 5 

Sporus, his spouse, nor crooked was, nor lame, 
With mountain back, and belly, from the game 
Cross-barr'd : but both his sexes well became. 
Go, boast your springal, by his beauty cursed 
To ills, nor think I have declared the worst : 4S0 
His form procures him journey-work; a strife 
Betwixt town-madams, and the merchant's wife : 
Ouess, when he undertakes this public war, 
What furious beasts offended cuckolds are. 

Adulterers are with dangers round beset ; 4S5 
Bom under Mars, they cannot 'scape the net ; 
And from revengeful husbands oft have tried 
Worse handling than severest laws provide : 
One stabs ; one slashes ; one, with cruel art, 
Makes colon suffer for the peccant part. 49 ° 

But your Endymion, your smooth, smock-faced 
boy, 
UnrivaU'd, shall a beauteous dame enjoy : 
Not >so : one more salacious, rich, and old, 
Outbids, and buys her pleasure for her gold : 
Now he must moil, and drudge, for one he loathes, 
She keeps him high in equipage and clothes : 49G 

Ver. 440. Cethegtfs "was one that conspired with Catiline, 
and was put to death by the Senate. 

Ver. 442. Catiline died fighting. 

Ver. 453. Virginia was killed by her own father, to pre- 
vent her being exposed to the lust of Appius Claudius, who 
had ill designs upon her. The story at large is in Livy's 
third hook ; and it is a remarkable one, as it gave occasion 
to the putting down the power of the Decemviri, of whom 
Appius was one. 



She pawns her jewels, and her rich attire, 
And thinks the workman worthy of his hire : 
In all things else immoral, stingy, mean ; 
But, in her lusts, a conscionable quean. 50C 

She may be handsome, yet be chaste, you say; 
Good observator, not so fast away : 
Did it not cost the modest youth his life, 
Who shunn'd th' embraces of his father's wife ' 
And was not t' other stripling forced to fly, 505 
Who coldly did his patron's queen deny, 
And pleaded laws of hospitality ? 
The ladies charged 'em home, and turn'd the tale ; I 
With shame they redden' d, and with spite grew 

pale. 
'Tis dangerous to deny the longing dame ; 51 ° 

She loses pity, who has lost her shame. 

Now Silius wants thy counsel, give advice ; 
Wed Caesar's wife, or die ; the choice is nice. 
Her comet-eyes she darts on every grace ; 
And takes a fatal liking to his face. 615 

Adorn'd with bridal pomp she sits in state ; 
The public notaries and Aruspex wait : 
The genial bed is in the garden dress'd : 
The portion paid, and every rite express'd, 
Which in a Roman marriage is profess'd. 5:o 

'Tis no stol'n wedding this, rejecting awe, 
She scorns to marry, but in form of law : 
In this moot case, your judgment : to refuse 
Is present death, besides the night you lose : 
If you consent, 'tis hardly worth your pain ; 525 
A day or two of anxious life you gain : 
Till loud reports through all the town have pass'd 
And reach the prince : for cuckolds hear the last. 
Indulge thy pleasm-e, youth, and take thy swing; 
For not to take is but the self-same thing ; 53 ° 

Inevitable death before thee lies ; 
But looks more kindly through a lady's eyes. 

What then remains'! Are we deprived of will ; 
Must we not wish, for fear of wishing ill ? 
Receive my counsel, and securely move ; 635 

Entrust thy fortune to the Powers above. 
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant 
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want : 
In goodness as in greatness they excel ; 
Ah that we loved ourselves but half so well ! 54 ° 
We, blindly by our headstrong passions led, 
Are hot for action, and desire to wed ; 
Then wish for heirs : but to the gods alone 
Our future offspring, and our wives, are known ; 
Th' audacious strumpet, and ungracious son. 645 

Yet not to rob the priests of pious gain, 
That altars be not wholly built in vain ; 
Forgive the gods the rest, and stand confined 
To health of body, and content of mind : 



Ver. 503. Hippolytus, the son of Theseus, was loved by 
his mother-in-law Phaedra ; but he not complying with her, 
she procured his death. 

Ver. 505. Bellerophon, the son of king Glaucus, residing 
some time at the court of Partus, king of the Argives, the 
queen, Sthenobsea, fell in love with him ; but he refusing 
her, she turned the accusation.upon him, and he narrowly 
escaped Pastus's vengeance. 

Ver. 512. Messalina, wife to the emperor Claudius, 
infamous for her lewdness. She set her eyes upon C. Silius, 
a fine youth, forced him to quit his own wife, and marry 
her with all the formalities of a wedding, whilst Claudius 
Csesar was sacrificing at Hostia. Upon his return, he put 
both Silius and her to death. 

Ver. 546. Yet not to roS] He could not forbear dragging 
in an improper and ill-applied sarcasm on priests. Dr. J 
Warton. 



THE SIXTEENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



411 



A soul, that can securely death defy, M0 

And count it nature's privilege, to dio ; 
Serene and manly, harden'd to sustain 
The load of life, and exercised in pain : 
Guiltless of hate, and proof against desiro ; 
That all things weighs, and nothing can admire : 
That dares prefer the toils of Hercules 55 ° 

To dalliance, banquet, and ignoble ease. 

The path to peace is virtue : what I show, 
Thyself may freely on thyself bestow : 
Fortune was never worshipp'd by the wise ; M0 
But, set aloft by fools, usurps the skies. 



THE 



SIXTEENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The poet, in this Satire, proves, that the condition of a 
soldier is much hetter than that of a countryman : first, 
because a countryman, however affronted, provoked, and 
struck himself, dares not strike a soldier ; who is only to 
be judged by a court-martial : and by the law of Camil- 
lus, which obliges him not to quarrel without the trenches, 
he is also assured to have a speedy hearing, and quick 
despatch : whereas the townsman or peasant is delayed 
in his suit by frivolous pretences, and not sure of justice 
when he is heard in the court. The soldier is also privi- 
leged to make a will, and to give away his estate, which 
he got in war, to whom he pleases, without consideration 
of parentage or relations, which is denied to all other 
Komans. This Satire was written by Juvenal, when he 
•was a commander in Egypt : it is certainly his, though I 
think it not finished. And if it be well observed, you 
will find he intended an invective against a standing 
army. 

What vast prerogatives, my Gallus, are 

Accruing to the mighty man of wax ! 

For, if into a lucky camp I light, 

Though raw in arms, and yet afraid to fight, 

Befriend me my good stars, and all goes right : 5 

One happy hour is to a soldier better 

Than mother Juno's recommending letter, 

Or Venus, when to Mars she would prefer 

My suit, and own the kindness done to her. 

See what our common privileges are : 
As, first, no saucy citizen shall dare 



Ver. 550. A soul, that] These six following lines in 
Dryden are highly finished in his best manner. Yet we 
may perhaps read Dr. Johnson's admirable conclusion of 
this satire with great pleasure : — 
" Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires, 
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, 
Obedient passions, and a will resign'd ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can fill, 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, 
Counts death, kind nature's signal of retreat; 
These goods for man the laws of heaven ordain, 
These goods he grants, who grants the power to gain. 
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 
And makes the happiuess she does not find." 

Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 1. What vast prerogatives,] This Satire is much in- 
ferior to the rest. The old scholiast denies that it is by 
Juvenal. I suppose Dryden was forced to add it to lill op 
his volume.— Barten Holy day's notes, added to Mistransla- 
tion of Juvenal, are worth reading. Dr. J. \V 1 1 

Ver. 7. Juno was mother to Mars, tho god of war : Venus 
was his inittrcss. 



To strike a soldier, nor, when struck, n 
The wrong, for fear of farther punishment : 
Not though his teeth arc beaten Out) his eyes 
Hang by a string, in bumps his forehead rise, ** 
Shall he presume to mention his disgrace, 
Or beg amends for hi* demolii b'd 
A booted judge shall sit to try his c 
Not by the statute, but, by martial laws; 
Which old Camillus order'd, to confine * 

Tho brawls of soldiers to the trench and line: 
A wise provision ; and from thence 'tis clear, 
That officers a soldier's cause should hear : 
And taking cognizance of wrongs received, 
An honest man may hope to be relieved. 
So far 'tis well : but with a general cry 
The regiment will rise in mutiny, 
Tho freedom of their fel'ow-rogue demand, 
And, if refused, will threaten to disband. 
Withdraw thy action, and depart in peace ; M 

The remedy is worse than the diw 
This cause is worthy him, who in the hall 
Would for his fee, and for his client, bawl : 
But would'st thou, friend, who hast two legs alone, 
(Which, heaven be praised ! thou yet may 'at call 
thy own) M 

Would'st thou to run the gauntlet these expose 
To a whole company of hobnail'd shoes i 
Sure the good-breeding of wiso citizens 
Should teach 'em more good-nature to their shins. 

Besides, whom canst thou think so much thy 
friend, *' 

Who dares appear thy business to defend ? 
Dry up thy tears, and pocket up th' abuse, 
Nor put thy friend to make a bad excuse : 
The judge cries out, Your evidence produca 
Will he, who saw the soldier's mutton-fist, 
And saw thee maul'd, appear within the list, 
To witness truth ! When I seo one so brave, 
The dead, think I, are risen from the grave ; 
And with their long spade beards. ,■■■ I 1 hair, 

Our honest ancestors are come to take the air. *" 
Against a clown, with more security, 
A witness may be brought to swear a lie, 
Than, though his evidence be full and fair, 
To vouch a truth against a man of war. 

More benefits remain, and claim'd as rights, w 
Which are a standing army's perquisites. 
] f any rogue vexatious suits advance 
Against me for my known inheritance, 
Enter by violence my fruitful grounds, 
Or take the sacred landmark from my bounds. 
Those bounds which, with procession and with 

prayer, 
And ofler'd cakes, have been my annual care : 

Ver. 20. Camillus, (who being first banished by his un- 
grateful oountrj men the Bom ins, afterwards returned, nn.l 
Dreed them Bra made a law, which prohibited 

the soldiers firom quarrelling without the can 
that pretence they might happen to be absent when they 
ought to be en duty. 

Ver. .12. 77 ■ rih;i lim.Ai:] ThepoeiS 

a Modeneso lawyer. \ aUlns; «li" «nw » 

impudent that he would plead airj 
luune or fear. 

Ver. 87. : 'i The ltoiimn *ddi.T» 

wore plates of i * 1Ul 

nails as countrymen A 

Ver. 62. Landm i 
in the same maimer as no* : and ■■ t» 

Ion, .".I i the i mnil I 

u| the ItODB, or UiuUnaxk. 



412 



TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS. 



Or if my debtors do not keep their day, 

Deny their hands, and then refuse to pay ; 

I must with patience all the terms attend, 65 

Among the common causes that depend, 

Till mine is call'd ; and that long look'd-for day 

Is still encumber'd with some new delay : 

Perhaps the cloth of state is only spread, 

Some of the quorum may be sick a-bed ; 7 ° 

That judge is hot, and doffs his gown, while this 

O'er-night was bousy, and goes out to piss : 

So many rubs appear, the time is gone 

For hearing, and the tedious suit goes on : 

But buff and beltmen never know these cares, 75 

No time, nor trick of law, their action bars : 

Their cause they to an easier issue put : 

They will be heard, or they lug out, and cut. 

Another branch of their revenue still 
Remains, beyond their boundless right to kill, ^ 



Ver. 69. The courts of judicature were hung and spread, 
as with us ; hut spread only hefore the hundred judges who 
were to sit and judge puhlic causes, which were called by lot. 



'Their father yet alive, empower'd to make a will. 

For, what their prowess gain'd the law declares, 

Is to themselves alone, and to their heirs : 

No share of that goes back to the begetter. 

But if the son fights well, and plunders better, ^ 

Like stout Coranus, his old shaking sire 

Does a remembrance in his will desire : 

Inquisitive of fights, and longs in vain 

To find him in the number of the slain : 

But still he lives, and, rising by the war, " 

Enjoys his gains, and has enough to spare : 

For-'tis a noble general's prudent part 

To cherish valour, and reward desert : 

Let him be daub'd with lace, live high, and whore; 

Sometimes be lousy, but be never poor. 95 

Ver. 81. The Roman soldiers had the privilege of making 
a will, in their father's life-time, of what they had purchased 
in the wars, as being no part of their patrimony. By this 
will they had power of excluding their own parents, and 
giving the estate so gotten to whom they pleased. There- 
fore, says the poet, Coranus, (a soldier contemporary with 
Juvenal, who had raised his fortune by the wars) was 
courted by his own father, to make him bis heir. 



TRANSLATIONS FKOM PEKSIUS. 



THE 



FIRST SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



ARGUMENT OP THE PROLOGUE TO THE FIRST SATIRE. 

The design of the author was to conceal his name and 
quality. He lived in the dangerous times of the tyrant 
Nero ; and aims particularly at him in most of his 
Satires. For which reason, though he was a Roman 
knight, and of a plentiful fortune, he would appear in this 
prologue hut a beggarly poet, who writes for bread. After 
this, he breaks into the business of the first Satire ; which 
is chiefly to decry the poetry then in fashion, and the 
impudence of those who were endeavouring to pass their 
stuff upon the world. 

PROLOGUE TO THE FIRST SATIRE. 

I never did on cleft Parnassus dream, 
Nor taste the sacred Heliconian stream ; 
Nor can remember when my brain, inspired, 
Was, by the Muses, into madness fired. 

Ver. 1. Parnassus and Helicon were hills consecrated 
to the Muses ; and the supposed place of their abode. 
Parnassus was forked on the top ; and from. Helicon ran a 
stream, the spring of which was called the Muses' well. 



My share in pale Pyrene I resign ; s 

And claim no part in all the mighty Nine. 
Statues, with winding ivy crown'd, belong 
To nobler poets, for a nobler song : 
Heedless of verse, and hopeless of the crown, 
Scarce half a wit, and more than half a clown, 10 
Before the shrine I lay my rugged numbers down. 
"Who taught the parrot human notes to try, 
Or with a voice endued the chattering pie \ 
'Twas witty want, fierce hunger to appease : 
Want taught their masters, and their masters 

these. 15 

Let gain, that gilded bait, be hung on high, 
The hungry witlings have it in their eye ; 
Pies, crows, and daws, poetic presents bring : 
You say they squeak ; but they will swear they 

sing. 

Ver. 5. Pyrene] A fountain in Corinth ; conse- 
crated also to the Muses. 

Ver. 7. Statues, &c.] The statues of the poets were 
crowned with ivy about their brows. 

Ver. 11. Before the shrine] That is, before the shrine of 
Apollo, in his temple at Rome, called the Palatine. 



THE FIRST SATIRE OF PEBSIUB. 



413 



THE FIRST SATIRE. 

IN DIALOQ11K BETWIXT THE POET AND HIS FEIEND OR 
MONITOR. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

I need not repeat, that the cliiuf aim of the author is 
against bad poets in this Satire. But I must add, that 
he includes also bad orators, who began at that time (as 
Petronius in the beginning of his book tells us) to ener- 
vate manly eloquence, by tropes and figures, ill placed, 
and worse applied. Amongst the poets, Persius covertly 
strikes at Nero; some of whose verses he recites with 
scorn and indignation. He also takes notice of the 
noblemen and their abominable poetry, who, in the 
luxury of their fortune, set up for wits and judges. The 
Satire is in dialogue, betwixt the author and his friend 
■or monitor; who dissuades him from this dangerous 
attempt of exposing great men. But Persius, who is of 
a free spirit, and has not forgotten that Rome was once a 
commonwealth, breaks through all those difficulties] and 
boldly arraigns the false judgment of the age in which 
he lives. — The reader may observe that our poet was a 
Stoic philosopher; and that all his moral sentences, both 
here and in all the rest of his Satires, are drawn from the 
dogmas of that sect. 



How anxious are our cares, and yet bow vain 
The bent of our desires ! 



Thy spleen contain : 
For none will read thy satires. 

PERSIUS. 

This to me ? 5 

FRIEND. 

None, or what 's next to none, but two or three. 
'Tis hard I grant. 

PERSIUS. 

'Tis nothing ; I can bear 
That paltry scribblers have the public ear : 
That this vast universal fool, the Town, 10 

Should cry up Labeo's stuff, and cry me down. 
They damn themselves ; nor will my Muse descend 
To clap with such, who fools and knaves commend : 
Their smiles and censures are to me the same : 
I care not what they praise, or what they blame. 
In full assemblies let the crowd prevail : 
I weigh no merit by the common scale. 
The conscience is the test of every mind ; 
" Seek not thyself, without thyself, to find." 
But wherc's that Roman'? — Somewhat I would 
say, -" 

But Fear ; — let Fear, for once, to Truth give way. 
Truth lends the Stoic courage : when I look 
On human acts, and read in Nature's book, 
From the first pastimes of our infant age, 
To elder cares, and man's severer page ; 

Ver. 1. Bow anxlmis) None of my author's hard meta- 
phors or forced expressions, says Dryden, are in my 
translation. Dr. J. Waeitos. 

Ver. 11. Labeo's "luff] Nothing is remaining of 

Attieus Laheo, (so lie is called by the learned Ca 
nor is he mentioned by any other poet besides IV hi 
Casaubon, from an old commentator on rei las ays, that 
he made a very foolish translation of Homer's I 



When stern as tutors, and as uncles bard, 

We lash the pupil, ami defraud tin- v, u 

Then, then I say, — or would say, if I dm 

But thus provoked, I must speak out, or buret. 

fshsd. 

Once more forbear. *• 

PERSIUS. 

I cannot rale my spleen ; 
My scorn rebels, and tickles me within. 

t, to begin at home ; our authors write 
In lonely rooms, Becured from public sight ; 
Whether in prose or verse, 'tis all the taint : • 
The prose is fustian, and the numbers lame. 
All noise, and empty pomp, a storm of -.-. 
Labouring with sound, that little sense affords. 
They comb, and then to . order ever; hair: 
A gown, or white, or scour'd to whiteness, wear : 
A birthday jewel bobbing at their ear. 41 

Next, gargle well their throats, and thus prepared. 
They mount, a God's name, to be seen and heard, 
From their high scaffold, with a trumpet cheek. 
And ogling till their audience ere they speak. * 
The nauseous nobles, ev'n the chief of Rome, 
With gaping mouths to these rehearsals c 
And pant with pleasure, when some lusty lino 
The marrow pierces, and invades the chine. 
At open fulsome bawdry they rejoice, 
And slimy jests applaud with broken voice. 
Base prostitute, thus dost thou gain thy bread I 
Thus dost thou feed their ears, and thus art fed? 
At his own filthy stuff he grins and brays : M 

And gives the sign where he expects their praise. 

Why have I leam'd, say'st thou, if thus con- 
fined, 
I choke the noble vigour of my mind ? 
Know, my wild fig-tree, which in rocks is bred, 
Will split the quarry, and shoot out the head. 
Fine fruits of learning ! old ambitious fool, "> 
Dai 'st thou apply that adage of the school ; 
As if 'tis nothing worth that lies conceal'.!, 
And "science is not science till reveal'd !" 
Oh, but 'tis brave to bo admired, to see 
The crowd with pointing fiugers, cry, That 's he :** 
That's ho whose wondrous poem is become 
A lecture for the noble youth of Rome ! 
Who, by their fathers, is at leasts renown'd ; 
And often quoted when the bowls go round. 
Full gorged and flush'd.thcy wantonly rehearse; " 
And add to wine the luxury of w 
One, clad in purple, not to lose his time, 
Eats, and recites some lamentable rhyme : 
Some senseless l'liillis. in a broken note, 
Snuffling at nose, and croaking in his throat: 7 * 
Then graciously the mellow audi, nee i 
Is not th' immortal author made a god I 
Arc not his manes blcss'd, BUch | e ? 

not the turf more lightly on his gn 
And roses (while his loud applause th< 
Stand ready from his sepul< 

All these, you ory, but li^-ht objections arc: 

.Mere malice, and you drive thejest too far. 

y,. r ;; i . II,- .i. - ni ■ n al preparing 

himself t" rehearse bis «. rkj In pul I 
monly performed i" Ingn it \ i "< h T 

some friend; a scaffold iru raised, and a pulp 
him, who was to hold forth; »ho 

! his el. I "lie. mi. I ad 

Ver. 88. 
gran wild In r »«T 

UmMtplittin na. 



414 



THE FIRST SATIRE OP PERSIUS. 



For does there breathe a man, who can reject 
A general fame, and his own lines neglect ? ^ 

In cedar tablets worthy to appear, 
That need not fish, or frankincense to fear ] 

Thou, whom I make the adverse part to bear, 
Be answer'd thus : If I by chance succeed 
In what I write (and that 's a'chance indeed), 90 
Know, I am not so stupid, or so hard, 
Not to feel praise, or fame's deserved reward : 
But this I cannot grant, that thy applause 
Is my work's ultimate, or only, cause. 
Prudence can ne'er propose so mean a prize ; 9S 
For mark what vanity within it lies. 
Like Labeo's Iliads, in whose verse is found 
Nothing but trifling care, and empty sound : 
Such little elegies as nobles write, - 
Who would be poets, in Apollo's spite. 10 ° 

Them and their woful works the Muse defies : 
Products of citron beds, and golden canopies. 
To give thee all thy due, thou hast the heart 
To make a supper, with a fine dessert ; 
And to thy threadbare friend, a cast old suit 
impart. 103 

Thus bribed, thou thus bespeak'st him : Tell me, 
friend, 
(For I love truth, nor can plain speech offend,) 
What says the world of me and of my Muse ? 

The poor dare nothing tell but flattering news: 
Butshall I speak? Thy verse is wretched rhyme ; 
And all thy labours are but loss of time. m 

Thy strutting belly swells, thy paunch is high ; 
Thou writ'st not, but thou pissest poetry. 

All authors to their own defects are blind ; 
Hadst thou but, Janus-like, a face behind, 115 

To see the people, what splay-mouths they make ; 
To mark their fingers, pointed at thy back : 
Their tongues loll'd out, a foot beyond the pitch, 
When most athirst, of an Apulian bitch : 
But noble scribblers are with flattery'fed ; 12 ° 

For none dare find their faults, who eat their bread. 

To pass the poets of patrician blood, 
What is 't the common reader takes for good ? 
The verse in fashion is, when numbers flow, 
Soft without sense, and without spirit slow : 125 
So smooth and equal, that no sight can find 
The rivet where the polish'd piece was join'd. 
So even all, with such a steady view, 
As if he shut one eye to level true. 
Whether the vulgar vice his satire stings, 13 ° 

The people's riots, or the rage of kings, 
The gentle poet is alike in all ; 
His reader hopes no rise, and fears no fall. 



Hourly we see some raw pin-feather'd thing 
Attempt to mount, and fights and heroes sing ; 135 



Ver. 86. The Romans wrote on cedar and cypress tables, 
in regard of the duration of the wood : ill verses might 
justly be afraid of frankincense ; for the papers in which 
they were written were fit for nothing but to wrap it up. 

Ver. 102. Products of citron leds, &c] Writings of 
noblemen, whose bedsteads were of the wood of citron. 

Ver. 115. Janus-like, &c] Janus was the first 

king of Italy ; who refuged Saturn when he was expelled 
by his son Jupiter from Crete, or, as we now call it, Candia. 
From his name the first month of the year is called J anuary. 
He was pictured with two faces, one before and. one behind, 
as regarding the past time and the future. Some of the 
mythologists think he was Noah, for the reason given 
above. 



Who for false quantities was whipp'd at school 

But t' other day, and breaking grammar rule, 

Whose trivial art was never tried above 

The bare description of a native grove : 

Who knows not how to praise the country store, 

The feasts, the baskets, nor the fatted boar ; H1 

Nor paint the flowery fields, that paint themselves 

before. 
Where Romulus was bred, and Quintius born, 
Whose shining ploughshare was in furrows worn, 
Met by his trembling wife, returning home, 14S 
And rustically joy'd as chief of Rome : 
She wiped the sweat from the dictator's brow ; 
And o'er his back his robe did rudely throw ; 
The lictors bore in state their lord's triumphant 

plough. 
Some love to hear the fustian poet roar; 150 
And some on antiquated authors pore : 
Rummage for sense ; and think those only good 
Who labour most, and least are understood. 
When thou shalt see the blear-eyed fathers teach 
Their sons this harsh and mouldy sort of speech ; 
Or others new affected ways to try, 166 

Of wanton smoothness, female poetry ; 
One would inquire from whence this motley 

style 
Did first our Roman purity defile : 
For our old dotards cannot keep their seat ; 16 ° 
But leap and catch at all that 's obsolete. 

Others, by foolish ostentation led, 
When call'd before the bar, to save their head, 
Bring trifling tropes, instead of solid sense ; 1M 
And mind their figures more than their defence : 
Are pleased to hear their thick-skull'd judges 

cry, 
Well moved, oh finely said, and decently ! 
Theft (says the accuser) to thy charge I lay, 
Pedius ! what does gentle Pedius say] 
Studious to please the genius of the times, 1 '° 
With periods, points, and tropes, he slurs his 

crimes : 
" He robb'd not, but he borrowed from the poor ; 
And took but with intention to restore." 
He lards with flourishes his long harangue ; 
'Tis fine, sa/st thou: What, to be praised, and 

hang] ™ 

Effeminate Roman, shall such stuff prevail 
To tickle thee, and make thee wag thy tail ? 
Say, should a shipwreck'd sailor sing his woe, 
Would'st thou be' moved to pity, or bestow 
An alms ? What 's more preposterous than to see 
A merry beggar ] Mirth in misery? 181 



He seems a trap, for charity to lay : 

And cons, by night, his lesson for the day. 



But to raw numbers, and unfinish'd verse, 
Sweet sound is added now, to make it terse : 185 



Ver. 143. Where Romulus, &c] He speaks of the country 
in the foregoing verses, the praises of which are the most 
easy theme for poets ; but which a bad poet cannot natu- 
rally describe ; then he makes a digression to Romulus, the 
first king of Home, who had a rustical education; and 
enlarges upon Quintius Cincinnatus, a Roman senator, who 
was called from the plough, to be dictator of Rome. 

Ver. 171. With periods, &c] Persins here names anti- 
theses, or seeming contradictions, which in this place are 
meant for rhetorical flourishes, as I think with Casaubon. 



THE FIRST SATIRE OF PEKSIUS. 



4 IS 



"Tis tagg'd with rhyme, like Berecynthian Atys, 
The mid-part chimes with art, which never flat is. 
The dolphin bravo, that cuts the liquid wavo, 
Or he who in his line, can chine the long-ribb'd 
Appennine." 

PERSIUS. 

All this is doggrel stuff. 190 

FRIEND. 

What if I bring 
A nobler verse ? "Arms and the man I sing." 



Why name you Virgil with such fops as these ? 
He 's truly great, and must for ever please ; 
Not fierce, but awful is his manly page ; IM 

Bold is his strength, but sober is his rage. 



What poems think you soft 1 and to be read 
With languishing regards, and bending head 1 



" Their crooked horns the Mimallonian crew 
With blasts inspired ; and Bassaris who slew 20 ° 
The scornful calf, with sword advanced on high, 
Made from his neck his haughty head to fly. 
And Mamas, when with ivy bridles bound, 
She led the spotted lynx, then Evion rang around ; 
Evion from woods and floods repairing echoes 
sound." 2()5 

Could such rude lines a Roman mouth become, 
Were any manly greatness left in Rome ] 
Mamas and Atys in the mouth were bred ; 
And never hatch'd within the labouring head : 
No blood from bitten nails those poems drew : 2I0 
But churn'd, like spittle, from the lips they flew. 



'Tis fustian all ; 'tis execrably bad : 
But if they will be fools, must you be mad ? 
Your satires, let me tell you, are too fierce ; 
The great will never bear so blunt a verse. 21 
Their doors are barr'd against a bitter flout : 
Snarl, if you please, but you shall snarl without. 
Expect such pay as railing rhymes deserve, 
You 're in a very hopeful way to sterve. 



Rather than so, uncensured let 'em be ; 

All, all is admirably well, for mo. 

My harmless rhyme shall 'scape tho dire disgrace 

Of common-shores, and every pissing-place. 



Ver. 186. Berecynthian Atys, &c] Foolish verses 

of Nero, which the poet repeats, and which cannot ho 
translated properly into English. 

Vpr. 192. "Arms and the man," &c] The first line 

of Virgil's ^Eneids. 

Ver. 199. " Their crooked horns," &c] Other verses of 
"Nero, that were mere bombast. 1 only note, th ■! tin- ivpr- 
titinn of these and the former verses "I' Nero, might justly 
give tho poet a caution to conceal his name. 

Ver. 20S. Manias and Atys] Poems mi tin' M. 
who were priestesses of Bacchus; anil of Atys, who 
himself an eunuch, to attend "" sea of Cybnle, 

called Berecyuthia by the poeta; alio was mother of the 
gods. 



Two painted serpents shall, on high, app 
'Tis holy ground; you must not urine h. i ■■■. *• 
This shall be writ to fright the Cry away, 
Who draw their little baubles, when they play. 

Yet old Lucilius never fear'd the times, 
But lash'd the city, and dissected a 
Mutius and Lupus both by name lie brought ; °° 
He mouth'd Via, and betwixt his grinders caught. 
Unlike in method, with conceal'd di 
Did crafty Horace his low numbers join : 
And, with a sly insinuating grace, *** 

Laugh'dat his friend, and look'd him in tho face: 
Would raise a blush, where secret vice In- found ; 
And tickle, while he gently probed the wound, 
With seeming innocence the crowd beguiled ; 
But made the de ee, when he smiled. 

Could he do this, and ',.-, my Muse control! 
By servile awel Born free, and not lie bold f 
At least, I'll dig a hole within the ground ; 
And to the trusty earth commit thi sound : 
The reeds shall tell you what the poet f( 
" King Midas has a snout, and is." s 45 

This mean conceit, this darling mystery, 
Which thou think'st nothing, friend, thou shalt 

not buy, 
Nor will I change, for all the flashy wit, 
Tint flattening I -.beo m his Hi ids writ 

Thou, if there be a thou in this base town, M 
■\ no dares, with angry Eupolis, to frown ; 
Ho, who, with bold Cratinus, is inspired 
With zeal, and ccuial indignation fired; 
Who, at enormous villany, turns pale, 
And steers against it with a full-blown sail, 2a 
Like Aristophanes, let him but smile 
On this my honest work, though writ in homely 

style : 
And if two lines or three in all tho vein 
Appear less drossy, read those lines again. 
May they perform their author's just intent, M0 
Glow in thy ears, and in thy breast ferment. 
But from the reading of my book and me, 
Be far, ye foes of virtuous poverty : 
Who fortune's fault upon the poor can throw ; 
Point at the tattcr'd coat, and ragged shoo : ** 
Lay nature's failings to their charge, and jeer 
The dim weak eyesight, when the mind is clear. 
When thou thyself, thus insolent in state, 
Art but, perhaps, somo country magistrate ; 



Ver. 22 1. Two painted wrpaitf, &c] Two snakes twined 
with each other were painted on tho walls, by the am 
to show the placo was holy. 

Ver. 228. Yet old Ludthu, Ac] l.ucilius wrote lone 
before Horace, who imitates his manner of satire, hut far 
excels him in tho design. 

Ver. 246. ' ' 4c] The story Is vulgar, that 

Midas, king of Phrj le Indgebetwizl 

run, who »;is the besl musician : he gave the prim to Tun ; 
and Apollo in revenge gave him aases'ears. He ■ 
hair long to hide them; but his barbai them, 

and not during to divulge the seen t, dog ■ hole in tii» 
ground, and whispered Into it ; the pi ii 
when the reeds grew up, thoy repeated the 
were spoken by the barber. By Ulaastl 

Ver. 2.11. EnpoUa and Oraturaa, as 
mentioned afterwards, were all ' 
thai sort of oomedy which wi 
where the people were named who i aUlruwd by those 

authors. 
Ver. 264. R 

in the t i nit- of I'- 

philosophers, partlnularlj tho < ind Stoics woo 

were tn 



416 



THE SECOND SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



Whose power extends no farther than to speak 2 "° 
Big on the bench, and scanty weights to break. 

Him, also, for my censor I disdain, 
Who thinks all science, as all virtue, vain ; 
Who counts geometiy, and numbers, toys ; 
And, with his foot, the sacred dust destroys : ^ 
Whose pleasure is to see a strumpet tear 
A Cynic's beard, and lug him by the hair. 
Such, all the morning, to the pleadings run ; 
But when the business of the day is done, 
On dice, and drink, and drabs, they spend their 
afternoon. 280 



THE 



SECOND SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



DEDICATED TO HIS FRIEND PLOTIUS MACRINUS, ON HIS 
BIRTHDAY. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

This Satire contains a most grave and philosophical argu- 
ment, concerning prayers and wishes. Undoubtedly it 
gave occasion to Juvenal's tenth Satire ; and both of 
them had their original from one of Plato's dialogues, 
called the Second Alcibiades. Our author has induced it 
with great mastery of art, by taking his rise from the 
birthday of his friend; on which occasions, prayers were 
made, and sacrifices offered by the native. Persius com- 
mending the purity of his friend's vows, descends to the 
impious and immoral requests of others. The Satire is 
divided into three parts. The first is the exordium to 
Macrinus, which the poet confines within the compass of 
four verses. The second relates to the matter of the 
prayers and vows, and an enumeration of those things, 
wherein men commonly sinned against right reason, and 
offended in their requests. The third part consists in 
showing the repugnances of those prayers and wishes 
to those of other men, and inconsistencies with them- 
selves. He shows the original of these vows, and sharply 
inveighs against them ; and lastly, not only corrects the 
false opinion of mankind concerning them, but gives the 
true doctrine of all addresses made to Heaven, and how 
they may be made acceptable to the Powers above, in 
excellent precepts, and more worthy of a Christian than 
a Heathen. 

Let this auspicious morning be express'd 
With a white stone, distinguish'd from the rest : 
White as thy fame, and as thy honour clear ; 
And let new joys attend on thy new added year. 
Indulge thy genius, and o'erflow thy soul, 5 

Till thy wit sparkle, like the cheerful bowl. 
Pray ; for thy prayers the test of heaven will bear ; 
Nor need'st thou take the gods aside to hear: 
While others, eVn the mighty men of Rome, 
Big swell'd with mischief, to the temples come ; 10 



Ter. 275. Anil, with Ms foot, &c] Arithmetic and 
geometry were taught on floors which were strewed with 
Sust or sand, in which the numbers and diagrams were 
made and drawn, which they might strike out again at 
pleasure. 

Ver. 280. On dice,] Barten Holyday observes that " in 
Persius the difficulty is to find a meaning; in Juvenal to 
choose a meaning : so crabbed is Persius, and so copious is 
Juvenal. So much is the understanding employed in the 
one, and so much the judgment in the other. So difficult 
is it to find any sense in the former, and the best sense of 
the latter." Dr. J. "Warton. 

Ver. 2. white stone,'] The Romans were used to 

mark their fortunate days, or any thing that luckily befell 
them, with a white stone which they had from the island 
Creta; and their unfortunate, with a coal. 



And in low murmurs, and with costly smoke, 
Heaven's help, to prosper their black vows, invoke. 
So boldly to the gods mankind reveal 
What from each other they, for shame, conceal. 

Give me good fame, ye Powers, and make me 
just : 15 

Thus much the rogue to public ears will trust : 
In private then : — When wilt thou, mighty Jove, 
My wealthy uncle from this world remove 1 
Or — thou Thunderer's son, great Hercules, 
That once thy bounteous deity would please ^ 
To guide my rake, upon the chinking sound 
Of some vast treasure, hidden under ground ! 

were my pupil fairly knock'd o' the head ; 
I should possess the estate, if he were dead ! 
He 's so far gone with rickets, and with the evil, i5 
That one small dose will send him to the devil. 

This is my neighbour Nerius his third spouse, 
Of whom in happy time he rids his house. 
But my eternal wife ! — Grant heaven I may 
Survive to see the fellow of this day ! ^ 

Thus, that thou may'st the better bring about 
Thy wishes, thou art wickedly devout : 
In Tyber ducking thrice, by break of day, 
To wash the obscenities of night away. 
But pr'ythee tell me, ('tis a small request) a5 

With what ill thoughts of Jove art thou possess'd? 
Would'st thou prefer him to some man ? Suppose 
I dipp'd among the worst, and Staius chose ? 
Which of the two would thy wise head declare 
The trustier tutor to an orphan heir ? 40 

Or, put it thus : Unfold to Staius, straight, 
What to Jove's ear thou didst impart of late : 
He'll stare, and, good Jupiter ! will cry; 
Canst thou indulge him in this villany ! 
And think'st thou, Jove himself, with patience, 
then, « 

Can hear a prayer condemn'd by wicked men 1 
That, void of care, he lolls supine in state, 
And leaves his business to be done by fate ? 
Because his thunder splits some burly tree, 
And is not darted at thy house and thee ? 5U 

Or that his vengeance falls not at the time, 
Just at the perpetration of thy crime : 
And makes thee a sad object of our eyes, 
Fit for Ergenna's prayer and sacrifice "\ 
What well-fed offering to appease the god, S5 

What powerful present to procure a nod, 
Hast thou in store? What bribe hast thou prepared, 
To pull him, thus unpunish'd, by the beard 1 

Our superstitions with our life begin : 
The obscene old grandam, or the next of kin, M 
The new-born infant from the cradle takes, 
And first of spittle a lustration makes : 



Ver. 19. Hercules was thought to have the key and 
power of bestowing all hidden treasure. 

Ver. 33. The ancients thought themselves tainted and 
polluted by night itself, as well as bad dreams in the night, 
and therefore purified themselves by washing their heads 
and hands every morning; which custom the Turks 
observe to this day. 

Ver. 54. When any one was thunderstruck, the sooth- 
sayer (who is here called Ergenna) immediately repaired 
to the place to expiate the displeasure of the gods, by sacri- 
ficing two sheep. 

Ver. 62. The poet laughs at the superstitious ceremo- 
nies which the old women made use of in their lustration 
or purification days, when they named their children, 
which was done on the eighth day to females, and on the 
ninth to males. 



THE SECOND SATIIIE OF PEESIUS. 



417 



Then in the spawl her middle finger dips, 
Anoints the temples, forehead, and the lips, 
Pretending force of magic to prevent, M 

By virtue of her nasty excrement. 
Then dandles him with many a mutter'd prayer 
That heaven would make him soino rich miser's 

heir, 
Lucky to ladies, and, in time, a king; 
Which to ensure, she adds a length of navel-string." 1 ' 
But no fond nurse is fit to make a prayer : 
And Jove, if Jove be wise, will never hear; 
Not though she prays in white, with lifted hand : 
A body made of brass the crone demands 
For her loved nursling, strung with nerves of wire/ 5 
Tough to the last, and with no toil to tire : 
Unconscionable vows, which when we use, 
We teach the gods, in reason, to refuse. 
Suppose they were indulgent to thy wish : 
Yet the fat entrails, in the spacious dish, 8U 

Would stop the grant : the very over-care, 
And nauseous pomp, would hinder half the prayer. 
Thou hop'st with sacrifice of oxen slain 
To compass wealth, and bribe the god of gain 
To give thee flocks and herds, with large increase f'' 
Fool ! to expect them from a bullock's grease ! 
And think'st that when the fatten'd flames aspire, 
Thou seest the accomplishment of thy desire ! 
Now, now, my bearded harvest gilds the plain, 
The scanty folds can scarce my sheep contain, 9° 
And showers of gold come pouring in amain ! 
Thus dreams the wretch, and vainly thus dreams 

on, 
Till his lank purse declares his money gone. 

Should I present thee with rare figured plate, 
Or gold as rich in workmanship as weight; 95 

O how thy rising heart would throb and beat, 
And thy left side, with trembling pleasure, sweat ! 
Thou measurest by thyself the Powers Divine ; 
Thy gods are burnish'd gold, and silver is their 

shrine. 
Thy puny godlings of inferior race, 10 ° 

Whose humble statues are content with brass, 
Should some of these, in visions purged from 

phlegm, 
Fortell events, or in a morning dream ; 
EVn those thou would'st in veneration hold; 
And, if not faces, give 'em beards of gold. 105 



Ver. 102. in visions purged from phlegm, &c] 

It was the opinion both of Grecians and Romans, that the 
gods, in visions or dreams, often revealed to their favourites 
a cure for their diseases, and sometimes those of Othi re. 
Thus Alexander dreamt of an herb which cured Ptolemy. 
These gods were principally Apollo and JEsculapins; but 
in after times, the same virtue and good will was attributed 
t" Isis and Osiris; which brings to my remembrance an 
odd passage in Sir Thomas Urowne's Keligio Urdici, or in 
his Vulgar Errors ; the sense whereof is, " That we are be- 
holding, for many of our discoveries in physio, to the 
courteous revelation of spirits." liy the expression of 
visions purged from phlegm, our author means such dreams 
or visions as proceed nut from natural causes, or humours 
of the body, but such as are sent from heaven, and are, 
therefore certain remedies. 



priests in temples now i 
For Saturn' 

Or vc.-tal n: 

;ht 

souls, in whom no heavenly fir< " 
Fat minds, and ever grovelling on the ground ! 

Wo bring our manners to tl 

And think what pleases us must | L-oda. 

Of oil and a 

And, of the mixture, a rich ointment o 

Another find the way to dye in grain, 

And makes Culabriaii wool receive the T 

stain ; 
Or from their oriei, 

Or, for their golden ore, in li 
Then o ; i» 

Yet still sonic profit from their ; 
But tell me, priest, if I I il old, 

What are the gods the better for this gold I 
The wretch, that offers from his wealthy 
These presents, bribes the Pow him more: 

As maids to Venus offer 
To bless the marriage-bed with girls and 
But let us for the gods a gift prepare, 
Which the great I 

A soul, where laws, both human and di\ ine, 
In practice more than speculation shine : 
A genuine virtue, of a vigorous kind, 
Pure in the last recesses of the mind : 
When with such offerings to some, 

A cake, thus given, is worth a hecatomb. 

Ver. 107. For So &o.] Rrazen vessels, in 

which the public treasure of the I. 
be the poet means only "i I vt - iels, whlcb were all i 
KgeW, from the Greek name of Saturn. Note also, that 
the Roman Treasury was in the temple •>!" Saturn. 

Ibid. X"> < Qnder Noma, the 

second king of Rome, and for a long timo after hi 

holy vessels for sacri ding to 

the superstitious rites whicl 

Numa; though afterwards, whin Uummltl 

Corinth, and Paulns Emilias had e,, 

luxury began amongst the Romans ; and then tin ir ul 

of devotion were of gold and silver, &C. 

Ver. 117. And mnke, Co. a &e. The « 

Calabria was of the finest s<>rt in It.<l. 
tells us. — The Tyrian stain is the purple eoli nr d 
Tyros ; and I suppose, but dare n 
the richest of that dye was nearest <nr crh 
scarlet, or thfl 

1 have not room to Justify m j i 
Ver. 12G. . ' ■ 

little babies, or popp 
which the girls, when they came 
child-b •- to Venus ; as the 

red their Bulla:, or 

Ver. I 

meal, h ith the hi an in it : the 
that God is pleased with the pure 
offerer, and not with the riches of the ■ 
in the fragments of his M 

" Puras, Deus, non plenas asplcit manus.' ' u>r- 

gotten I 
that the first half of tliis Satire w 

sons, now in Italy ; lint I though) 

pass without any alteration. 



418 



THE THIRD SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



THE 

THIRD SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 
— ♦ — 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Our author has made two Satires concerning study; the 
first and the third : the first related to men ; this to 
young students, whom he desired to be educated in the 
Stoic philosophy : he himself sustains the person of the 
master, or preceptor, in this admirable Satire, where he 
upbraids the youth of sloth, and negligence in learning. 
Yet he begins with one scholar reproaching his fellow- 
students with late rising to their books. After which he 
takes upon him the other part, of the teacher : and ad- 
dressing himself particularly to young noblemen, tells 
them, that, by reason of their high birth, and the great 
possessions of their fathers, they are careless of adorning 
their minds with precepts of moral philosophy : and 
withal, inculcates to them the miseries which will attend 
them in the whole course of their life, if they do not 
apply themselves betimes to the knowledge of virtue, and 
the end of their creation, which he pathetically insinuates 
to them. The title of this Satire, in some ancient manu- 
scripts, was The Reproach of Idleness: though in others 
of the scholiasts it is inscribed, Against the Luxury ami 
Vices of the Rich. In both of which the intention of the 
poet is pursued ; but principally in the former. 

I remember I translated this Satire, when I was a King's scholar at 
Westminster- school, for a Thursday-night's Exercise; and 
helieve that it, and many other of my Exercises of this nature, in 
English verse, are still in the hands of my learned master, the 
Reverend Doctor Busby. 

Is this thy daily course 1 The glaring sun 
Breaks in at every chink : the cattle ran 
To shades, and noon-tide rays of summer shun : 
Yet plunged in sloth we he ; and snore supine, 
As fill'd with fumes of undigested wine. 5 

This grave advice some sober student bears ; 
And loudly rings it in his fellow's ears. 
The yawning youth, scarce half awake, essays 
His lazy limbs and dozy head to raise : 
Than rubs his gummy eyes, and scrubs his pate; 10 
And cries, I thought it had not been so late : 
My clothes ; make haste : why when ! if none be 

near, 
He mutters first, and then begins to swear : 
And brays aloud, with a more clamorous note, 
Than an Arcadian ass can stretch his throat. I5 

With much ado, his book before him laid, 
And parchment with the smoother side displayed; 
He takes the papers ; lays 'em down again ; 
And, with unwilling fingers, tries the pen : 
Some peevish quarrel straight he strives to pick ; 
His quill writes double, or his ink 's too thick ; 21 
Infuse more water ; now 'tis grown so thin, 
It sinks, nor can the character be seen. 

wretch, and still more wretched every day ! 
Are mortals born to sleep their lives away 1 a 
Go back to what thy infancy began, 
Thou who wert never meant to be a man : 
Eat pap and spoon-meat; for thy gewgaws cry; 
Be sullen, and refuse the lullaby. 
No more accuse thy pen ; but charge the crime 30 
On native sloth, and negligence of time. 
Think' st thou thy master or thy friends to cheat ? 
Fool, 'tis thyself, and that 's a worse deceit. 
Beware the public laughter of the town ; 
Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown. M 

Ver. 17. And parchment, &c] The students used to 
write their notes on parchments ; the inside, on which they 
wrote, was white; the other side was hairy, and commonly 
yellow. Quintilian reproves this custom, and advises 
rather table-books, lined with wax, and a stile, like that we 
use in our vellum table-books, as more easy. 



A flaw is in thy ill-baked vessel found ; 
'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound. 

Yet, thy moist clay is pliant to command ; 
Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand : 
Now take the mould ; now bend thy mind to feel 
The first sharp motions of the forming wheel. 41 

But thou hast land ; a country-seat, secure 
By a just title ; costly furniture; 
A fuming-pan thy Lares to appease : 
What need of learning when a man 's at ease 1 *■ 
If this be not enough to swell thy soul, 
Then please thy pride, and search the herald's 

roll, 
Where thou shalt find thy famous pedigree 
Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree ; 
And thou, a thousand off, a fool of long degree; 50 
Who, clad in purple, canst thy censor greet, 
And loudly call him cousin in the street. 

Such pageantry be to the people shown ; 
There boast thy horse's trappings, and thy own : 
I know thee to thy bottom ; from within 55 

Thy shallow centre, to thy outmost skin : 
Dost thou not blush to live so like a beast, 
So trim, so dissolute, so loosely drest ? 

But 'tis in vain : the wretch is drench'd too deep ; 
His soul is stupid, and his heart. asleep ; c0 

Fatten'd in vice ; so callous and so gross, 
He sins, and sees not ; senseless of his loss. 
Down goes the wretch at once, unskill'd to swim, 
Hopeless to bubble up, and reach the water's brim. 

Great father of the gods, when, for our crimes, 65 
Thou send'st some heavy judgment on the times ; 
Some tyrant-king, the terror of his age, 
The type and true vicegerent of thy rage ; 
Thus punish him : set virtue in his sight, 
With all her charms adorn'd, with all her graces 
bright : 70 

But set her distant, make him pale to see 
His gains outweigh'd by lost felicity ! 

Sicilian tortures and the brazen bull 
Are emblems, rather than express the full 
Of what he feels : yet what he fears is more : " 5 
The wretch, who, sitting at his plenteous board, 
Look'd up, and view'd on high the pointed sword 

Ver. 44. A fuming-pan, &c] Before eating, it was cus- 
tomary to cut off some part of the meat, which was first 
put into a pan, or little dish ; then into the fire; as an offer- 
ing to the household gods ; this they called a libation. 

Ver. 49. Drawn from the root, &c] The Thuscans were 
accounted of most ancient nobility. Horace observes this, 
in most of his compliments to Maecenas ; who was derived 
from the old kings of Tuscany, now the dominion of the 
great duke. 

Ver. 51. Who, clad in purple, &c] The Eoman knights, 
attired in the robe called Trabea, were summoned by the 
censor to appear before him ; and to salute him, in passing 
by, as their names were called over. They led their horses 
in their hand. See more of this, in Pompey's life, written 
by Plutarch. 

Ver. 73. Sicilian tortures, &c] Some of the Sicilian 
kings were so great tyrants, that the name is become pro- 
verbial. The brazen bull is a known story of Phalaris, one 
of those tyrants, who, when Perillus, a famous artist, had 
presented him with a bull of that metal hollowed within, 
which, when the condemned person was inclosed in it, 
would render the sound of a bull's roaring, caused the 
workman to make the first experiment. — " Docuitque suum 
mugire juvencum." 

Ver. 76. The loretch, who, sitting, &c] He alludes to the 
story of Damocles, a flatterer of one of those Sicilian 
tyrants, namely Dionysius. Damocles had infinitely ex- 
tolled the happiness of kings. Dionysius, to convince him 
of the contrary, invited him to a feast, and clothed him in 
purple ; but caused a sword with the point downward, to be 



THE THIRD SATIRE OF PEPSI US. 



4\'j 



Hang o'or his head, and hanging by a twine, 
Did with less dread, and more securely dine. 
Ev'n in his sleep he starts, and fears the knife, M 
And, trembling, in his arms takes his accomplice 

wife : 
Down, down he goes; and from his darling friend 
Conceals the woes his guilty dneams portend. 

When I was young, I, like a la/.y fool, 
Would blear my eyes with oil to stay from school : 
Averse from pains, and loth to learn the part M 
Of Cato, dying with a dauntless heart : 
Though much my master that stern virtue praised, 
Which o'er the vanquisher the vanquished raised ; 
And my pleased father came with pride to see 9U 
His boy defend the Roman liberty. 

But then my study was to cog the dice, 
And dexterously to tln-ow the lucky sice : 
To shun ames-ace, that swept my stakes away ; 
And watch the bos, for fear they should convey °~' 
False bones, and put upon me in the play. 
Careful, besides, the whirling top to whip, 
And drive her giddy, till she fell asleep. 

Thy years are ripe, nor art thou yet to lcam 
What 's good or ill, and both their ends discern : 
Thou in the Stoic Porch, severely bred, 101 

Hast heard the dogmas of great Zcno read : 
There on the walls, by Polygnotus' hand, 
The conquer 'd Medians in trunk-breeches stand : 
Where the shorn youth to midnight lectures rise, 
Roused from their slumbers to be early wise : lu0 
Where the coarse cake, and homely husks of beans, 
From pampering riot the young stomach weans : 
And where the Samian Y directs thy steps to run 
To Virtue's narrow steep, and broad-way Vice to 
shun. J1 ° 

And yet thou snor'st; thou draw'st thy drunken. 

breath, 
Sour with debauch, and sleep'st the sleep of death : 
Thy chaps are fallen, and thy frame disjoiu'd ; 
Thy body as dissolved as is thy mind. 

Hast thou not, yet, proposed some certain end, 
To which thy life, thy every act may tend? uc 
Hast thou no mark, at which to bend thy bow] 
Or like a boy pursuest the carrion crow 
With pellets, and with stones, from tree to tree ; 
A fruitless toil; and liv'st extempore ? '-" 

Watch the disease in time : for, when within 
The dropsy rages and extends the skin, 
In vain for hellebore the patient cries, 
And fees the doctor ; but too late is wise : 
Too late for cure, he proffers half his wealth ; ,2 ° 
Conquest and Guibbons cannot give him health. 

Learn, wretches, learn the motions of the mind, 
Why you were made, for what you were desigu'd ; 
And the great moral end of human kind. 

hung ovor his head, by a silken twine; which, when he 
perceived, ho could cut nothing of the dedicates that were 
set before hirn. 

Ver. 101. Thou in the Stoic Porch, ftc] The Stoles 
taught their philosophy under a Porticus, to secure their 
scholars from the weather. Zeno was the chief of that sect 

Ver. 103. Polygnottut] A. famous p 

who drew the pictures of the Medea and Per iai 
quered by Miltiades, Themistocles, and other Athenian 
captains, on the walls of the portico, In their n 

Ver. 109. And » 

Samos made the allu i I the Jf, or Greet I p lion, to 

vice and virtue. One side of the letter, being broad, cha- 
racters vice, to which Hi" b icenl 1 1 » io 
other Bide repre lents virtue, to which the passage la straii 

and difficult; and perhaps our Savioui i 

this, in those noted words of the evangelist, " Till 
heaven," &c. 



Study thyself, what rank or what .! 

The wi • i irdoin'd for thee : 

And all the offices of that estate 

Perform ; and with thy prudence guide thy fate. 

Pray justly, to be heard : nor mi 
Than what the decencies of I; Ml 

Learn what thou ow'st thy country, and thy 

friend ; 
What 'a requisite to spare, and what to spend : 
Learn this; and after, envy not tin- 

Of the greased advocate, that grinds tin- i 
Fat fees from the no 

And only gains the wealthy client 
To whom the Marxians more provision send, 
Than he and all his family can spend. 
Gammons, that give a relish to the 
And potted fowl, and fish, cone- in lu 

That, ere the first is out, the second st; 
And mouldy mother gathers on the drill 
But, here, some captain of the land or 
Stout of his hands, but of a soldier's wit, 
Crii .1 have sense to sum: my turn, in store; ua 
And he's a rascal who pretends to I 
Dammee, whate'er those book-leara'd block! 

say, 
Solon 's the veriest fool in all the play. 
Top-heavy drones, and always looking down, 
(As over-ballasted within the i •" 

Muttering betwixt their lips some mystic thing, 
Which, well examined, is Hat conjui 
Mere madmen's dreams : for what the schools 

have taught, 
Is only this, that nothing can bo brought 
From nothing ; and, what is, can ne'er be turn < I 

to nought. m 

Is it for this they study] to grow pale, 
Antl miss the pleasures of a glorious meal? 
For this, in rags accoutred, are they 
And made the may-game of the public spleen! 

Proceed, my friend, and rail ; but hear me tell 
A story, which is just thy parallel. 164 

A spark, like thec, of the man-killing trade, 
Fell sick, and thus to his physician 
Methinks I am not right in every part; 
I feci a kind of trembling at my hi 
My pulse unequal, and my breath i- -uong: 

: is a filth] furr upon my tongue. 
The doctor hear-' aim, exen ill : 

And. after, bid him for four days be still. 
Three days he took good counsel, and began ,?s 
To mend, and look like a rei in: 

The fourth, ho could not hold from drink ; but 

B Di v to one of his old trusty friends ; 
Adjuring him, by all th thine, 

To pitj Id not dine 

Without a flagon of his healing wine. 

Be drinks a Bwilling draught; and. lined within. 

Will supple in the bath his outward skin. 

jhould he tin. I hut hi | 

Who, wisely, bado him once again be* 

Sir. you Look wan. you hardly draw your DM 

Drinking is dangerous, and the hath i^ •;■ 
This ni - 

Ver. 1 111. 

Ver. M9. The U • mj *t 

plentiful of all ihe , 

IIS 



•120 



THE FOURTH SATIRE OP PERSIUS. 



Do I not see your dropsy-belly swell ? !0 ° 

Your yellow skin 1 — No more of that ; I 'm well. 
I have already buried two or three 
That stood betwixt a fair estate and me ; 
And, doctor, I may live to bury thee. 194 

Thou tell'st me, I look ill, and thou look'st worse. 
I 've done, says the physician ; take your course. 
The laughing sot, like all unthinking men, 
Bathes and gets drunk ; then bathes and drinks 

again : 
His throat half throttled with corrupted phlegm, 
And breathing through his jaws abelching steam: 
Amidst his cups with fainting shivering seized, 2I " 
His limbs disjointed, and all o'er diseased, 
His hand refuses to sustain the bowl ; 
And his teeth chatter, and his eye-balls roll : 
Till, with his meat, he vomits out his soul : 205 
Then trumpets, torches, and a tedious crew 
Of hireling mourners, for his funeral due. 
Our dear departed brother lies in state, 
His heels stretch'd out, and pointing to the 

gate ; 
And slaves, now manumized, on their dead master 

wait. 21 ° 

They hoist him on the bier, and deal the dole ; 
And there 's an end of a luxurious fool. 

But what 's thy fulsome parable to me ? 
My body is from all diseases free : 
My temperate pulse does regularly beat ; 215 

Feel, and be satisfied, my hands and feet : 
These are not cold, nor those oppress'd with heat. 
Or lay thy hand upon my naked heart, 
And thou shalt find me hale in every part. 

I grant this true : but, still, the deadly wound 
Is in thy soul ; 'tis there thou art not sound. 221 
Say, when thou seest a heap of tempting gold, 
Or a more tempting harlot dost behold ; 
Then, when she casts on thee a side-long glance, 
Then try thy heart, and tell me if it dance. 225 

Some coarse cold salad is before thee set ; 
Bread, with the bran perhaps, and broken rheat ; 
Fall on, and try thy appetite to eat. 
These are not dishes for thy dainty tooth : 
What, hast thou got an ulcer in thy mouth 1 23 ° 
Why stand'st thou picking ? Is thy palate sore ] 
That beet and radishes will make thee roar ? 
Such is the unequal temper of thy mind ; 
Thy passions in extremes, and unconfined : 
Thy hair so bristles with unmanly fears, 235 

As fields of corn, that rise in bearded ears : 
And, when thy cheeks with flushing fury glow, 
The rage of boiling caldrons is more slow, 
When fed with fuel and with flames below. 
With foam upon thy lips, and sparkling eyes, 240 
Thou say'st, and dost, in such outrageous wise, 
That mad Orestes, if he saw the show, 
Would swear thou wert the madder of the two.* 



Ver. 209. His heels stretch'd out, &c] The Romans 
were buried without the city ; for which reason the poet 
says, that the dead man's heels were stretched out towards 
the gate. 

"Ver. 242. That mad Orestes,'] Orestes was son to Aga- 
memnon and Clytemnestra. Agamemnon, at his return 
from the Trojan wars, was slain by JEgysthus, the 
adulterer of Clytemnestra. Orestes, to revenge his father's 
death, slew both jBgysthus and his mother ; for which he 
was punished with madness by the Eumenides or furies, 
who continually haunted him. 

* iEschylus calls smoke the brother of fire, and dust he 
calls the brother of mud. The first passage is in Septem con- 
tra Thebas, v. 500. The latter in Agamemnon, v. 503. Yet 



TIIE 



FOURTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Our author, living in the time of Nero, was contemporary 
and friend to the noble poet Lucan ; both of them were 
sufficiently sensible, with all good men, how unskilfully 
he managed the commonwealth : and perhaps might 
guess at his future tyranny, by some passages, during 
the latter part of his first five years; though he broke 
not out into his great excesses, while he was restrained 
by the counsels and authority of Seneca. Lucan has not 
spared him in the poem of his Pharsalia : for his very 
compliment looked asquint, as well as Nero. Persius 
has been bolder, but with caution likewise. For here, in 
the person of young Alcibiades, he arraigns his ambition 
of meddling with state-affairs, without judgment or ex- 
perience. It is probable that he makes Seneca, in this 
Satire, sustain the part of Socrates, under a borrowed 
" name. And, withal, discovers some secret vices of Nero, 
concerning his lust, his drunkenness, and his effeminacy, 
which had not yet arrived to public notice. He also 
reprehends the flattery of his courtiers, who endeavoured 
to make all his vices pass for virtues. Covetousness was 
undoubtedly none of his faults; but it is here described 
as a veil cast over the true meaning of the poet, which 
was to satirise his prodigality and voluptuousness; to 
which he makes a transition. I find no instance in his- 
tory of that emperor's being a Pathique, though Persius 
seems to brand him with it. From the two dialogues of 
Plato, both called Alcibiades, the poet took the argu- 
ments of the Second and Third Satires, but he inverted 
the order of them : for the Third Satire is taken from 
the first of those dialogues. 

The commentators before Casaubon were ignorant of our 
author's secret meaning ; and thought he had only written 
against young noblemen in general, who were too forward 
in aspiring to public magistracy : but this excellent 
scholiast has unravelled the whole mystery; and made 
it apparent that the sting of this Satire was particularly 
aimed at Nero. 

Whoe'er thou art, whose forward years are bent 
On state-affairs, to guide the government ; 
Hear, first, what Socrates of old has said 
To the loved youth, whom he, at Athens, bred. 

Tell me, thou pupil to great Pericles, 6 

Our second hope, my Alcibiades, 
What are the grounds, from whence thou dost 

prepare 
To undertake, so young, so vast a care 1 
Perhaps thy wit : (a chance not often heard, 
That parts and prudence should prevent the 

beard :) »° 

'Tis seldom seen, that senators so young 
Knowwhento speak, and when to holdtheir tongue. 

there are commentators who admire these affected ex- 
pressions, and compare it with the " Sylva? filia nobilis" of 
Horace. Persius abounds in the most harsh and conceited 
expressions, and in far-sought and almost unintelligible 
metaphors. ^Eschines called some expressions in Demos- 
thenes himself QaO/^ara. not 'e'/i/xanx.. But, says Quintilian, 
" Pervasit jam multos ista persuasio, ut id jam demum 
eleganter, atque exquisite dictum putent, quod interpretan- 
dum sit." It would be too invidious to name one or two late 
writers, who might have profited by attending to this 
passage of Quintilian. Dr. J. Warton. 

Ver. 3. Socrates, whom the oracle of Delphos praised as 
the wisest man of his age, lived in the time of the Pelopon- 
nesian war. He, finding the uncertainty of natural phi- 
losophy, applied himself wholly to the moral. He was 
master to Xenophon and Plato, and to many of the Athe- 
nian young noblemen ; amongst the rest, to Alcibiades, the 
most lovely youth then living ; afterwards a famous 
captain, whose life is written by Plutarch. 

Ver. 5. Pericles was tutor, or rather overseer of the will 
of Clinias, father to Alcibiades. While Pericles lived, who 
was a wise man, and an excellent orator, as well as a great 
general, the Athenians had the better of the war. 



THE FOURTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



•J 21 



Sure thou art born to some peculiar fate ; 
When the mad people rise against the state, 
To look them into duty : and command 15 

An awful silence with thy lifted hand. 
Then to bespeak 'em thus : Athenians, know 
Against right reason all your counsels go ; 
This is not fair ; nor profitable that ; 
Nor t'other question proper for debate. M 

But, thou, no doubt, canst set the business right, 
And give each argument its proper weight : 
Know st, with an equal hand, to hold the scale : 
Seest where the reasons pinch, and where they fail, 
And where exceptions o'er the general rule 
prevail : M 

And, taught by inspiration, in a trice, 
Canst punish crimes, and brand offending vice. 

Leave, leave to fathom such high points as these, 
Nor be ambitious, ere thy time, to please : 
Unseasonably wise, till age and cares w 

Have form'd thy soul, to manage great affairs. 
Thy face, thy shape, thy outside, are but vain ; 
Thou hast not strength such labours to sustain : 
Drink hellebore, my boy, drink deep, and purge 
thy brain. 

What aim'st thou at, and whither tends thy 
care, * 

In what thy utmost good ? Delicious fare ; 
And, then, to sun thyself in open air. 

Hold, hold ; are all thy empty wishes such ? 
A good old woman would have said as much. 
But thou art nobly born : 'tis true ; go boast 40 
Thy pedigree, the thing thou valuest most : 
Besides thou art a beau : what 's that, my child ? 
A fop well dress'd, extravagant, and wild : 
She, that cries herbs, has less impertinence ; 
And, in her calling, more of common sense. 43 

None, none descends into himself, to find 
The secret imperfections of his mind : 
But every one is eagle-eyed, to see 
Another's faults, and his deformity. 
Say, dost thou know Vectidius? Who, the wretch 50 
Whose lands beyond the Sabines largely stretch ; 
Cover the country, that a sailing kite 
Can scarce o'er-fly 'em, in a day and night ; 
Him dost thou mean, who, spite of all bis store, 
Is ever craving, and will still be poor ] 5S 

Who cheats for halfpence, and who doffs his 

coat, 
To save a farthing in a ferry-boat ? 
Ever a glutton, at another's cost, 
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost ? 
Who eats and drinks with his domestic slaves ; 00 
A verier hind than any of his knaves '! 
Born with the curse and anger of the gods, 
And that indulgent Genius he defrauds . ! 



Ver. 27. Canst punish crimes, &c] That is by death. 
"When the judges would condemn a malefactor, they cast 
their votes into an urn, as, according to the modem CU 
a balloting-box. If the suffrages were marked with W they 
signified the sentence of deatli to the offender, as being the 
first letter of @<H*cc.tk, which in English is death. 

Ver. 34. Drink hellebore, &c] The poet would say, that 
such an ignorant young man, as he here describi j, is fitter 
to be governed himself, than to govern others, lie there- 
fore advises him to drink hellebore, which purges the I - tin 

Ver. 50. Say, dost thou know Vectidius t &c] 
of Vectidius is here used appellatively to signify any rich 
covetous man ; though perhaps there mighl be a in 
that name then living. I have translated i 
phrastically, and loosely: and have it for those to look 
on, who are not unlike the picture. 



At hoi . and on thl 

When i J, a 

And better Ores; trembling to appro 

The little barrel, which lie fears i 

lie essays the wimble, often draws it tw 

And deals to thirsty servants, but a .-mack. 

To a short men I I tedious g] 7* 

Before the barley-pui Idi 

Then bids fall on : him elf,! i "-gee, 

A peel'd sliced on ad tipples verjuice. 

Thus fares the drudge : but thou, v> 1. 
dream 
Of lazy pleasures, tak'st a worse extreme. 7i 

'Tis all thy buaini tun j 

To bask thy naked body in the Bun ; 
Suppling thy t oil : 

Then, in thy spacious garden, walk a while, 
To suck the moisture up, and soak it in ; 
And this, thou think'st. but vainly think 
But, know, thou art 1 ; and then 

Who, if t hoy durst, would all thy Becret sins es 
The depilation of thy modest part : 
Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart, ■ 

His engine-hand, and every lewder art : 
When prone to bear, and patient ; 
Thou tak'st the pleasure which tie - 
With odorous oil thy head and hair arc- sleek ; 
And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek : 
Of these thy barbers take a costly care, 
While thy salt tail is overgrown with hair. 
Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts, 
Can smooth the roughness of thy .shameful parts. 
Not five, the strongest that the Circus breed 
From the rank soil can root those wicked wi 
Though suppled first with soap, to ease thy pain, 
The stubborn fern springs up, am i pin. 

Thus others we with defamations wound. 
While they stab us; and so the jest goes round. 
Vain are thy hopes to 'scape censorious eyes ; '"' 
Truth will appear through all the thin i 
Thou hast an ulcer which no leech can 1 
Though thy broad shoulder-belt tho wound con 

Ver. 65. When he afoul 
shepherds, and Pales, the godde , rural 

affairs, whom Virgil invDcates In the begumin 
Georgia I give the 

first taught the use of corn for bread, as the | 
men, in the first rude ages, feeding only on u 
instead of bread. 

Ver. 84. Th ' port- **•] 

author here t • ivertly with that effi 

torn, now used in Italy, and especi llj bj 
smooth' 

grow;,!, hi Nero's no 

off with pincers, bnl now : 

to those parts, when it is removed, can ah It 

those e> 

Ver, 9 i. • 

( v , l„, i. amends for I I 

, that the mini 

not allui 

to taking off the hairs before- 

men, m< 

in practice at Koine, and 

: 

in this manner: 1. I 
II, in his a 
1 
the third th 

sport D 

fourth was tin 

in these tno in.inli i 



422 



THE FIFTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



Say thou art sound and hale in every part, 105 
We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart. 
We know thee sullen, impotent, and proud : 
Nor canst thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'st the 
crowd. 

But when they praise me, in the neighbourhood, 
When the pleased people take me for a god, no 
Shall I refuse their incense ? Not receive 
The loud applauses which the vulgar give ? 

If thou dost wealth, with longing eyes, behold ; 
And, greedily, ait gaping after gold ; 
If some alluring girl, in gliding by, 115 

Shall tip the wink, with a lascivious eye, 
And thou, with a consenting glance, reply ; 
If thou thy own solicitor become, 
And bidd'st arise the lumpish pendulum : 
If thy lewd lust provokes an empty storm, I2 ° 
And prompts to more than nature can perform ; 
If, with thy guards, thou scour'st the streets by 

night, 
And dost in murthers, rapes, and spoils delight ; 
Please not thyself, the flattering crowd to hear ; 
'Tis fulsome stuff to feed thy itching ear. 125 

Reject the nauseous praises of the times ; 
Give thy base poets back their cobbled rhymes : 
Survey thy soul, not what thou dost appear, 
But what thou art ; and find the beggar there. 



THE 
FIFTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 

INSCRIBED TO THE 

REVEREND DR. BUSBY. 

THE SPEAKEKS, PERSIUS AND CORNUTUS. 

♦ 

THE ARGUMENT. 

The judicious Casaubon, in his proem to this Satire, tells 
ns, that Aristophanes, the grammarian, being asked, 
what poem of Archilochus his Iambics he preferred before 
the rest, answered, the longest. His answer may justly 
be applied to this Fifth Satire ; which, being of a greater 
length than any of the rest, is also, by far, the most 
instructive : for this reason I have selected it from all 
the others, and inscribed it to my learned master, Dr. 
Busby ; to whom I am not only obliged myself for the 
best part of my own education, and that of my two sons, 
but have also received from him the first and truest 
taste of Persius. May he be pleased to find in this trans- 
lation, the gratitude, or at least some small acknowledg- 
ment of his unworthy scholar, at the distance of forty-two 
years, from the time when I departed from under his 
tuition. 

This Satire consists of two distinct parts : the first contains 
the praises of the Stoic philosopher Cornutus, master 
and tutor to our Persius. It also declares the love and 
piety of Persius to his well-deserving master ; and the 
mutual friendship which continued betwixt them, after 



Ver. 108. 



■ thy nerve, &e.] That is, thou canst not 



deceive thy obscene part, which is weak or impotent, though 
thou makest ostentation of thy performances with women. 

Ver. 122. If, with thy guards, &c] Persius durst not 
have been so bold with Nero, as I dare now ; and therefore 
there is only an intimation of that in him, which I publicly 
speak; I mean of Nero's walking the streets by night in 
disguise ; and committing all sorts of outrages ; for which 
he was sometimes well beaten. 

Ver. 128. Survey thy soul, &c] That is, look into thy- 
self, and examine thy own conscience ; there thou shalt find, 
that, how wealthy soever thou appearest to the world, yet 
thou art but a beggar, because thou art destitute of all 
virtues ; which are the riches of the soul. This also was a 
paradox of the Stoic school. 



Persius was now grown a man. As also his exhortation 
to young noblemen, that they would enter themselves 
into his institution. From hence he makes an artful 
transition into the second part of his subject : wherein 
he first complains of the sloth of scholars, and afterwards 
persuades them to the pursuit of their true liberty : here 
our author excellently treats that paradox of the Stoics, 
which affirms, that the wise or virtuous man is only free, 
and that all vicious men are naturally slaves. And, in 
the illustration of this dogma, he takes up the remaining 
part of this inimitable Satire. 

PEBSIUS. 

Or ancient use to poets it belongs, 

To wish themselves an hundred mouths and 

tongues : 
Whether to the well-lung'd tragedian's rage 
They recommend the labours of the stage, 
Or sing the Parthian, when transfix'd he lies, 5 
Wrenching the Roman javelin from his thighs. 



And why would'st thou these mighty morsels 
choose, 
Of words unchew'd, and fit to choke the muse ? 
Let fustian poets with their stuff be gone, 
And suck the mists that hang o'er Helicon ; lu 
When Progne or Thyestes' feast they write ; 
And, for the mouthing actor, verse indite. 
Thou neither, like a bellows, swell'st thy face, 
As if thou wert to blow the burning mass 
Of melting ore, nor canst thou strain thy throat, 15 
Or murmur in an undistinguish'd note, 
Like rolling thunder, till it breaks the cloud, 
And rattling nonsense is discharged aloud. 
Soft elocution does thy style renown, 
And the sweet accents of the peaceful gown : 20 
Gentle or sharp, according to thy choice, 
To laugh at follies, or to lash at vice. 
Hence draw thy theme, and to the stage permit 
Raw-head and Bloody-bones, and hands and feet, 
Ragouts for Tereus or Thyestes dress'd ; 25 

'Tis task enough for thee to expose a Roman feast. 



'Tis not, indeed, my talent to engage 
In lofty trifles, or to swell my page 
With wind and noise ; but freely to impart, 
As to a friend, the secrets of my heart ; m 

And, in familiar speech, to let thee know 
How much I love thee, and how much I owe. 
Knock on my heart : for thou hast skill to find 
If it sound solid, or be fill'd with wind ; 
And, through the veil of words, thou view"st the 
naked mind. M 

For this a hundred voices I desire, 
To tell thee what a hundred tongues would tire ; 
Yet never could be worthily express'd, 
How deeply thou ai-t seated in my breast. 

When first my childish robe resign'd the charge, 
And left me, unconfined, to live at large ,• 41 

Ver. 11. Progne was wife to Tereus, king of Thracia : 
Tereus fell in love with Philomela, sister to Progne, 
ravished her, and cut out her tongue : in revenge of which, 
Progne killed Itys, her own son by Tereus, and served him 
up at a feast, to be eaten by his father. 

Ibid. Thyestes and Atreus were brothers, "both kings : 
Atreus, to revenge himself of his unnatural brother, killed 
the sons of Thyestes, and invited him to eat them. 

Ver. 40. By the childish robe is meant the Prsetexta, or 
first gowns which the Roman children of quality wore: 
these were welted with purple, and on those welts were 



THE FIFTH SATIRE OF PER 



4-3 



When now my golden Bulla (hung on high 
To household gods) declared mo past a boy ; 
And my white shield proclaimed my liberty ; 
When with my wild companions, I could roll 4;i 
From street to street, and sin without control; 
Just at that age, when manhood set me free, 
I then deposed myself, and left the reins to thee. 
On thy wise bosom I reposed my head, 
And by my better Socrates was bred. 60 

Then thy straight rule set virtue in my sight, 
The crooked line reforming by the right. 
My reason took the bent of thy command, 
Was form'd and polish'd by thy skilful hand: 
Long summer-days thy precepts I rehearse ; M 
And winter-nights were short in our converse : 
One was our labour, one was our repose, 
One frugal supper did our studies close. 

Sure on our birth some friendly planet shone ; 
And, as our souls, our horoscope was one : ^ 

Whether the mounting Twins did heaven adorn, 
Or with the rising Balance we were bom ; 
Both have the same impressions from above, 
And both have Saturn's rage, repcll'd by Jove. 
What star I know not, but some star I find, M 
Has given thee an ascendant o'er my mind. 



Nature is ever various in her frame : 
Each has a different will, and few the same : 
The greedy merchants, led by lucre, run 
To the parch'd Indies, and the rising sun ; 70 

From thence hot pepper and rich drugs they bear, 
Bartering for spices their Italian ware : 
The lazy glutton safe at home will keep, 
Indulge his sloth, and batten with his sleep : 
One bribes for high preferments in the state ; 7S 
A second shakes the bos, and sits up late : 
Another shakes the bed, dissolving there, 
Till knots upon his gouty joints appeal', 
And chalk is in his crippled fingers found ; 
Bots like a dodder'd oak, and piecemeal falls to 
ground ; &> 

Then his lewd follies he would late repent ; 
And his past years, that in a mist were spent. 



But thou art pale, in nightly studies, grown, 
To make the Stoic institutes thy own ; 

fastened the Bulla, or little bells, which, when they camo 
to the age of puberty, were hung up, aud consecrated to 
the Lares, or household gods. 

Ver. 44. The first shields which the Roman youths wore 
were white, and without any impress or device on them, to 
Bhow they had yet achieved nothing in the wars. 

Ver. 50. Socrates by the Oracle was declared to be the 
wisest of mankind : he instructed many of the Athenian 
young noblemeu in morality, and amongst the rest 
Alcibiades. 

Ver. 60. Astrologers divide the heaven into twelve parts, 
according to the number of the twelve signs of (he 
the sign or constellation which rises In 1 at the 

birth of any man, is called the ascendant : PerBlus, there- 
fore, judges that Cornutus and he had the same, or a like 
nativity. 

Ver. 61. The sign of Gemini. 

Ver. 62. The sign of Libra. 

Ver. 64. Astrologers have an axiom, that what 
Saturn ties is loosed by Jupiter: they account Saturn to 
be a planet of a malevolent nature, and Jupit 
propitious influence. 

Ver. 84. Ztno was tho great master of the St.-ic 



Thou long, with studious care, hast till'J our 
youth, ■ 

And sown our well-purged cars with whoh 
truth. 

From thee both old and young, with profit, learn 

The bounds of good and evil to discern. 

CO KM 
Unhappy ho who docs this work adjourn, 
And to to-morrow would the Search delay : 
His lazy morrow will be like to-day. 

PERSIUS. 

But is one day of ease too much to borrow 1 

COR.VETUS. 

Yes, sure : for yesterday was onco to-morrow. 
That yesterday is gone, and nothing gain'd : 
And all thy fruitless days will thus be drain'd ; °* 
For thou hast more to i ettoask, 

And wilt be ever to .begin thy t isk ; 
Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art cursed, 
Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the I 

freedom ! first delight of human kind ! 10 ° 
Not that which bondmen from their masters find, 
The privilege of doles ; not yet to inscribe 
Their names in this or t' other Roman tribe : 
That false enfranchisement with ease is found: 
Slaves are made citizens by turning round. "* 
How, replies one, can any bo more free I 
Here 's Dama, once a groom of low degree, 
Not worth a farthing, am 
So true a rogue, for lying's suke he 
But, with a turn, a freeman he beet 
Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name. 
Good gods ! who would refuse to lend a sum, 
If wealthy Marcus surety will become I 
Marcus is made a judge, and for a | 
Of certain truth, He said it, is enough. 
A will is to be proved ; put in your claim : 
'Tis clear, if Marcus has subscribed bis name. 
This is true liberty, as I believe; 
What can we farther from our caps receive, 
Than as we please without control to live ' '-" 
Not more to noble Brutus could belong. 
Hold, says the Stoic, your assumption 's wrong: 

philosophy, an 

Cornntns, who was master ur tutor to Perdu, was of tho 

same school. 

Ver 10-2. When a slave was mmt 1 the 

privilege of a I n, which was l ire in 

stives or doles of bread, .•-■-. whl United 

by the magistrates amongst the people. 

Ver. 108. The Soman i 
tribes : be « ho >■ aa madi 

of them, and thereupon enjoyed the common i>n\il.'gesof 
>n citizen. 

Ver. 106. The master, who li 
slave, carried aim before the | 

■ is, - 1 will that tin. in Hi I 

Ver. ill. slaves had only oni 
ifter it they i 

Ver. 117. At the proof of a I 

\ , r 11B. Slave . ■ r "P 

given thet 

i tho 

tyranny of tho " f "■• 

.aunt Into a glorious oammoaweallb. 



-124 



THE FIFTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



I grant true freedom you Lave well defined : 

But, living as you list, and to your mind, 

Are loosely tack'd, and must be left behind. 12 ° 

What ! since the prator did my fetters loose, 

And left me freely at my own dispose, 

May I not live without control and awe, 

Excepting still the letter of the law ? 

Hear me with patience, while thy mind I free 13 ° 
From those fond notions of false liberty : 
'Tis not the pnetor's province to bestow 
True freedom ; nor to teach mankind to know 
What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe. 
He could not set thee free from cares and strife, 135 
Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life : 
As well he for an ass a harp might string, 
Whichis against tbe reason of the thing ; 
For reason still is whispering in your ear, 
Where you are sure to fail, the attempt forbear. 140 
No need of public sanctions this to bind, 
Which Nature has implanted in the mind : 
Not to pursue the work, to which we 're not de- 
sign'd. 

Unskill'd in hellebore, if thou should'st try 
To mix it, and mistake the quantity, 145 

The rules of physic would against thee cry. 
The high-shoe'd ploughman, should he quit the 

land, 
To take the pilot's rudder in his hand, 
Artless of stars, and of the moving sand, 
The gods would leave him to the waves and wind, 
And think all shame was lost in human kind. 151 

Tell me, my friend, from whence hadst thou the 
skill, 
So nicely to distinguish good from ill ? 
Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass, 
What piece is tinkers' metal, what will pass ? 165 
And what thou art to follow, what to fly, 
This to condemn, and that to ratify ? 
When to be bountiful, and when to spare, 
But never craving, or oppress'd with care ? 
The baits of gifts and money to despise, ' 16 ° 
And look on wealth with undesiring eyes 1 
When thou canst truly call these virtues thine, 
Be wise and free, by heaven's consent, and mine. 

But thou, who lately of the common strain, 
Wert one of us, if still thou dost retain 165 

The same ill-habits, the same follies too, 
Gloss'd over only with a saint-like show, 
Then I resume the freedom which I gave, 
Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave. 
Thou canst not wag thy finger, or begin 1 '° 

" The least light motion, but it tends to sin." 

How 's this? Not wag my finger, he replies ? 
No, friend ; nor fuming gums, nor sacrifice, 
Can ever make a madman free, or wise. 
" Virtue and Vice are never in one soul : 1?5 

A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool." 
A heavy bumpkin, taught with daily care, 
Can never dance three steps with a becoming air. 

PEHSITJS. 

In spite of this, my freedom still remains. 

Ver. 129. The text of the Eoman laws was written in 
red letters, which was called the Rubric, translated here, 
in more general words, " The Letter of the Law." 

Ver. 175. The Stoics held this paradox, that any one 
vice,' or notorious folly, which they called madness, hindered 
a man from being virtuous; that a man was of a piece, 
without a mixture, either wholly vicious or good, one virtue 
or vice according to them, including all the rest. 



Free ! what, and fetter'd with so many chains ? 
Canst thou no other master understand 181 

Than him that freed thee by the praetor's wand ? 
Should he, who was thy lord, command thee now, 
With a harsh voice, and supercilious brow, 
To servile duties, thou would'st fear no more ; 185 
The gallows and the whip are out of door. 
But if thy passions lord it in thy breast, 
Art thou not still a slave, and still oppress'd ? 

Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap, 
When thou would'st take a lazy morning's nap : 190 
Up, rip, says Avarice ; thou snor'st again, 
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain ; 
The tyrant Lucre no denial takes ; 
At his command the unwilling sluggard wakes : 
What must I do? he cries : What ? says his 
lord : 1M 

Why, rise, make ready, and go straight abroad : 
With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight ; 
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight 
Of pepper, and Sabasan incense, take 
With thy own hands, from the tired camel's 
back; 2U0 

And with post-haste thy running markets make. 
Be sure to turn the penny : lie and swear; 
'Tis wholesome sin : but Jove, thou say'st, will 

hear : 
Swear, fool, or starve ; for the dilemma's even : 
A tradesman thou ! and hope to go to heaven ? 205 

Resolved for sea, the slaves thy baggage pack, 
Each saddled with his burden on his back ; 
Nothing retards thy voyage, now, unless 
Thy other lord forbids, Voluptuousness ; 
And he may ask this civil question : Friend, 210 
What dost thou make a-shipboard ? to what end ? 
Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free ? 
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'st tempt the 

sea? 
Cubb'd in a cabin, on a mattress laid, 
On a brown george, with lousy swobbers fed, 2!6 
Dead wine, that stinks of the borachio, sup 
From a foul jack, or greasy maple-cup ? 
Say, would'st thou bear all this, to raise thy store 
From six i' the hundred, to six hundred more ? 
Indulge, and to thy Genius freely give ; 220 

For, not to live at ease, is not to live ; 
Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour 
Does some loose remnant of thy life devour. 
Live, while thou liv'st ; for death will make us all 
A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale. ' si 

Speak ; wilt thou Avarice, or Pleasure, choose 
To be thy lord ? Take one, and one refuse. 
But both, by turns, the rule of thee will have ; 
And thou, betwixt 'em both, wilt be a slave. 

Nor think when once thou hast resisted one, 
That all thy marks of servitude are gone : 23 i 

The strugglinggreyhound gnaws his leash in vain ; 
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the chain. 

Says Phasdria to his man, Believe me, friend, 
To this uneasy love I '11 put an end : a5 

Ver. 182. The prajtor held a wand in his hand, with 
which he softly struck the slave on the head when he 
declared him free. 

Ver. 234. This alludes to the play of Terence called the 
Eunuch, which was excellently imitated of late in English 
by Sir Charles Sedley. In the first scene of that comedy, 
Phsedria was introduced with his man Pamphilus, dis- 
coursing, whether he should leave his mistress Thais, or 
return to her, now that she had invited him. 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF PEI 






Shall I run out of all ? My friends disgrace, 
And be the first lewd unthril't of my race? 
Shall I the neighbours' nightly rest invade 
At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade 1 
Well hast thou freed thyself, his man replies, 2 * ) 
Go, thank the gods, and offer sacrifice. 
Ah, says the youth, if we unkindly part, 
Will not the poor fond creature break her heart? 
Weak soul ! and blindly to destruction led ! 
She break her heart ! she '11 sooner break your 

head. - Is 

She knows her man, and when you rant and 

swear, 
Can draw you to her with a single hair. 
But shall I not return 3 Now, when she sues ? 
Shall I my own and her desires refuse ] 
Sir, take your course ; but my advice is plain : 25 ° 
Once freed, 'tis madness to resume your chain. 
Ay ; there 's the man, who, loosed from lust and 

pelf, 
Less to the prsetor owes, than to himself. 
But write him down a slave, who, humbly proud, 
With presents begs preferments from the crowd;-' 5 
That early suppliant, who salutes the tribes, 
And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes : 
That some old dotard, sitting in the sun, 
On holidays may tell, that such a feat was done : 
In future times this will be counted rare. 

Thy superstition too may claim a share : 
When flowers are strew'd, and lamps in order 

placed, 
And windows with illuminations graced, 
On Herod's day ; when sjsarkling bowls go round, 
And tunny's tails in savoury sauce are drown'd, 265 
Thou mutter'st prayers obscene ; nor dost refuse 
The fasts and sabbaths of the curtail'd Jews. 
Then a crack'd egg-shell thy sick fancy frights, 
Besides the childish fear of walking sprights. 
Of o'ergrown gelding priests thou art afraid ; ^° 
The timbrel, and the scpuintifego maid 
Of Isis, awe thee : lest the gods, for sin, 
Should, with a swelling dropsy, stuff thy skin : 
Unless three garlic heads the curse avert, 
Eaten each morn, devoutly, next thy heart. " s 
Preach this among the brawny guards, say'st 
thou, 
And see if they thy doctrine will allow : 
The dull fat captain, with a hound's deep throat, 
Would bellow out a laugh, in a base note ; 
And prize a hundred Zenos just as much 
As a clipp'd sixpence, or a schilling Dutch. 

"Ver. 256. He who sued for any office amongst the 
Romans was called a candidate, because he wore a white 
gown, and sometimes chalked it to make it appear whiter. 
He rose early, and went to the levees of those who headed 
the people; saluted also the tribes severally, when they 
were gathered together to choose their magistrates, and 

distributed a largess amongst them, to engage tl 

their voices, much resembling our elections of parliament 
men. 

Ver. 264. The commentators are divided what Herod 
this was whom our author mentions; whether Uerod the 

Great, whose birth-day might possibly be celebrated [ 

his death by the Herodians, a sect amongst the Jews, who 
thought him their Messiah, or Berod Agrippa, living in 
the author's time, and after it. The latter seems the more 
probable opinion. 

Ver. 268. The ancients had a supei tttion, i 
ours, concerning egg-shells ; thej thou hi D i il an 
shell were cracked, or a hole buml in the I It, they 

were subject to the power of sorcer; i !i ' 

the bottom of an egg-shell, and cross it « hen we havi 
the egg, lest some hag should make use of it in bewitching 



tiik 



SIXTH SATIRE OF PBRSIUS. 

TO C/E3IUS BASSOS, A LYBIO POST. 



THE AIIUI'IIENT. 

This Sixth Satire ti arable cnmmon-pl 

Moral Philosophy: of the true Dae of Riches. They 
are certainly intended, by tbu Power who bestows them, 
as instruments and helps of living commodiously our- 
selves, and of admi the wants of othei 
are oppressed by fortune. I to the 
opinions of men i'. i m. One error, thorn 
tiie right hand, yet a great one. Is, that they i 
to a \ I tees all our happlnj 
the acquisition and | of them; and this is, un- 
doubtedly, the woi Be 

is the opinion of the Stoics; u^ieh is, that riches m 
useful to the leading a virtuous life ; in case we t 
understand bow to give according to right reason; and 
how to receive what is given us by others. The virtue 
of giving will, is called liberality; and it la ol 
virtue that Persius writes in this Satire ; wherein ho not 
only shows the lawful use of ricl I sharply in- 

veighs against the vices which ■ I to it; and 

especially of those which consist in the giving 

or spending, or in the abuse ol 
Ctesius Bassus, his friend, and a poet also; |nq 
first of his health and studies; and afterwards inl 
him of bis own, and where he is now resident, He 
an account of himself, that he is endeavouring by little 
and little to wear off his vices; and particularly that he 
is combating ambition, and the desire of wealth, lie 
dw r ells upon the latter vice ; and being sensible that few- 
men either desire or use riel 

vours to convince them of their folly ; which is the main 
design of the whole Satire. 

Has winter caused thee, friend, to change thy scat, 
And seek, in Sabine air, a warm retreat 1 
Say, dost thou yet the lloman harp command ! 
Do the stiings answer to thy noble hand I 
Great master of the muse, inspired to sing 
The beauties of the first created spring; 
The pedigree of nature to rehearse, 
And sound the Maker's work, in equal verse; 
Now sporting on thy lyre the loves of youth, 
Now virtuous age, aud venerable truth ; 
Expressing justiy Sappho's wanton art 
Of odes, and Pindar's more majestic part. 
For me, my warmer constitution wants 
More cold, than our Ligurian winter grants ; 
And therefore to my ns -raited, 

1 view the coast old Knnius once admired : 
Where clifts on cither side their points display ; 
And, after opening in an ampler v. 
Afford the pleasing prospect of the bay. 
"I'is worth your while. Romans, to d gold x 
The port of Luna, says our learned bard ; 

us, or sailing over the sea in it if it were whole. Tl. 

ofthe priests of Isis, and herone-ej 

is more largely treated In the sixth - renal, 

where the superstitions of •' ' ■'.ted. 

Ver. .' '. 40.] All ' 

and particularly tie 
to set thi 

the beats of the Bummcj. They wrote 
up thi of it ; for which n 

their studio their Elucuh 

■ ■ ,. They who i, id count 
thej Btudle I 
the Port ofthe M i In Kl 

Ver. 9, 

option of tbu ti r 

himself, to r with all his wril 



426 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



Who, in a drunken dream, beheld his soul 
The fifth within the transmigrating roll ; 
Which first a peacock, then Euphorbus was, 
Then Homer nest, and nest Pythagoras ; 25 

And last of all the line did into Ennius pass. 

Secure and free from business of the state, 
And more secure of what the vulgar prate, 
Here I enjoy my private thoughts; nor care 
What rots for sheep the southern winds prepare : 
Survey the neighbouring fields, and not repine, 31 
When I behold a larger crop than mine : 
To see a beggar's brat in riches flow, 
Adds not a wrinkle to my even brow; 
Nor, envious at the sight, will I forbear J5 

My plenteous bowl,.nor bate my bounteous cheer; 
Nor yet unseal the dregs of wine that stink 
Of cask ; nor in a nasty flagon drink. 
Let others stuff their guts with homely fare : 
For men of different inclinations are ; m 

Though born, perhaps, beneath one common star. 
In minds and manners twins opposed we see 
In the same sign, almost the same degree : 
One, frugal, on his birth-day fears to dine, 
Does at a penny's cost in herbs repine, ** 

And hardly dares to dip his fingers in the brine : 
Prepared as priest of his own rites to stand, 
He sprinkles pepper with a sparing hand. 
His jolly brother, opposite in sense, 
Laughs at his thrift; and lavish of espence, 50 
Quaffs, crams, and guttles, in his own defence. 

For me, I '11 use my own ; and take my share ; 
Yet will not turbots for my slaves prepare ; 
Nor be so nice in taste myself to know 
If what I swallow be a thrush, or no. 55 

Live on thy annual income ; spend thy store ; 
And freely grind, from thy full threshing-floor ; 
Next harvest promises as much, or more. 

Thus I would live ; but friendship's holy band, 
And offices of kindness hold my hand : 60 

My friend is shipwreck'd on the Brutian strand, 

Ter. 22. Who, in a drunken dream, &c] I call it a 
drunken dream of Ennius, not that my author in this place 
gives me any encouragement for the epithet, but because 
Horace, and all who mention Ennius, say he was an exces- 
sive drinker of wine. In a dream, or vision, call you it 
which you please, he thought it was revealed to him that 
the soul of Pythagoras was transmigrated into him; as 
Pythagoras before him believed that himself had been 
Euphorbus in the wars of Troy. Commentators differ in 
placing the order of this soul, and who had it first. I have 
here given it to the peacock, because it looks more according 
to the order of nature, that it should lodge in a creature of 
an inferior species, and so by gradation rise to the inform- 
ing of a man. And Persius favours me by saying that 
Ennius was the fifth from the Pythagorean peacock. 

Ter. 61. My friend is shipwreck' d on, &a.~\ Perhaps this 
is only a fine transition of the poet, to introduce the busi- 
ness of the Satire, and not that any such accident had hap- 
pened to one of the friends of Persius. But, however, this 
is the most poetical description of any in our author; and 
since he and Lucan were so great friends, I know not but 
Lucan might help him in two or three of these verses, 
which seem to be written in his style : certain it is that, 
besides this description of a shipwreck, and two lines more, 
which are at the end of the Second Satire, our poet has 
written nothing elegantly. I will, therefore, transcribe 
both the passages to justify my opinion. The following 
are the last verses, saving one, of the Second Satire : — 
Compositum jus, fasque animi ; sanctosque recessus 
• - Mentis, et incoctum generoso pectus honesto : 

The others are those in this present Satire, which are 
subjoined : — 

trabe rupta, Bruttia Saxa 

Prendit amicus inops ; remque omnem, surdaque vota 
Condidit Ionio ; jacet ipse in littore ; et una 
Ingentes de puppe Dei ; jamque obvia mergis 
Costa ratis lacerse. 



His riches in the Ionian main are lost ; 

And he himself stands shivering on the coast ; 

Where, destitute of help, forlorn, and bare, 

He wearies the deaf gods with fruitless prayer. M 

Their images, the relics of the wrack, 

Torn from the naked poop, are tided back 

By the wild waves, and, rudely thrown ashore, 

Lie impotent ; nor can themselves restore. 

The vessel sticks, and shows her open'd side, 70 

And on her shatter'd mast the mews in triumph ride. 

From thy new hope, and from thy growiflg store, 

Now lend assistance and relieve the poor. 

Come ; do a noble act of charity ; 

A pittance of thy land will set him free. 75 

Let him not bear the badges of a wrack, 

Nor beg with a blue table on his back : 

Nor tell me that thy frowning heir will say, 

'Tis mine that wealth thou squander' st thus away. 

What is 't to thee, if he neglect thy urn, m 

Or without spices lets thy body burn 2 

If odours to thy ashes he refuse, 

Or buys corrupted cassia from the Jews ? 

All these, the wiser Bestius will reply, 

Are empty pomp, and dead men's luxury : ** 

We never knew this vain expence, before 

The effeminated Grecians brought it o'er : 

Now toys and trifles from their Athens come ; 

And dates and pepper have unsinew'd Rome : 

Our sweating hinds their salads, now, defile, w 

Infecting homely herbs with fragrant oil. 

But, to thy fortune be not thou a slave : 

For what hast thou to fear beyond the grave ? 

And thou who gap'st for my estate, draw near; 

For I would whisper somewhat in thy ear. 95 

Hear'st thou the news, my friend? the express is 

come 
With laurell'd letters from the camp to Rome : 
Cajsar salutes the queen and senate thus : 
My arms are on the Rhine victorious. 



Ter. 72. From thy new hope, &c] The Latin is, Nunc et 
de ccespite vivo, /range aliquid. Casaubon only opposes the 
cmspes vivus, which, word for word, is the living turf, to the 
harvest or annual income. I suppose the poet rather 
means, sell a piece of land already sown, and give the 
money of it to my friend, who has lost all by shipwreck ; 
that is, do not stay till thou hast reaped, but help him im- 
mediately, as his wants require. 

Ter. 77. Nor bey with a blue table, &c.] Holyday trans- 
lates it a green table ; the sense is the same ; for the table 
was painted of the sea colour, which the shipwrecked 
person carried on his back, expressing his losses thereby, 
to excite the charity of the spectators. 

Ter. 81. Or without spices, &c] The bodies of the rich, 
before they were burnt, were embalmed with spices, or 
rather spices were put into the urn, with the relics of the 
ashes. Our author here names cinnamon and cassia, which 
cassia was sophisticated with cherry gum, and probably 
enough by the Jews, who adulterate all things which they 
sell. But whether the ancients were acquainted with the 
spices of the Molucca Islands, Ceylon, and other parts of 
the Indies, or whether their pepper and cinnamon, &c, 
were the same with ours, is another question. As for nut- 
megs and mace, it is plain that the Latin names of them 
are modern. 

Ter. 98. Casar salutes, &cj The Caasar here mentioned 
is Caius Caligula, who affected to triumph over the 
Germans, whom he never conquered, as he did over the 
Britons ; and accordingly sent letters, wrapt about, with 
laurels, to the Senate, and the Empress Csesonia, whom I 
here call Queen, though I know that name was not used 
amongst the Bomans ; but the word Empress would not 
stand in that verse, for which reason I adjourned it to 
another. The dust which was to be swept away from the 
altars was either the ashes which were left there after the 
last sacrifice for victory, or might, perhaps, mean the dust 
or ashes which were left on the altars since some former 



THE SIXTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. 



1-7 



From mourning altars sweep the dust away : loa 

Cease fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving day. 

The goodly empress, jollily inclined, 

Is to the welcome bearer wondrous kind : 

And, setting her good housewif :"ry aside, 

Prepares for all the pageantry of pride. )05 

The captive Germans, of gigantic sizo, 

Are rank'd in order, and are clad in frize : 

The spoils of kings and conquer'd camps we boast, 

Their arms in trophies hang on the triumphal post. 

Now, for so many glorious actions done 110 

In foreign parts, and mighty battles won ; 
For peace at home, and for the public wealth, 
I mean to crown a bowl to Caesar's health ; 
Besides, in gratitude for such high matters, 
Know, I have vow'd two hundred gladiators. " 6 
Say, would'st thou hinder me from this cxpence ? 
I disinherit thee, if thou dar'st take offence. 
Yet more, a public largess I design 
Of oil and pies, to make the peoplo dine : 
Control me not, for fear I change my will. IM 

And yet methinks I hear thee grumbling still : 
You give as if you were the Persian king : 
Your land does no such large revenues bring. 
Well ; on my terms thou wilt not be my heir : 
If thou car'st little, less shall be my care : m 

Were none of all my father's sisters left ; 
Nay, were I of my mother's kin bereft ; 
None by an uncle's or a grandame's side, 
Yet I could some adopted heir provide. 
I need but take my journey half a day 130 

From haughty Rome, and at Aricia stay, 
Where fortune throws poor Manilas in my way. 
Him will I choose : What him, of humble birth, 
Obscure, a foundling, and a son of earth 1 
Obscure 1 Why, prythee what am I ? I know 135 
My father, grandsire, and great grandsiro too : 
If farther I derive my pedigree, 
I can but guess beyond the fourth, degree. 
The rest of my forgotten ancestors 
Were sons of earth, like him, or sons of whores. ,40 
Yet why would'st thou, old covetous wretch, aspire 
To be my heir, who might'st have been my sire ] 
In nature's race, should st thou demand of me 
My torch, when I in oourse run after thee ? 

defeat of the Romans by the Germans : after which over- 
throw the altars had been neglected. 

Ver. 102. Csesonia, wife to Caius Caligula, who after- 
wards, in the reign of Claudius, was proposed, but inef- 
fectually, to be married to him, after he had executed 
Mcssalina for adultery. 

Ver. 106. The captive Germans, &c] lie means only 
such as were to pass for Germans in the triumph; Iftl 
bodied men, as they are still, whom the Empress clothed 
new, with coarse garments, for the greater ostentation of 
the victory. 

Ver. 115. Know, I have vow'd two / liators.] 

A hundred pair of gladiators were beyond the purse of a 
privatoman to give; therefore, this is only a threatening 
to his heir, that ho could do what he pleased with his 
estate. 

Ver. 143. should? at thou demand of me 

My torch, &c] 
Why should'st thou who art an old fellow, hope to outlive 



Think 1 approach thee like the go • '*» 

With wings on head and I 

Thy moderate: fortune '•> 
Now fairly take it, or as fail 
But take it as it is, and ask no more. 
What, when thou bust embezzled all thy store] "• 
Where's all thy father left I 'Tis true, I ^runt, 
Some I have mortgaged, to supply iny want, : 
The legacies of Tadius too arc ilowu : 
All spent, and on thi ->ne. 

How little then to my poor share will fall ! 
Little indeed ; but yet that little 's all 
Nor toll me, in a dying father's tone, 
Be careful still of the main chance, my son ; 
Put out the principal in trusty hands i 
Live of the use ; and never dip thy Ian. Is : 16u 

But yet what's loll for me! What's left, my 

friend ! 
Ask that again, and all the re 
Is not my fortune at my own command ? 
Pour oil, and pour it with a plenteous hand, 
Upon my salads, boy : shall I he fed lf * 

With sodden nettle Lead ! 

'Tis holiday ; provide me butter cheer ; 
'Tis holiday, and shall be round thi 
Shall I my household gi 

To make him rich, who grudges mo my moat, OT 
That ho may loll at case ; and pamperM high, 
When I am laid, may feed on 
And wdieu his throbbing lust extends the vein, 
Have wherewithal his whores to entertain I 
Shall I in homespun cloth bo clad, that ho "• 
His paunch in triumph may before him 
Go, miser, go; for lucre sell thy soul ; 
Truck wares for wares, and trudge from pole to 

pole: 
That men may say, when thou art dead and gone. 
Sec what a vast estate he left his son ! 
How large a family of brawny knaves, 
Well fed, and fat as Cappadocian .-' 
Increase thy wealth, and double all thy store : 
'Tis done : Now double that, and swell the 

score ; 
To every thousand add ten thousand more. ,as 
Then say, Chrysippus, thou who would'st confino 
Thy heap, where I shall put au end to mine. 



mc, and be mv heir, who am much younger. Tic who was 
first in the oourse, or race, delivered the torch, which ho 

carried, to him who was second. 

Ver. 182. II : '< as Cappadocian (toad f] Who 

were famous tor their Insuneaa, and being, u we call it. In 

good liking. I h Bet "n a stall when tiny were 
exposed to sale, tosh i habit of their body, and 

le to pi bra the buyers, to show thi ir 

activity and atn 

Ver. 180. ! 
Stoic, invented a kiml of a ,lm " 

three propositions, which is called Sorll 
„ s ,1, ild never bring his propositions to a 

certain stint, so neither can ■ covetous man brii 

I 'i -, ing desires t.> any certain D 

be could not wish fur any more. 



428 



THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. 



TRANSLATIONS EKOM HOMER. 



FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Chryses, priest of Apollo, brings presents to the Grecian 
princes, to ransom Ms daughter, Chryseis, who was 
prisoner in the fleet. Agamemnon, the general, whose 
captive and mistress the young lady was, refuses to 
deliver her, threatens the venerable old man, and dis- 
misses him with contumely. — The priest craves ven- 
geance of his god, who sends a plague among the Greeks, 
which occasions Achilles, their great champion, to 
summon a council of the chief officers : he encourages 
Calchas, the high priest and prophet, to tell the reason 
why the gods were so much incensed against them. — 
Calchas is fearful of provoking Agamemnon, till Achilles 
engages to protect him : then, emboldened by the hei'o, 
he accuses the general as the cause of all, by detaining 
the fair captive, and refusing the presents offered for her 
ransom. By this proceeding, Agamemnon is obliged, 
against his will, to restore Chryseis, with gifts, that he 
might appease the wrath of Phoebus ; but, at the same 
time, to revenge himself on Achilles, sends to seize his 
slave, Briseis. Achilles, thus affronted, complains to his 
mother, Thetis ; and begs her to revenge his injury, not 
only on the general, but on all the army, by giving vic- 
tory to the Trojans, till the ungrateful king became 
sensible of his injustice. At the same time he retires 
from the camp into his ships, and withdraws his aid 
from his countrymen. Thetis prefers her son's petition 
to Jupiter, who grants her suit. Juno suspects her 
errand, and quarrels with her husband, for his grant; till 
Vulcan reconciles his parents with a bowl of nectar, and 
sends them peaceably to bed. 

The wrath of Peleus' son, Muse, resound ; * 
Whose dire effects the Grecian army found, ' 
And many a hero, king, and hardy knight, 
Were sent, in early youth, to shades of night : 
Their limbs a prey to dogs and vultures made : 5 
So was the sovereign will of Jove obey'd ; 
From that ill-omen'd hour when strife begun, 
Betwixt Atrides great, and Thetis' god-like son. 

What Power provoked, and for what cause, relate, 
Sow'd in their breasts the seeds of stern debate : I0 
Jove's and Latona's son his wrath express'd, 
In vengeance of his violated priest, 

* Pope made a ridiculous blunder, misled by an old 
Latin translation of Diodorus Siculus, where Homer was 
called Medicus by an error of the press for Mendicus; 
whence Pope affirmed that Homer was a physician. 

This is not the place to enter into a long dissertation on 
the admirable disposition and economy of the Iliad. "We 
may however just observe one or two circumstances. It 
is an essential beauty in a well-constituted epic poem, that 
there should be an apparent necessity for every incident 
that arises. It was absolutely necessary that each of the 
Grecian chiefs should be brought forward, in order to 
heighten the effects of the absence and anger of Achilles. 
It was absolutely necessary for Vulcan to make a shield for 
Achilles, because the Trojans had seized and carried away 
his armour. It was absolutely necessary that funeral games 
should be performed on the death of Patroclus ; but not so 
necessary that JGneas should stop in Sicily, to which island 
he had happened to be driven by contrary winds, and there 
celebrate the anniversary of his father's death. Neither 
was there so absolute a necessity for the beautiful expe- 
dition of Nisus and Euryalus, as for that of Dolon and 
Uiomede. Dr. J . Waeton. 



Against the king of men ; who, swoll'n with pride, 
Refused his presents, and his prayers denied. 
For this the god a swift contagion spread 15 

Amid the camp, where heaps on heaps lay dead. 

For venerable Chryses came to buy, 
With gold and gifts of price, his daughter's liberty. 
Suppliant before the Grecian chiefs he stood ; 
Awful, and arm'd with ensigns of his god : ^ 

Bare was his hoary head ; one holy hand 
Held forth his laurel crown, and one his sceptre 

of command. 
His suit was common ; but above the rest, 
To both the brother-princes thus address'd. : 

Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Grecian powers, 25 
So may the gods who dwell in heavenly bowers 
Succeed your siege, accord the vows you make, 
And give you Troy's imperial town to take ; 
So, by their happy conduct, may you come 
With conquest back to your sweet native home ; 
As you receive the ransom which I bring, 31 

(Respecting Jove, and the far-shooting King,) 
And break my daughter's bonds, at my desire ; 
And glad with her return her grieving sire. 

With shouts of loud acclaim the Greeks decree 33 
To take the gifts, to set the damsel free. 
The king of men alone with fury burn'd ; 
And, haughty, these opprobrious words retum'd : 
Hence, holy dotard, and avoid my sight, 
Ere evil intercept thy tardy flight : 40 

Nor dare to tread this interdicted strand, 
Lest not that idle sceptre in thy hand, 
Nor thy god's crown, my vow'd revenge withstand. 
Hence on thy life : the captive maid is mine ; 
Whom not for price or prayers I will resign : 45 
Mine she shall be, till creeping age and time 
Her bloom have wither'd, and consumed her prime. 
Till then my royal bed she shall attend ; 
And, having first adorn'd it, late ascend : 
This, for the night ; by day, the web and loom, M 
And homely household-task, shall be her doom, 
Far from thy loved embrace, and her sweet native 

home. 
He said : the helpless priest replied no more, 
But sped his steps along the hoarse-resounding 

shore : 
Silent he fled ; secure at length he stood, 55 

Devoutly cursed his foes, and thus invoked his god: 

source of sacred light, attend my prayer, 
God with the silver bow, and golden hair ; 
Whom Chrysa, Cilia, Tenedos obeys, 
And whose broad eye their happy soil surveys ; 60 
If, Smintheus, I have pour'd before thy shrine 
The blood of oxen, goats, and ruddy wine, 
And larded thighs on loaded altars laid, 
Hear, and my just revenge propitious aid ! 
Pierce the proud Greeks, and with thy shafts 
attest r ' : ' 

How much thy power is injured in thy priest. 

He pray"d, and Phoebus, hearing, urged his flight, 
With Jury kindled, from Olympus' height ; 



THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S JUAB. 



429 



His quiver o'er his ample shoulders throw ; 
His bow twang' d, and his arrows rattled as thev 
flew. i*> 

Black as a stormy night, he ranged around 
The tents, and eompass'd the devoted ground. 
Then with full force his deadly bow he bent, 
And feathcr'd fates among the mules and sumpters 

sent, 
The essay of rage ; on faithful dogs the next ; '•"• 
And last, in human hearts his arrows fix'd. 
The god nine days the Greeks at rovers kill'd, 
Nine days the camp with funeral fires was fill'd ; 
The tenth, Achilles, by the Queen's command, 
Who bears heaven's awful sceptre in her hand, * 
A council summon'd : for the goddess grieved 
Her favour'd host should perish unrelieved. 

The kings, assembled, soon their chief enclose; 
Then from his seat the goddess-born arose, 
And thus undaunted spoke : What now remains, M 
But that once more we tempt the watery plains, 
And, wandering homeward, seek our safety hence, 
In flight at least, if we can find defence ? 
Such woes at once encompass us about, 
The plague within the camp, the sword without. 90 
Consult, king, the prophets of the event: 
And whence these ills, and what the god's intent, 
Let them by dreams explore; for dreams from 

Jove are sent. 
What want of offer'd victims, what offence 
In fact committed could the Sun incense, 95 

To deal his deadly shafts ? What may remove 
His settled hate, and reconcile his love? 
That he may look propitious on our toils; 
And hungry graves no more be glutted with our 
spoils. 
Thus to the king of men the hero spoke, 10 ° 
Then Calchas the desired occasion took : 
Calchas the sacred seer, who had in view 
Things present and the past ; and things to come 

foreknew. 
Supreme of augurs, who, by Phoebus taught, 
The Grecian powers to Troy's destruction brought. 
Skill'd in the secret causes of their woes, 1M 

The reverend priest in graceful act arose ; 
And thus bespoke Pelides: Care of Jove, 
Favour'd of all the immortal Powers above ; 
Would'st thou the seeds deep sown of mischief 
know, "° 

And why, provoked, Apollo bends his bow ? 
Plight first thy faith, inviolably true, 
To save me from those ills, that may ensue. 
For I shall tell ungrateful truths to those, 
Whose boundless powers of lifo and death dis- 
pose. " 5 
And sovereigns, ever jealous of their state, 
Forgive not those whom once they mark for hate ; 
Ev'n though the offence they seemingly digest, 
Revenge, like embers raked, within their breast, 
Bursts forth in flames; whose unresisted power 
Will seize the unwary wretch, and soon devour. 
Such, and no less is he, on whom depends 
Tho sum of things ; and whom my touguo of forco 

offends. 
Secure mo then from his foreseen intent, 
That what his wrath may doom, thy valour- may 
prevent. 



Vcr. 7t. Blade as a stormy] No epithet in added to night 
in the original, n hich is more emphatlcal ; ami so thought 

Milton Dr. J. Wakto.v. 



To this tho Htom Achilles made reply : 
Be bold; and on ray plighted faith rely, 
To speak what Phcebue I 
For common >od : and speak without oonta 
His godhead I invoke, by him I swear, VJ) 

That while my nostrils draw this vital air, 
None sh;ill presume to violate those bai 
Or touch thy person with unhaUoVd ban 
Ev'n not tho king of men, that all command-. 

At this, resuming heart, the prophet said : 135 
Nor hecatomb unslain, nor vows unpaid, 
On Greeks accursed this diro contagion I 
Or call for vengeance from the bowyer King ; 
But ho the tyrant, whom none dai 
Affronts the godhead hi his injured priest : "° 
He keeps the damsel captive in his chain. 
And presents are refu 

in vain. 
For tliis tho avenging Power employs his darts, 
And empties all his quiver in our hearts; 
Tims will persist, relentless in his ire, ,u 

Till the fair slave be render'd to her sire ; 
And ransom-free restored to his abodo, 
With sacrifice to reconcile tho god : 
Then he, perhaps, atoned by prayer, may ceaso 
His vengeance justly vow'd, and give the peace. 110 
Thus having said, he sate : thus answerd then, 
Upstarting from his throne, tho king of men, 
His breast with fury fill'd, his eyes with lire ; 
Which, rolling round, he shot in sparkles on tho 

sire : 
Augur of ill, whose tongue was never found li5 
Without a priestly curse, or boding sound ; 
For not ouo bless'd event foretold to me 
Pass'd through that mouth, or pass'd unwillingly 
And now thou dost with lies the throne invade. 
By practice harden'd in thy slandering trade. l0 ° 
Obtending heaven, for whate'er ills bel 
And sputtering under specious names thy gull. 
Now Phoebus is provoked, his rites and laws 
Are in his priest profaned, and I the cause: 
Since I detain a slave, my sovereign prize; 16i 
And sacred gold, your idol-god, despise. 
I love her well : and well hi r merits claim 
To stand pref'err'd before my Grecian dame : 
Not Clytemnestra's self in beauty's bloom 
More charm'd, or better plied the various loom : 
Mine is tho maid ; and brought in happy hour. ''' 
With every household-grace adorn'd, t 

nuptial bower. 
Yet shall she bo restored : since public 
For private interest ought not to lie v. 
To save tho effusion of my | 
But right requires, if r resign my own. 
I should not Buffer for your sakes alone ; 
Alone excluded from w un'd, 

And l>y your common i i obtain'A 

The slave without a nu nt : uo 

It rests for you to make the equivalent 
'l'o this the Seres Thes alian prin 

«;i power, but passing all in pride. 
Griping, and still tenacious of thy hold, 

Would'st thou the Grecian chief 

soul'd. 

And with their 
Whate'er by foro 

li his own. by dividend of I 
W'l.i. b 
Not to 



430 



THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. 



But this we can : if Saturn's son bestows 
The sack of Troy, which he by promise owes ; 
Then shall the conquering Greeks thy loss restore, 
And with large interest make the advantage more. 
To this Atrides answer'd : Though thy boast m 
Assumes the foremost name of all our host, 
Pretend not, mighty man, that what is mine, 
Controll'd by thee, I tamely should resign. 
Shall I release the prize I gain'd by right, 300 

In taken towns, and many a bloody fight, 
While thou detain'st Briseis in thy bands, 
By priestly glossing on the god's commands ? 
Resolve on this, (a short alternative) 
Quit mine, or, in exchange, another give ; 205 

Else I, assure thy soul, by sovereign right 
Will seize thy captive in thy own despite ; 
Or from stout Ajax, or Ulysses, bear 
What other prize my fancy shall prefer. 
Then softly murmur, or aloud complain, 2J0 

Rage as you please, you shall resist in vain. 
But more of this, in proper time and place ; 
To things of greater moment let us pass. 
A ship to sail the sacred seas prepare; 
Proud in her trim ; and put on board the fair, 2I5 
With sacrifice and gifts, and all the pomp of prayer. 
The crew well chosen, the command shall be 
In Ajax ; or if other I decree, 
In Creta's king, or Ithacus, or, if I please, in thee : 
Most fit thyself to see perform'd the intent ss0 
For which my prisoner from my sight is sent ; 
(Thanks to thy pious care) that Phosbus may relent. 

At this, Achilles roll'd his furious eyes, 
Fix'd on the king askant ; and thus replies : 
impudent, regardful of thy own, 225 

Whose thoughts are centred on thyself alone, 
Advanced to sovereign sway for better ends 
Than thus like abject slaves to treat thy friends. 
What Greek is he, that, urged by thy command, 
Against the Trojan troops will lift his hand? ®° 
Not I : nor such enforced respect I owe : 
Nor Pergamus I hate, nor Priam is my foe. - 
What wrong, from Troy remote, could I sustain, 
To leave my fruitful soil, and happy reign, 
And plough the surges of the stormy main 1 a5 
Thee, frontless man, we followed from afar ; 
Thy instruments of death, and tools of war. 
Thine is the triumph ; ours the toil alone : 
We bear thee on our backs, and mount thee on 

the throne. 
For thee we fall in fight ; for thee redress 240 

Thy baffled brother ; not the wrongs of Greece. 
And now thou threaten'st, with unjust decree, 
To punish thy affronting heaven, on me ; 
To seize the prize which I so dearly bought, 
By common suffrage given, confirm'd by lot. 24S 
Mean match to thine : for still above the rest, 
Thy hook'd rapacious hands usurp the best ; 
Though mine are first in fight, to force the prey, 
And last sustain the labours of the day. 
Nor grudge I thee the much the Grecians give ; 250 
Nor murmuring take the little I receive. 
Yet ev'n this little, thou, who wouldst engross 
The whole, insatiate, enviest as thy loss. 
Know, then, for Phthia fix'd is my return : 
Better at home my ill-paid pains to mourn, 255 
Than from an equal here sustain the public scorn. 
The king, whose brows with shining gold were 

bound, 
Who saw his throne with sceptred slaves encom- 

pass'd round, 



Thus answer'd stern : Go, at thy pleasure, go : 
Wo need not such a friend, nor fear we such a foe. 
There will not want to follow me in fight : * 61 

Jove will assist, and Jove assert my right. 
But thou of all the kings (his care below) 
Art least at my command, and most my foe. 
Debates, dissensions, uproars are thy joy; 255 

Provoked without offence, and practised to destroy. 
Strength is of brutes, and not thy boast alone ; 
At least 'tis lent from heaven ; and not thy own. 
Fly then, ill-manner' d, to thy native land, 
And there thy ant-born Myrmidons command. ^° 
But mark this menace ; since I must resign 
My black-eyed maid, to please the Powers divine; 
(A well-rigg'd vessel in the port attends, 
Mann'd at my charge, commanded bymyfriends,) 
The ship shall waft her to her wish'd abode, % s 
Full fraught with holy bribes to the far-shooting 

god. _ 
This thus dispatch'd, I owe myself the care 
My fame and injured honour to repair : 
From thy own tent, proud man, in thy despite, 
This hand shall ravish thy pretended right. 2S0 
Briseis shall be mine, and thou shalt see 
What odds of awful power I have on thee : 
That others at thy cost may learn the difference 
of degree. 

At this the impatient hero sourly smiled : 
His heart impetuous in his bosom boil'd, 285 

And justled by two tides of equal sway, 
Stood, for a while, suspended in his way. 
Betwixt his reason and his rage untamed : 
One whisper'd soft, and one aloud reclaim'd : 
That only counsell'd to the safer side ; 29 ° 

This to the sword his ready hand applied. 
Unpunish'd to support the affront was hard : 
Nor easy was the attempt to force the guard. 
But soon the thirst of vengeance fired his blood : 
Half shone his falchion, and half sheathed it stood. 295 

In that nice moment, Pallas, from above, 
Commission'd by the imperial wife of Jove, 
Descended swift : (the white-arm'd Queen was loth 
The fight should follow ; for she favour'd both :) 
Just as in act he stood, in clouds enshrined, 300 
Her hand she fasten'd on his hair behind ; 
Then backward by his yellow curls she drew ; 
To him, and him alone confess'd in view. 
Tamed by superior force, he turn'd his eyes 
Aghast at first, and stupid with surprise : 305 

But by her sparkling eyes, and ardent look, 
The virgin-warrior known, ho thus bespoke : 

Com'st thou, Celestial, to behold my wrongs ? 
To view the vengeance which to crimes belongs ? 

Thus he. The blue-eyed goddess thus rejoin'd: 
I come to calm thy turbulence of mind, 3U 

If reason will resume her sovereign sway, 
And, sent by Juno, her commands obey. 
Equal she loves you both, and I protect : 
Then give thy guardian gods their due respect; 315 
And cease contention ; be thy words severe, 
Sharp as he merits : but the sword forbear. 
An hour unhoped already wings her way, 
When he his dire affront shall dearly pay : 
When the proud king shall sue, with treble gain, 320 
To quit thy loss, and conquer thy disdain. 
But thou, secure of my unfailing word, 
Compose thy swelling soul, and sheathe the sword. 

The youth thus answer'd mild : Auspicious 
Maid, 
Heaven's will be mine, and your commands obey'd 



THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. 



431 



The gods arc just, and when, subduing sense, m 
We serve their powers, provide the recompense. 
He said ; with surly faith believed her word, 
And in the sheath, reluctant, plunged the sword. 
Her message done, she mounts the blees'd abodes. 
And mix'd among the senate of the gods. a)1 

At her departure his disdain return'd : 
The fire she fann'd, with greater fury burn'd ; 
Rumbling within, till thus it found a vent : 
Dastard, and drunkard, mean and insolent : 335 
Tongue- vahant hero, vaunter of thy might, 
In threats the foremost, but the lag in fight; 
When didst thou thrust amid the mingled preaso, 
Content to bide the war aloof in peace 1 
Arms are the trade of each plebeian soul ; J1 ° 

'Tis death to fight ; but kingly to control. 
Lord-like at ease, with arbitrary power, 
To peel the chiefs, the people to devour: 
These, traitor, are thy talents ; safer far 
Than to contend in fields, and toils of war. 343 
Nor could'st thou thus have dared the common 

hate, 
AVere not their souls as abject as their state. 
But, by this sceptre, solemnly I swear, 
(Which never more green leaf or growing branch 

shall bear; 
Torn from the tree, and given by Jove to those 340 
Who laws dispense, and mighty wrongs oppose) 
That when the Grecians want my wonted aid, 
No gift shall bribe it, and no prayer persuade. 
When Hector comes, the homicide, to wield 
His conquering arms, with corpse to strow the 

field, "»5 

Then shalt thou mourn th y pride ; and late confess 
My wrong repented, when 'tis past redress. 
He said : and with disdain, in open view, 
Against the ground his golden sceptre threw ; 
Then sate : with boiling rage Atrides bum'd, xo 
And foam betwixt his gnashing grinders churn'd. 

But from his seat the Pylian prince arose, 
With reasoning mild, their madness to compose : 
Words, sweet as honey, from his mouth distill'd ; 
Two centuries already he fulfill'd, 36S 

And now began the third ; unbroken yet : 
Once famed for courage ; still in council great. 

What worse, he said, can Argos undergo, 
What can more gratify the Phrygian foo, 
Than these distemper'd heats, if both the lights 37 " 
Of Greece their private interest disunites ! 
Believe a friend, with thrice your years increased, 
And let these youthful passions be repx 
I fiourish'd long before your birth ; and then 
Lived equal with a race of braver men 37i 

Than these dim eyes shall e'er behold again. 
Cencus and Dryas, and, excelling them, 
Great Theseus, and the force of greater Polyphemc. 
With these I went, a brother of the war, 
Their dangers to divide ; their fame to share. 3S0 
Nor idle stood with unassisting hands, 
Whensalvage beasts, and men's more salvage bands, 
Their virtuous toil subdued : yet those I swa 
With powerful speech : I spoke, and they obej 'd. 
If such as those my counsels could reclaim, 
Think not, young warriors, your diuiinish'd name 
Shall lose of lustre, by subjecting rage 
To the cool dictates of experience 
Thou, king of men, stretch not thy sovereign sway 
Beyond the bounds free subjects can obey : 
But let Pelidcs in his prize 1 - 
Achieved in arms, allow'd by public voice. 



Nor thou, brave i I . i th his power contend, 

Before whose throne ev'u kings their lo . 

sceptres bend. 
The head of action he, and thou the hand ; *» 
Matchless thy force, but mightier his command : 
Thou first, O king, release the rights of sway ; 
1'owgr, Belf-restrain'd, the [.topic best obey. 
Sanctions of law from thee derive their source; 
Command thyself, whom no commands can fbl 
The son of Thetis, rampire of our host, 
Is worth our care to keep ; nor shall my prayers 
be lost. 

Thus Nestor said, and ceased : Atrides broke 
His silence next; but pondcr'd ere he .-poke : 
Wise arc thy words, and glad 1 would obey, ** 
But this proud mai imperial sway. 

Controlling kings, and trampling on our state, 
His will is law ; and what Ik; wills is fate. 
The gods have given him strength : but whence 

the style 
Of lawless power assumed, or licence to revile? 

Achilles cut him short ; and thus replied : 
My worth, allow'd in words, is in effect denied. 
For who but a poltroon I with fear, 

Such haughty insolence can tamely bearl 
Command thy slaves: my freeborn soul disdains 
A tyrant's curb ; and restive breaks the reins. * ls 
Take this along ; that no dispute shall I 
(Though mine the woman) for my ravish'd prize : 
But, she excepted, as unworthy strife, 
Dare not, I charge thee dare not, on thy life, tt0 
Touch aught of mine beside, by lot my due, 
But stand aloof, and think profane to view : 
This fauchion, else, not hitherto withstood, 
These hostile fields shall fatten with thy blood. 

He said ; and rose the first : the council broke: 
And all their grave consults dissolved in smoke. 

The royal youth retired, on vengeance bent, 
Patroclus foilow'd silent to his tent. 

.Meantime, the king with 1 store : 

Supplies the banks with twenty chosen oar.- : 
And next, to reconcile the shooter god, 
Within her hollow sides the sacrifice he Btow'd : 

i s last was set on board ; whose hand 
1 es took, intrusted with command : 
They plough the liquid seas, and leave the h 
ing !. 

Atrides then, his outward zeal to boast, 
Bade purity the Bin-polluted host. 
With perfect hecatombs the god they graced; 
d entrails in the main were 

Black bulls, and bearded go.it- on altan lie : ** 

And clouds of savoury stench involve th.. sky. 

These pomps the royal hypocrite de-i_rn'd 

For show ; but harbour'd vengeance in his mind : 

Till holy malice, longing for a vent. 

At lengi conoeal'd intent 

Taltbybius, andEurybates the just. 

Heralds of anus, and in mist. 

He call'd, and thus bespoke: Haste hence your 

way : 
And from the goddess-born demand his prey. 
If yielded, brii live: if denied, 4V 

The kinu' (80 tell him) shall eh.i.-ti-e hi- \ 
And with arm'd multitude- 

To vindicate his pow< r, Mid, 
aand unwil 

An.l o'er the barren ab *• 

Where quarter'd in their camp t: esio 

bans lay. 



432 



THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. 



Their sovereign seated on his chair they find ; 
His pensive cheek upon his hand reclined, 
And anxious thoughts revolving in his mind. 
With gloomy looks he saw them entering in 4C0 
Without salute : nor durst they first begin, 
Fearful of rash offence and death foreseen. 
He soon, the cause divining, clear'd his bro^m ; 
And thus did liberty of speech allow : 

Interpreters of gods and men, be bold : 4G5 

Awful your character, and uncontroll'd : 
Howe'er unpleasing be the news you bring, 
I blame not you, but your imperious king. 
You come, I know, my captive to demand ; 
Patroclus, give her to the heralds' hand. 47 ° 

But you authentic witnesses I bring, 
Before the gods, and your ungrateful king, 
Of this my manifest : that never more 
This hand shall combat on the crooked shore : 
No, let the Grecian powers, oppress'd in fight, 475 
Unpitied perish in their tyrant's sight. 
Blind of the future, and by rage misled, 
He pulls his crimes upon his people's head : 
Forced from the field in trenches to contend, 
And his insulted camp from foes defend. 4S0 

He said, and soon, obeying his intent, 
Patroclus brought Briseis from her tent ; 
Then to the intrusted messengers resign'd : 
She wept, and often cast her eyes behind : 
Forced from theman she loved : they led her thence, 
Along the shore, a prisoner to their prince. 4SC 

Sole on the barren sands the suffering chief 
Roar'd out for anguish, and indulged his grief. 
Cast on his kindred seas a stormy look, 
And his upbraided mother thus bespoke : 490 

Unhappy parent of a short-lived son, 
Since Jove in pity by thy prayers was won 
To grace my small remains of breath with fame, 
Why loads he this imbitter'd life with shame ? 
Suffering his king of men to force my slave. 495 
Whom, well deserved in war, the Grecians gave ? 

Set by old Ocean's side the goddess heard,- 
Then from the sacred deep her head she rear'd ; 
Rose like a morning-mist ; and thus begun 
To soothe the sorrows of her plaintive son : 5no 
Why cries my care, and why conceals his smart 1 
Let thy afflicted parent share her part. 

Then, sighing from the bottom of his breast, 
To the sea-goddess thus the goddess-born ad- 

dress'd : 
Thou know'st my pain, which telling but recalls : 
By force of arms we raised the Theban walls ; 506 
The ransack'd city, taken by our toils, 
We left, and hither brought the golden spoils ; 
Equal we shared them ; but before the rest, 
The proud prerogative had seized the best ; 51 ° 
Chryseis was the greedy tyrant's prize, 
Chryseis, rosy-cheek' d, with charming eyes. 
Her sire, Apollo's priest, arrived to buy, 
With proffer'd gifts of price, his daughter's liberty. 
Suppliant before the Grecian chiefs he stood, 6J5 
Awful, and arm'd with ensigns of his god : 
Bare was his hoary head ; one holy hand 
Held forth his laurel crown, and one his sceptre of 

command. 
His suit was common, but above the rest, 
To both the brother princes was address'd. 52u 



i Ver. 488. Roar'd out\ One of the finest lines in the 
original, sadly rendered. — Dr. J. Wakton. 



With shouts of loud acclaim the Greeks agree 
To take the gifts, to set the prisoner free. 
Not so the tyrant, who with scorn the priest 
Received, and with opprobrious words dismiss'd. 
The good old man, forlorn of human aid, 625 

For vengeance to his heavenly patron pray'd : 
The godhead gave a favourable ear, 
And granted all to him he held so dear ; 
In an ill hour his piercing shafts he sped ; 
And heaps on heaps of slaughter'd Greeks lay 

dead, 53 ° 

While round the camp he ranged : at length arose 
A seer, who well divined ; and durst disclose 
The source of all our ills : I took the word ; 
And urged the sacred slave to be restored, 
The god appeased : the swelling monarch storm'd : 
And then the vengeance vow'd, he since per- 

form'd. 536 

The Greeks, 'tis true, their ruin to prevent, 
Have to the royal priest his daughter sent ; 
But from their haughty king his heralds came, 
And seized, by his command, my captive dame, 640 
By common suffrage given ; but, thou, be won, 
If in thy power, to avenge thy injured son : 
Ascend the skies ; and supplicating move 
Thy just complaint to cloud-compelling Jove. 
If thou by either word or deed hast wrought 54S 
A kind remembrance in his grateful thought, 
Urge him by that : for often hast thou said 
Thy power was once not useless in his aid, 
When he, who high above the highest reigns, 
Surprised by traitor gods, was bound in chains. 550 
When Juno, Pallas, with ambition fired, 
And his blue brother of the seas conspired, 
Thou freed'st the sovereign from unworthy bands, 
Thou brought'st Briareus with his hundred hands, 
(So call'd in heaven, but mortal men below 65i 
By his terrestrial name ^Egseon know : 
Twice stronger than his sire, who sate above 
Assessor to the throne of thundering Jove.) 
The gods, dismay'd at his approach, withdrew, 
Nor durst their unaccoinplish'd crime pursue. 56 ° 
That action to his grateful mind recall : 
Embrace his knees, and at his footstool fall : 
That now, if ever, he will aid our foes ; 
Let Troy's triumphant troops the camp inclose : 
Ours, beaten to the shore, the siege forsake ; 565 
And what their king deserves, with him partake ; 
That the proud tyrant, at his proper cost, 
May learn the value of the man he lost. 

To whom the Mother-goddess thus replied, 
Sigh'd ere she spoke, and while she spoke she 

cried : 6 '° 

Ah wretched me ! by fates averse decreed 
To bring thee forth with pain, with care to breed ! 
Did envious heaven not otherwise ordain, 
Safe in thy hollow ships thou should'st remain ; 
Nor ever tempt the fatal field again. 57i 

But now thy planet sheds his poisonous rays, 
And short and full of sorrow are thy days. 
For what remains, to heaven I will ascend, 
And at the Thunderer's throne thy suit commend. 
Till then, secure in ships, abstain from fight ; 5S0 
Indulge thy grief in tears, and vent thy spite. 
For yesterday the court of heaven with Jove 
Removed : 'tis dead vacation now above. 
Twelve days the gods their solemn revels keep, 
And quaff with blameless Ethiops in the deep. 685 
Retum'd from thence, to heaven my flight I take 
Knock at the brazen gates, and Providence awake. 



THE FIRST BOOK OK HOMER'S ILIAS. 






Embrace his knees, and suppliant to the sire, 
Doubt not I will obtain the grant of thy desire. 

She said : and, parting, loft him on the place, 
Swoll'n with disdain, resenting his disgrace : ''•" 
Revengeful thoughts revolving in his mind, 
He wept for anger, and for love lie pined. 

Meantime with prosperous gales Ulysses brought 
The slave, and ship with sacrifices fraught, •■> 
To Chrysa's port ; where, entering with the tide, 
He dropp'd his anchors, and his oars he plied ; 
Furl'd every sail, and, drawing down the mast, 
His vessel moor'd, and made with haulsers fast. 
Descending on the plain, ashore they bring cu0 
The hecatomb to please the shooter King. 
The dame before an altar's holy fire 
Ulysses led ; and thus bespoke her sire : 

Reverenced be thou, and be thy god adored : 
The king of men thy daughter has restored ; 605 
And sent by me with presents and with prayer ; 
He recommends him to thy pious care ; 
That Phoebus at thy suit his wrath may cease, 
And give the penitent offenders peace. 

He said, and gave her to her father's hands, 610 
Who glad received her, free from servile bands. 
This done, in order they, with sober grace, 
Their gifts around the well-built altar place ; 
Then wash'd, and took the cakes ; while Chryses 

stood 
With hands upheld, and thus invoked His god : C15 

God of the silver bow, whose eyes survey 
The sacred Cilia, thou, whose awful sway 
Chrysa the bless'd, and Tenedos obey : 
Now hear, as thou before my prayer hast heard, 
Against the Grecians, and their prince, prcferr'd : 
Once thou hast honour'd, honour once again wl 
Thy priest ; nor let his second vows be vain. 
But from the afflicted host and humbled prince 
Avert thy wrath, and cease thy pestilence. 
Apollo heard, and, conquering his disdain, •* 

Unbent his bow, and Greece respired again. 

Now when the solemn rites of prayer were past, 
Their salted cakes on crackling flames they cast. 
Then, turning back, the sacrifice they sped ; 
The fatted oxen slew, and flead the dead ; 
Chopp'd off their nervous thighs, and next 

prepared 
To involve the lean in cauls, and mend with lard. 
Sweet-breads and collops were with skewers 

prick'd 
About the sides ; imbibing what they deck'd. 
The priest with holy hands was seen to tine ^ 
The cloven wood, and pour the ruddy wine. 
The youth approach'd the fire, and, as it burn'd. 
On five sharp broachers rauk'd, the roast they 

turn'd ; 
These morsels stay'd their stomachs; then the rest 
They cut in legs and fillets for the feast; ' '" 

Which drawn and served, their hunger they 

appease 
With savoury meat, and set their minds at easo. 

Now when the rage of eating was repell'd, 
The boys with generous wine the goblets fill'd. 
Tho first libations to the gods they pour : 
And then with songs indulge the genial hour. 
Holy debauch ! till day to night tiny bring, 
With hymns and pseans to the bowyor King. 



Ter. 632. To involve] The words— Iran, rnuh, lard, 
cotlops, sweetbreads, and skewers, nmko a strange appear- 
ance in epic poetry. Dr. J. W'auton. 



At sunset to their ship they make return, 
And snore decks, till rosy morn. tM 

The skies with dawning day were purpled 
o'er; 
Awaked, with labouring oars they leave the si 
The Power, appeased, with winds sufficed the 
The bellying canvas strutted with the : 
The waves indignant roar with surly pride, "** 
And press against the sides, and beaten off divide. 
They cut the foamy way, with force iinpell'd 

Superior, till the Trojan port they held ; 
Then, hauling on the strand, their galley moor, 
And pitch their tents along the crooked shore. m 
Meantime the goddei • born in < eret pined ; 

Nor visited tho camp, nor in tho council join'd, 
But, keeping close, his gnawing heart he fed 
With hopes of vengeance On the tyrant's head : 

And wish'd for bloodj wars and mortal wound 

And of the Greeks oppress' d in light to hear tho 
Qg sounds. 

Now, when twelve days complcto had run their 
race, 
The gods bethought them of the cares belonging 

to their place. 
Jove at their head ascending from the sea, 
A shoal of puny Powers attend his way. 
Then Thetis, not unmindful of her son, 
Emerging from the deep, to beg her boon, 
Pursued their track ; and waken'd from bis 
Before the sovereign stood, a morning guest. 
Him in the circle, but apart, she found : 
The rest at awful distance stood around. 
She boVd, and ere she durst her suit begin, 
One hand embraced his knees, one propp'd his 

chin. 
Then thus : If I, celestial sire, in aught 
Havo served thy will, or gratified thy thought, 68 ° 
One glimpse of glory to my issue give ; 
Graced for tho little time ho has to live. 
Dishonour'd by tho king of men he stands : 
His rightful prize is ravish'd from his hands. 
But thou, father, in my son's defence. 
Assume thy power, assert thy providence. 
Let Troy prevail, till Greece the affront has paid 
With doubled honours, and redeem'd his aid. 

She ceased, but the considering god was i, 
Till she, resolved to win, renew'd her suit; 
Nor loosed her hold, but forced him to reply : 
Or graut mo my petition, or deny : 
Jove cannot fear : then tell me to my faco 
That I, of idl the gods, am least in grace. 
This I can bear. Tho Cloud-COmpeller inourn'd. 
And sighing first, this answer he retum'd : w * 

Know'st thou what clamours will disturb my 

What my stunn'd ears from Juno must sustain 1 
In council she gives licence to her tongue, 
Loquacious, brawling, ever in the v. 
And now she will my partial power upbraid, 
If, alienate from Greece, I give the Trojans aid. 
But thou depart, and shun her jealous sight, 
Tho caro be mini ;ht. 

Go then, and on the faith of ■ 

l nodding to thy suit, lie bows the sky. 
This ratifies the irrevocable >' 
Tho sign ordain'd, that what I will shall come: 
The stamp of heaven, and seal of fate. lb 

And shook tin- Baored honours of In- head, ;u> 
With terror trembled heaven's Bobaiding hill : 
And from his shaken curls ambr. distil 



434 



THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. 



The goddess goes exulting from his sight, 
And seeks the seas profound; and leaves the 
realms of light. 

He moves into his hall : the Powers resort, 715 
Each from his house, to fill the sovereign's court ; 
Nor waiting summons, nor expecting stood, 
But met with reverence, and received the god. 
He mounts the throne ; and Juno took her place : 
But sullen discontent sate lowering on her face.'"-" 
With jealous eyes at distance she had seen, 
Whispering with Jove, the silver-footed Queen ; 
Then, impotent of tongue (her silence broke), 
Thus turbulent in rattling tone she spoke : 

Author of ills, and close contriver Jove, " 25 

Which of thy dames, what prostitute of love, 
Has held thy ear so long, and begg'd so hard, 
For some old service done, some new reward 1 
Apart you talk'd, for that 's your special care, 
The consort never must the council share. 73 ° 
One gracious word is for a wife too much : 
Such is a marriage vow, and Jove's own faith is 
such. 

Then thus the Sire of gods, and men below : 
What I have hidden, hope not thou to know. 73S 
Ev'n goddesses are women : and no wife 
Has power to regulate her husband's life : 
Counsel she may ; and I will give thy ear 
The knowledge first, of what is fit to hear. 
What I transact with others, or alone, 739 

Beware to learn ; nor press too near the throne. 

To whom the goddess with the charming eyes, 
What hast thou said, tyrant of the skies ! 
When did I search the secrets of thy reign, 
Though privileged to know, but privileged in vain? 
But well thou dost, to hide from common sight 
Thy close intrigues, too bad to bear the light. 74S 
Nor doubt I, but the silver-footed dame, 
Tripping from sea, on such an errand came, 
To grace her issue, at the Grecians' cost, 
And for one peevish man destroy an host. 7m 

To whom the Thunderer made this stern ?eply : 
My household curse, my lawful plague, the spy 
Of Jove's designs, his other squinting eye ; 
Why this vain prying, and for what avail 1 
Jove will be master still, and Juno fail. 7S5 

Should thy suspicious thoughts divine aright, 
Thou but becom'st more odious to my sight 
For this attempt : uneasy life to me, 
Still watch'd and importuned, but worse for thee. 
Curb that impetuous tongue, before too late 7m 
The gods behold, and tremble at thy fate : 
Pitying, but daring not, in thy defence, 
To lift a hand against Omnipotence. 

This heard, the imperious Queen sate mute 
with fear, 
Nor further durst incense the gloomy Thunderer. 
Silence was in the court at this rebuke : 766 

Nor could the gods abash'd sustain their sove- 
reign's look. 



The limping Smith observed the sadden'd feast, 
And hopping here and there (himself a jest) 
Put in his word, that neither might offend ; 77 ° 
To Jove obsequious, yet his mother's friend. 
What end in heaven will be of civil war, 
If gods of pleasure will for mortals jar 1 
Such discord but disturbs our j ovial feast ; 
One grain of bad embitters all the best. 77i 

Mother, though wise yourself, my counsel weigh ; 
'Tis much unsafe my sire to disobey. 
Not only you provoke him to your cost, 
But mirth is marr'd, and the good cheer is lost. 
Tempt not his heavy hand ; for he has power 7sa 
To throw you headlong from his heavenly tower. 
But one submissive word, which you let fall, 
Will make him in good humour with us all. 

He said no more ; but crown'd a bowl, unbid : 
The laughing nectar overlook'd the lid : rs5 

Then put it to her hand ; and thus pursued : 
This cursed quarrel be no more renew'd. 
Be, as becomes a wife, obedient still; 
Though grieved, yet subject to her husband's will. 
I would not see you beaten ; yet afraid '' JU 

Of Jove's superior force, I dare not aid. 
Too well I know him, since that hapless hour 
When I and all the gods employed our power 
To break your bonds : me by the heel he drew, 
And o'er heaven's battlements with fury threw : 
All day I fell ; my flight at morn begun, 796 

And ended not but with the setting sun. 
Pitch'd on my head, at length the Lemnian ground 
Received my batter'd skull, the Sinthians heal'd 
my wound. 

At Vulcan's homely mirth his mother smiled, 
And smiling took the cup the clown had fill'd. iW1 
The reconciler-bowl went round the board, 
Which, emptied, the rude skinker still restored. 
Loud fits of laughter seized the guests to see 
The limping god so deft at his new ministry. m 
The feast continued till declining light : 
They drank, they laugh' d, they loved, and then 

'twas night. 
Nor wanted tuneful harp, nor vocal quire; 
The Muses sung ; Apollo touch'd the lyre. 
Drunken at last, and drowsy they depart, S1 ° 

Each to his house ; adorn'd with labour'd art 
Of the lame architect : the thundering god 
Ev'n he withdrew to rest, and had his load. 
His swimming head to needful sleep applied ; 
And Juno lay unheeded by his side. 8Ii > 



Ver. 768. Tke limping Smitli] Boileau used to hint, 
among his intimate friend's, that he thought the reason 
why Homer sometimes introduced his gods and goddesses 
in scenes of ludicrousness, was to soften the general 
severity of his poem, and relieve the reader from the per- 
petual prospect of the slaughters and deaths with which 
the Iliad abounded. Dr. J. Wartojj. 






THE LAST PARTING OP HECTOR AND AJIDBOMACHB. 






THE LAST PARTING OP 

HECTOR AND ANDROMACITE. 

FROM THE 

SIXTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Hector returning from the field of battle, to visit Helen, liis 
sister-in-law, and his brother Paris, who bad fought 
unsuccessfully hand to hand with Menelaus, from thence 

goes to his own palace to see his will-, Andromache, and 
his infant son, Astyanax. The description of that inter- 
view is the subject of this translation. 

Thus having said, brave Hector went to see 

His virtuous wife, the fair Andromache. 

He found her not at home ; for she was gone, 

Attended by her maid and infant son, 

To climb the stoepy tower of Ilion : 

From whence, with heavy heart, she might survey 

The bloody business of the dreadful day. 

Her mournful eyes she cast around the plain, 

And sought the lord of her desires in vain. 

But he, who thought his peopled palace bare, 10 
When she, his only comfort, was not there, 
Stood in the gate, and ask'd of every one, 
Which way she took, and whither she was gone : 
If to the court, or, with his mother's train, 
In long procession to Minerva's fane ? <* 

The servants answer'd, Neither to the court, 
Where Priam's sons and daughters did resort, 
Nor to the temple was she gone, to move 
With prayers the blue-eyed progeny of Jove ; 
But more solicitous for him alone, 2J 

Than all their safety, to the tower was gone, 
There to survey the labours of the field, 
Where the Greeks conquer, and tho Trojans 

yield ; 
Swiftly she pass'd, with fear and fury wild ; 
Tho nurse went lagging after with the child. !5 

This heard, the noble Hector made no stay : 
The admiring throng divide to give him way ; 
He pass'd through every street, by which he 

came, 
And at the gate he met the mournful dame. 

His wifo beheld him, and with eager pace M 
Flew to his arms, to meet a dear embrace : 
His wife, who brought in dower Cilicia's crown, 
And in herself a greater dower alone : 
Action's heir, who on tho woody plain 
Of Hippoplacus did in Thebe reign. * 

Breathless she flew, with joy and passion wild : 
The nurse came lagging after with the child. 

The royal babe upon her breast was laid ; 
Who, like the morning star, his beams display'd. 
Scamandrius was bis name, which Hector gave, ** 
From that fair flood which Dion's wall did lave : 
But him Astyanax the Trojans call, 
From his great father, who defends the wall. 

Hector beheld him with a silent smile : 
His tender wifo stood weeping by the while : * 
Press'd in her own, his warlike hand she took, 
Then sigh'd, and thus prophetically spoke : 

Thy dauntless heart (which I foresee too late) 
Too daring man, will urge thee to thy I'. 
Nor dost thou pity, with a parent's mind, *' 

This helpless orphan, whom thou lcav'st behind ; 



Nor me, tho unhappy partner of thy bed; 

Who must in triumph by tin I lod : 

They seek thy life, and, in am 

With many, will oppri Je might: ** 

Better it were for miserable 

To die, before the fate which J foresee. 

For ah ! what comfort can the world bequeath 

To Hector's widow, after 1 1 1, | 

Etornal sorrow and perpetual tears «" 

Began my youth, and will conclude my years : 
I have no parents, friends, nor brother.-, left; 
By stern Achilles all of life bereft. 
Then when the walls of Thebes he overthrew, 
His fatal hand my royal father slow; ■ 

He slew Action, but despoil'd him not ; 
Nor in his hate the funeral rites forgot ; 
Arm'd as he was he sent hun whole below, 
And reverenced thus the manes of bis I 
A tomb he raised ; the mountain nymphs around 7 " 
Inclosed with planted elms the holy ground. 

My seven brave brothers in one fatal day 
To Death's dark mansions took the mournful way ; 
Slain by the same Achilles, while they 1. 
The bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep. '•' 
My mother, who the royal sceptre .-way'd, 
Was captive to the cruel victor made, 
And hither led ; but, hence redeein'd with gold, 
Her native country did again behold, 
And but beheld : for soon Diana's dart, w 

In an unhappy chacc, transfixM her heart 

But thou, my Hector, art thyself alone 
My parents, brothers, and my lord in one. 
Oh, kill not all my kindred o'er again, 
Nor tempt the dangers of the dusty plain ; * 
But in this tower, for our defence, remain. 
Thy wife and son are in thy ruin lost ; 
This is a husband's and a father's post. 
The Sc;can gate commands the plains below ; 
Here marshal all thy soldiers as they go ; 
And hence with other hands repel the foo. 
By yon wild fig-tree lies their chief asci 
And thither all their powers aro daily bent ; 
The two Ajaccs have I often seen, 
And thewrong'd husband of tho Spartan qua 
With him his greater brother; and with these 
Fierce Diomedc and bold Meriones : 
Uncertain if by augury or chance, 
But by this easy rise they all advance; 
Guard well that pass, secure of all beside. ll " 

To whom the noble Hector thus replied : 
That and the rest are in my daily care; 
But, should I shun the dangers of tho war, 
With scorn tho Trojans would reward my pains, 
And their proud ladies with their sweeping trains. 
The Grecian swords and lances I can bear ; ll * 
But loss of honour is my Qui] 
Shall Hector, born to war, his birthright yield, 
Belio his courage, and forsake the field .' 
Earlj in ro ■ L arms I took delight) "" 

And still have been tho foremost in tho fight : 

Ver.89. Bid /'■•>.} In the Interview b • 
and Andromache, both Pope ami Dryden nave omitted an 
epithet which they, perhaps, looked un as otttmm rjiihttcm. 
1 win rite the Qreak passage : — 

'AAA* 'ExTSf ffil lui \tf\ Tarrf, xat T#r?.a u 
H*J xatriyrr.ns, ffv ii fJLM &aAl(K Ta;*x«.rrf. 

Theepithol 9wAi<*f is here a term of > 
moid, and heightens the pat] 
epithets are, gonoi al, bul I 

infection for her M* V ""'"B and 

.Ions \\ 

rrS 



436 



THE LAST PARTING OF HECTOE AND ANDROMACHE. 



With dangers dearly have I bought renown, 

And am the champion of my father's crown. 

And yet my mind forebodes, with sure presage, 

That Troy shall perish by the Grecian rage. n5 

The fatal day draws on, when I must fall, 

And universal ruin cover all. 

Not Troy itself, though built by hands divine, 

Nor Priam, nor his people, nor his line, 

My mother, nor my brothers of renown, m 

Whose valour yet defends the unhappy town ; 

Not these, nor all their fates which I foresee, 

Are half of that concern I have for thee. 

I see, I see thee, in that fatal hour, 

Subjected to the victor's cruel power ; 125 

Led hence a slave to some insulting sword, 

Forlorn, and trembling at a foreign lord ; 

A spectacle in Argos, at the loom, 

Gracing with Trojan fights a Grecian room; 

Or from deep wells the living stream to take, 13 ° 

And on thy weary shoulders bring it back. 

While, groaning under this laborious life, 

They insolently call thee Hector's wife ; 

Upbraid thy bondage with thy husband's name : 

And from my glory propagate thy shame. I3S 

This when they say, thy sorrows will increase 

With anxious thoughts of former happiness ; 

That he is dead who could thy wrongs redress. 

But I, oppress'd with iron sleep before, 

Shall hear thy unavailing cries no more. m 

He said — 
Then, holding forth his arms, he took his boy, 
The pledge of love and other hope of Troy. 
The fearful infant turn'd his head away, 
And on his nurse's neck reclining lay, 
His unknown father shunning with affright, 145 
And looking back on so uncouth a sight ; 
Daunted to see a face with steel o'er-spread, 
And his high plume that nodded o'er his head. 
His sire and mother smiled with silent joy ; 
And Hector hasten'd to relieve his boy ; 150 

Dismiss'd his burnish'd helm, that shone afar, 
The pride of warriors, and the pomp of war : 
The illustrious babe, thus reconciled, he took ; 
Hugg'd in his arms, and kiss'd, and thus he spoke : 
Parent of gods and men, propitious Jove, 155 
And you bright synod of the Powers above ; 
On this my son your gracious gifts bestow ; 
Grant him to live, and great in arms to grow, . 
To reign in Troy, to govern with renown, 
To shield the people, and assert the crown : 16 ° 
That when hereafter he from war ohall come, 
And bring his Trojans peace and triumph home, 
Some aged man, who lives this act to see, 
And who in former times remember'd me, 

Ver. 129. Gracing with Trojan fights a Grecian room/] 

fine improvement on the simple original : 
Ka/ yAv \v Aeylt toZtra, ffeos ocWy,<; tffrbv utpatvots. 
by the addition of a circumstance which considerably 
heightens the distress. So the sacred historian aggravates 
the misery of the prodigal son, by relating that he was sent 
into the fields to feed swine, animals held in detestation 
and abhorrence by the Jews. This little natural stroke 
Pope has transferred into his translation without acknow- 
ledgment. John "Waetom. 



May say, The son in fortitude and fame 165 

Outgoes the mark, and drowns his father's name : 
That at these words his mother may rejoice, 
And add her suffrage to the public voice. 

Thus having said, 
He first with suppliant hands the gods adored: 17 ° 
Then to the mother's arms the child restored : 
With tears and smiles she took her son, and 

press'd 
The illustrious infant to her fragrant breast. 
He, wiping her fair eyes, indulged her grief, 
And eased her sorrows with this last relief : I75 

My wife and mistress, drive thy fears away, 
Nor give so bad an omen to the day; 
Think not it lies in any Grecian's power, 
To take my life before the fatal hour. 
When that arrives, nor good nor bad can fly I8 ° 
The irrevocable doom of destiny. 
Return, and, to divert thy thoughts at home, 
There task thy maids, and exercise the loom, 
Employ'd in works that womankind become. 
The toils of war and feats of chivalry 185 

Belong to men, and most of all to me. 

At this, for new replies he did not stay, 
But laced his crested helm, and strode away. 
His lovely consort to her house return' d, 
And looking often back in silence mourn'd : 19 ° 
Home when she came, her secret woe she vents, 
And fills the palace with her loud laments ; 
These loud laments her echoing maids restore, 
And Hector, yet ahve, as dead deplore. 



Ver. 194. And Hector] Such was the attempt of Dryden 
on the Iliad ; considering what a translation we have since 
seen, we cannot regret that he did not finish it. We all 
know his very spirited, if not accurate, translation of the 
jEneid, and must think Swift's censure of it too violent and 
undeserved. 

" On the left wing of the horse, Virgil appeared in shining 
armour, completely fitted to his body : he was mounted on 
a dapple-grey steed, the slowness of whose pace was an 
effect of the highest mettle and vigour. He cast his eye on 
the adverse wing, with desire to find an object worthy of 
his valour; when, behold, upon a sorrel gelding, of a mon- 
strous size, appeared a foe, issuing from among the thickest 
of the enemy's squadrons ; but his speed was less than his 
noise ; for his horse, old and lean, spent the dregs of his 
strength in a high trot, which, though it made slow advances, 
yet caused a loud clashing of his armour, terrible to hear. 
The two cavaliers had now approached within the throw of 
a lance, when the stranger desired a parley, and lifting up the 
vizard of his helmet, a face hardly appeared from within, 
which, after a pause, was known for that of the renowned 
Dryden. The brave Antient suddenly started, as one pos- 
sessed with surprise and disappointment together ; for the 
helmet was nine times too large for the head, which appeared 
situate far in the hinder part, even like the lady in a 
lobster, or like a mouse under a canopy of state, or like 
a shrivelled beau from within the pent-house of a modern 
perriwig ; and the voice was suited to the visage, sounding 
weak and remote. Dryden, in a long harangue, soothed up 
the good Antient, called him Father, and, by large deduc- 
tions of genealogies, made it plainly appear that they were 
nearly related. Then he humbly proposed an exchange of 
armour, as a lasting mark of hospitality between them 
Virgil consented, (for the goddess Diffidence came unseen, 
and east a mist before his eyes) though his was of gold, and 
cost an hundred beeves, the other's but of rusty iron. How 
ever, this glittering armour became the Modern yet worse 
than his own. Then they agreed to exchange horses ; but 
when it came to the trial, Dryden was afraid, and utterly 
unable to mount." — Tale of a Tub. Dr. J. Waeton. 



\ 



THE ART OF POETRY. 



W 



THE ART OF POETRY. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



This translation of Monsieur Boileau's Art of Pootry was made in the year 1C80, by Sir William 
Soame of Suffolk, Baronet; who being very intimately acquainted with Mr. Dryd id his 

revisal of it. I saw the manuscript lie in Mr. Dryden's hands for above six months, who made very 
considerable alterations in it, particularly the beginning of the fourth Canto: and ir. being hifl 
opinion that it would be better to apply the poem to English writers, than keep to the French names, 
as it was first translated, Sir William desired he would tako tho pains to make that alteration ; and 
accordingly that was entirely done by Mr. Dryden. 

The poem was first published in the year 1683; Sir William was after sent ambassador to 
Constantinople, in the reign of king James, but died in the voyage. 

J. T. 



CANTO I. 

Rash author, 'tis a vain presumptuous crime, 

To undertake the sacred art of rhyme : 

If at thy birth the stars that ruled thy sense 

Shone not with a poetic influence ; 

In thy strait genius thou wilt still bo bound, 5 

Find Phcebus deaf, and Pegasus unsound. 

You then that burn with the desire to try 
The dangerous course of charming poetry ; 
Forbear in fruitless verse to lose your time, 
Or take for genius the desire of rhyme ; 10 

Fear the allurements of a specious bait, 
And well consider your own force and weight. 

Nature abounds in wits of every kind, 
And for each author can a talent find : 
One may in verse describe an amorous flame, 15 
Another sharpen a short epigram : 
Waller a hero's mighty acts extol, 
Spenser sing Rosalind in pastoral : 
But authors that themselves too much esteem, 
Lose their own genius, and mistake their theme; 10 
Thus in times past Dubartas vainly writ, 
Allaying sacred truth with trilling wit, 
Impertinently, and without delight, 
Described the Israelites' triumphant flight 
And following Moses o'er the sandy plain, 
Perish'd with Pharaoh in the Arabian mam. 

Whate'er you write of pleasant or sublime, 
Always let sense accompany your rhyme : 
Falsely they soem each other to opposo ; 
Rhyme must bo made with reason's laws to close : M 
And when to conquer her you bend your force, 
The mind will triumph in tho noblo course ; 
To reason's yoke she quickly will incline, 
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine : 



But if neglected will as easily stray, M 

And master reason which she should obey. 
Love reason then ; and let whate'er you write 
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light. 
Most writers, mounted on a resty D 
Extravagant and senseless objects choose; 
They think they err, if in their verse they fall 
On any thought that 's plain or natural : 
Fly this excess ; and let Italians bo 
Vain authors of false glittering poetry. 
All ought to aim at senso ; but most in vain ■ 
Strive the hard pass and slippery path to gain : 
You drown, if to the right or left you stray ; 
Reason to go has often but one way. 
Sometimes an author, fond of his own thought, 
Pursues its object till it's over-wroughtg 
If he describes a house, he show 
And after walks you round from place to place; 
Here is a vista, there the doors unfold. 
Balconies here are ballustred with gold ; 
Then counts the rounds and ovals in the hall . 
i toons, friezes, and th< 

Tired with his tedious pomp away I run. 

And skip o'er twenty pages to be gone. 

Of such descriptions the vain follj 

And shun their barren superfluity. 

All that is needless carefully avoid ; 

The mind once satisfied is quickly cloyM: 

He cannot write who knows not to five o'er; 

To mend one fault he makes a hundred more : 

A verso was weak, you turn it. is: 

And grow obscure, foi tould be lot 

Some are not gaudy, but are Bal and dry; 

Not to be low, another son- 1 m high. 

Would you of evarj i 

In win our discourse and phra 



438 



THE ART OF POETRY. 



A frozen style that neither ebbs nor flows, 
Instead of pleasing makes us gape and doze. 
Those tedious authors are esteem'd by none, 
Who tire us, humming the same heavy tone. 
Happy who in his verse can gently steer, 7S 

From grave to light ; from pleasant to severe : 
His works will be admired wherever found, 
And oft with buyers will be compass'd round. 
In all you write be neither low nor vile : 
The meanest theme may have a proper style. ^ 

The dull burlesque appear'd with impudence, 
And pleased by novelty in spite of sense. 
All, except trivial points, grew out of date ; 
Parnassus spoke the cant of Billingsgate : 
Boundless and mad, disorder'd rhyme was seen : M 
Disguised Apollo changed to Harlequin. 
This plague, which first in country towns began, 
Cities and kingdoms quickly over-ran ; 
The dullest scribblers some admirers found, 
And the Mock Tempest was a while renown'd : w 
But this low stuff the town at last despised, 
And scorn'd the folly that they once had prized ; 
Distinguish'd dull from natural and plain, 
And left the villages to Flecnoe's reign. 
Let not so mean a style your muse debase ; 95 
But learn from Butler the buffooning grace : 
And let burlesque in ballads be employ'd ; 
Yet noisy bombast carefully avoid, 
Nor think to raise, though on Pharsalia's plain, 
" Millions of mourning mountains of the slain :" 100 
Nor with Dubartas bridle up the floods, 
And periwig with wool the baldpate woods. 
Choose a just style ; be grave without constraint, 
Great without pride, and lovely without paint : 
Write what your reader may be pleased to hear: 105 
And for the measure have a careful ear. 
On easy numbers fix your happy choice ; 
Of jarring sounds avoid the odious noise : 
The fullest verse and the most labour'd sense 
Displease us, if the ear once take offence. 110 

Our ancient verse, as homely as the times, ' 
Was rude, unmeasured, overclogg'd with rhymes; 
Number and cadence, that have since been shown, 
To those unpolish'd writers were unknown. 
Fairfax was he, who, in that darker age, 115 

By his just rules restrain'd poetic rage; 
Spenser did next in Pastorals excel, 
And taught the noble art of writing well : 
To stricter rules the stanza did restrain, 
And found for poetry a richer vein. 12 ° 

Then Davenant came; who, with a new-found art, 
Changed all, spoil'd all, and had his way apart : 
His haughty muse all others did despise, 
And thought in triumph to bear off the prize, 
'Till the sharp-sighted critics of the times, 125 

In their Mock-Gondibert, exposed his rhymes ; 
The laurels he pretended did refuse, 
And dash'd the hopes of his aspiring muse. 
This headstrong writer, falling from on high, 
Made following authors take less liberty. 13 ° 

Waller came last, but was the first whose art 
Just weight and measure did to verse impart ; 
That of a well-placed word could teach the force, 
And show'd for poetry a nobler course : 
His happy genius did our tongue refine, 135 

And easy words with pleasing numbers join : 
His verses to good method did apply, 
And changed hard discord to soft harmony. 
Allown'd his laws; which, long approved and tried, 
To present authors now may be a guide. M0 



Tread boldly in his steps, secure from fear, 
And be, like him, in your expressions clear. 
If in your verse you drag, and sense delay, 
My patience tires, my fancy goes astray ; 
And from your vain discourse I turn my mind, H5 
Nor search an author troublesome to find. 
There is a kind of writer pleased with sound, 
Whose fustian head with clouds is compass'd round; 
No reason can disperse them with its light : 
Learn then to think ere you pretend to write. 15 ° 
As your idea 's clear, or else obscure, 
The expression follows perfect or impure : 
What we conceive with ease we can express : 
Words to the notions flow with readiness. 

Observe the language well in all you write, 155 
And swerve not from it in your loftiest flight. 
The smoothest verse and the exactest sense 
Displease us, if ill English give offence : 
A barbarous phrase no reader can approve ; 
Nor bombast, noise, or affectation love. 16 ° 

In short, without pure language, what you write 
Can never yield us profit or delight. 
Take time for thinking ; never work in haste ; 
And value not yourself for writing fast. 
A rapid poem, with such fury writ, 165 

Shows want of judgment, not abounding wit. 
More pleased we are to see a river lead 
His gentle streams along a flowery mead, 
Than from high banks to hear loud torrents roar, 
With foamy waters on a muddy shore. 1 '° 

Gently make haste, of labour not afraid ; 
A hundred times consider what you 've said : 
Polish, repolish, every colour lay, 
And sometimes add, but oftener take away. 
'Tis not enough when swarming faults are writ, 175 
That here and there are-scatter'd sparks of wit : 
Each object must be fix'd in the due place, 
And differing parts have corresponding grace : 
Till by a curious art disposed, we find 
One perfect whole, of all the pieces join'd. 18 ° 

Keep to your subject close in all you say ; 
Nor for a sounding sentence ever stray. 
The public censure for your writings fear, 
And to yourself be critic most severe. 
Fantastic wits their darling follies love : 185 

But find you faithful friends that will reprove, 
That on your works may look with careful eyes, 
And of your faults be zealous enemies : 
Lay by an author's pride and vanity, 
And from a friend a flatterer descry, wo 

Who seems to like, but means not what he says : 
Embrace true counsel, but suspect false praise. 
A sycophant will everything admire : 
Each verse, each sentence sets his soul on fire : 
All is divine ! there 's not a word amiss ! 19s 

He shakes with joy, and weeps with tenderness; 
He overpowers you with his mighty praise. 
Truth never moves in those impetuous ways : 
A faithful Mend is careful of your fame, 
And freely will your heedless errors blame ; 200 
He cannot pardon a neglected line, 
But verse to rule and order will confine. 
Reprove of words the too affected sound : 
Here the sense flags, and your expression 's round, 
Your fancy tires, and your discourse grows vain, 
Your terms improper, make them just and plain. 
Thus 'tis a faithful friend will freedom use ; 
But authors, partial to their darling muse, 
Think to protect it they have just pretence, 
And at your friendly counsel take offence. 21 



THE ART OF POETRY. 






Said you of this, that the expression 's flat ? 

Your servant, Sir, you must excuse me that, 

He answers you. This wor '• no grace, 

Pray leave it out: That, Sir, 's the properest place. 

This turn I like not : 'Tis approved by alL 2U 

Thus, resolute not from one fault to fall, 

If there 's a syllable of which you doubt, 

'Tis a sure reason not to blot it out. 

Yet still he says you may his faults confute, 

And over him your power is absolute : 

But of his feign'd humility take heed ; 

Tis a bait hud to make you hear him read. 

And when he leaves you happy in his muse, 

Restless he runs some other to abuse, 

And often finds ; for, in our scribbling times ^ 

No fool can want a sot to praise his rhymes; 

The flattest work has ever, in the court, 

Met with some zealous ass for its support : 

And in all times a forward scribbling fop 

Has found some greater fool to cry him up. ao 



CANTO II. 



PASTORAL. 



As a fair nymph, when rising from her bed, 

With sparkling diamonds dresses not her head, 

But without gold, or pearl, or costly scents, 

Gathers from neighbouring fields her ornaments ; 

Such, lovely in its dress, but plain withal, 

Ought to appear a perfect Pastoral : 

Its humble method nothing has of fierce, 

But hates the rattling of a lofty verse : 

There native beauty pleases, and excites, 

And never with harsh sounds the ear affrights. 24 ° 

But in this style a poet, often spent, 

In rage throws by his rural instrument, 

And vainly, when disorder'd thoughts abound, 

Amidst the Eclogue makes the trumpet sound : 

Pan flies alarm'd into the neighbouring woods, M5 

And frighted nymphs dive down into the floods. 

Opposed to this another, low in style, 

Makes shepherds speak a language base and vile : 

His writings, flat and heavy, without sound, 

ng the earth, and creeping on the ground; lso 
You 'd swear that Randal, in his rustic strains, 
Again was quavering to the country swains, 
And changing, without care of sound or dress, 
Strephon and Phyllis into Tom and Bi 
'Twixt these extremes 'tis hard to keep the right ; 
For guides take Virgil, and read Theocrite : 
Be their just writings, by the gods inspired, 
Your constant pattern practised and admired. 
By them alone you '11 easily comprehend 
How poets, without shame, may condescend ce " 
To sing of gardens, fields, of flowers, and fruit, 
To stir up shepherds, and to tune the lluto ; 
Of love's rewards to tell the happy hour, 
Daphne a tree, Narcissus made a (lower, 
And by what means the Eclogue yet has power >■ 
To make tho woods worthy a conqueror : 
This of their writings is the grace and night : 
Their risings lofty, yet not out of 



The Elegy, that loves a mournful style, 
With unbound hair weeps at a funeral pilo ; 



no 



It paints the lovi I 

A mistress flatters, thi 

But well these raptures if you 'li i . 
You must know love as well 
I hate those lukewarm auto 
In a cold stylo de 

igh by ruli 
Their sluggish muse whip to an ai 
Their feign'd transporl at ilat and i 

They always si_'h, and alwaj 
Adore their priSOD, and their sulfei 
Make sense and reason quarr' I lease. 

not of old iii thi ' mo, 

That smooth Tibullus made his amorous moan ; 
Nor Ovid, when, instructed fr *• 

By nature's rules he 1 1 
The heart in Elegies forms tho discourse. 

ODE. 

The Ode is bolder, and has greater foi 
Mounting to heaven in her ambitious Ai 
Amongst the gods and 
Of Pisa's wrestlers tells the sinewy I 
And sings the dusty conqueror's glorious courso : 
To Simois' streams does fierce Achilles 1 
And makes the Ganges bow to Bri; 
Sometimes she flies like an indusl 
And robs the flowers by nat l 
Describes the shephei' i and bliss, 

And boasts from Phyllis to surprise a kiss, 
When gently she resists with feign'd ret 
That what she grants d . force: 3 ° 

Her generous style ai random oft will part, 
And by a brave disorder shows her art. 
Unlike those fearful poets, whose cold rhyme 
In all their raptures keeps exactest 
That sin.; the illustrious hero's mighty praise a06 
(Lean writers !) by the terms of weeks 
And dare not from lea-* 
But take all towns by strictest rules of art : 
Apollo drives those fops from bis 

And some have Said, that once the humorOUfl 

Resolving all such scribblers to confov '" 

For the short Sonnet i bound : 

Set rules for thejUBt mi 

Tho easy running and alternate rh 

But above all, those li 

Which in these writing 

Forbad an u Id find a ] 

■ nested word app 
A fan 1 bo 

Wort' i ; 

A hundred scribbling authors, without ground, 

Believe they have this only phosniz found : 
When yet tho ex 

The rest but lit t ■ ■ 

aovell'd to the i 
Closing the sense h it) 

'Tis hard to fit the reason to the ri . 

Tho Epigram, with little 
Is one 

The v 

To their false pli 



But public favour so increased their pride, 

They overwhelm'd Parnassus with their tide. 

The Madrigal at first was overcome, 

And the proud Sonnet fell by the same doom ; 

With these grave Tragedy adorn'd her flights, 

And mournful Elegy her funeral rites : 34 ° 

A hero never fail'd them on the stage, 

Without his point a lover durst not rage ; 

The amorous shepherds took more care to prove 

True to their point, than faithful to their love. 

Each word like Janus had a double face : 345 

And prose, as well as verse, allow'd it place : 

The lawyer with conceits adorn'd his speech, 

The parson without quibbling could not preach. 

At last affronted reason look'd about, 

And from all serious matters shut them out : 350 

Declared that none should use them without shame, 

Except a scattering in the Epigram ; 

Provided that by art, and in due time 

They turn'd upon the thought, and not the rhyme. 

Thus in all parts disorders did abate : s 55 

Yet quibblers in the court had leave to prate : 

Insipid jesters, and unpleasant fools, 

A corporation of dull punning drolls. 

'Tis not, but that sometimes a dexterous muse 

May with advantage a tum'd sense abuse, 36 ° 

And on a word may trifle with address ; 

But above all avoid the fond excess ; 

And think not when your verse and sense are lame, 

With a dull point to tag your Epigram. 

Each poem his perfection has apart ; 3K 

The British round in plainness shows his art. 
The Ballad, though the pride of ancient time, 
Has often nothing but his humorous rhyme ; 
The Madrigal may softer passions move, 
And breathe the tender ecstasies of love. ^° 

Desire to show itself, and not to wrong, 
Arm'd Virtue first with Satire in its tongue. 



Lucilius was the man who, bravely bold, 
To Roman vices did this mirror hold, 
Protected humble goodness from reproach, 3 ' 5 
Show'd worth on foot, and rascals in the coach. 
Horace his pleasing wit to this did add, 
And none uncensured could be fool or mad : 
Unhappy was that wretch, whose name might be 
Squared to the rules of their sharp poetry. 3S0 
Persius obscure, but full of sense and wit, 
Affected brevity in all he writ : 
And Juvenal, learned as those times could be, 
Too far did stretch his sharp hyperbole ; 
Though horrid truths through all his labours shine, 
In what he writes there 's something of divine, 3S0 
Whether he blames the Caprean debauch, 
Or of Sej amis' fall tells the approach, 
Or that he makes the trembling senate come 
To the stern tyrant to receive their doom ; 300 
Or Roman vice in coarsest habits shows, 
And paints an empress reeking from the stews : 
In all he writes appears a noble fire ; 
To follow such a master then desire. 
Chaucer alone, fix'd on this solid base, 395 

In his old style conserves a modern grace : 
Too happy, if the freedom of his rhymes 
Offended not the method of our times. 
The Latin writers decency neglect ; 
But modern authors challenge our respect, 400 
And at immodest writings take offence, 
If clean expression cover not the sense. 



I love sharp Satire, from obsceneness free ; 

Not impudence that preaches modesty : 

.Our English, who in malice never fail, 405 

Hence in lampoons and libels learn to rail ; 

Pleasant detraction, that by singing goes 

From mouth to mouth, and as it marches grows : 

Our freedom in our poetry we see, 

That child of joy begot by liberty. 410 

But, vain blasphemer, tremble when you choose 

God for the subject of your impious muse : 

At last those jests, which libertines invent, 

Bring the lewd author to just punishment. 

EVn in a song there must be art and sense : 415 

Yet sometimes we have seen that wine, or chance, 

Have warm'd cold brains, and given dull writers 

mettle, 
And furnish'd out a scene for Mr. Settle. 
But for one lucky hit, that made thee please, 
Let not thy folly grow to a disease, 42n 

Nor think thyself a wit ; for in our age 
If a warm fancy does some fop engage, 
He neither eats nor sleeps till he has writ, 
But plagues the world with his adulterate wit. 
Nay 'tis a wonder, if, in his dire rage, 425 

He prints not his dull follies for the stage ; 
And in the front of all his senseless plays, 
Makes David Logan crown his head with bays. 



CANTO III. 



There 's not a monster bred beneath the sky, 

But, well-disposed by art, may please the eye : 43 ° 

A curious workman, by his skill divine, 

From an ill object makes a good design. 

Thus to delight us, Tragedy, in tears 

For CEdipus, provokes our hopes and fears : 

For parricide Orestes ask relief; 

And to increase our pleasure causes grief. 

You then that in this noble art would rise, 

Come ; and in lofty verse dispute the prize. 

Would you upon the stage acquire renown, 

And for your judges summon all the town? 440 

Would you your works for ever should remain, 

And after ages pass'd be sought again 1 

In all you write, observe with care and art 

To move the passions, and incline the heart. 

If in a labour'd act, the pleasing rage 

Cannot our hopes and fears by turns engage, 

Nor in our mind a feeling pity raise ; 

In vain with learned scenes you fill your plays : 

Your cold discourse can never move the mind 

Of a stern critic, naturally unkind ; 45 ° 

Who, justly tired with your pedantic flight, 

Or falls asleep, or censures all you write. 

The secret is, attention first to gain ; 

To move our minds, and then to entertain : 

That from the very opening of the scenes, ** 

The first may show us what the author means. 

I 'm tired to see an actor on the stage, 

That knows not whether he's to laugh or rage; 

Who, an intrigue unravelling in vain, 

Instead of pleasing keeps my mind in pain. 46 ° 

I 'd rather much the nauseous dunce should say 

Downright, my name is Hector in the play ; 



THE ART OP POETRY. 



441 



Than with a mass of miracles, ill-join'd, 

Confound my ears and not instruct my mind. 

The subject's never soon enough express'd ; 4M 

Your place of action must be ftx'd, and rest. 

A Spanish poet may, with good event, 

In one day's space whole ages represent ; 

There oft the hero of a wandering stage 

Begins a child, and ends the play of age : 47 ° 

But we that are by reason's rules confined, 

Will, that with art the poem be desigu'd, 

That unity of action, time, and place, 

Keep the stage full, and all our labours grace. 

Write not what cannot be with ease conceived; 4 ' 5 

Some truths may be too strong to be believed. 

A foolish wonder cannot entertain : 

My mind 's not moved if your discourse be vain. 

You may relate what would offend the eye : 

Seeing, indeed, would better satisfy ; 4SU 

But there are objects that a curious art 

Hides from the eyes, yet offers to the heart. 

The mind is most agreeably surprised, 

When a well-woven subject, long disguised, 

You on a sudden artfully unfold, 4S5 

And give the whole another face and mould. 

At first the Tragedy was void of art ; 

A song ; where each man danced and sung his 

part, 
And, of god Bacchus roaring out the praise, 
Sought a good vintage for their jolly days : 400 
Then wine and joy were seen in each man's eyes, 
And a fat goat was the best singer's prize. 
Thespis was first, who, all besmear'd with lee, 
Began this pleasure for posterity ; 
And with his carted actors, and a song, 495 

Amused the people as he pass'd along. 
Next, ./Eschylus the different persons placed, 
And with a better mask his players graced : 
Upon a theatre his verse express'd, 
And show'd his hero with a buskin dress'd. 50 ° 
Then Sophocles, the genius of his age, 
Increased the pomp and beauty of the stage, 
Engaged the chorus song in every part, 
And polish'd rugged verse by rules of art : 



Ver. 467. A Spanish poet may, &c.J This remark on the 
Spanish drama may be illustrated by a citation from an 
entertaining work on the origin of Spanish Poetry; where 
the pleasing elegance of nature is said to have been dis- 
figured by a combination of pedants, in the seventeenth 
century ; "who losing sight of every bi':iiilif'ul idea, con- 
temning at the same time the rules of art, made way for 
their insipid vagaries. These unmerciful despoilers may 
be classed under three heads in Spain : The first violated ail 
the laws of the drama, and introduced innumerable defects 
on the stage, which have never been eradicated. Of these 
Christoval de Virues, Lopo de Vega, and Hontalban, were 
the principal leaders ; and were followed by Calderon, Sa- 
lazar, Candamo, Zarnora, and others; who, to the most 
glaring improprieties, superadded a ridiculous bombast and 
affectation of language, which became superlatively intole- 
rable and absurd. The second class consisted of those, who, 
in imitation of the Italians and their unnatural concetti, 
introduced such an extravagant profusion of false sentiment, 
equivocal expression, and swollen periods, as recalled to 
mind those ancient times, when such men bad been so 
severely handled by Horace; and not content with doing so 
much injury to the drama, they further extended it to lyric 
compositions. The third class was distinguished by the 
pedantic appellation of cultos, or ' the refined,' which com- 
prehended a set ot puritans, who, out of false zeal tor the 
chastity ot the muses, endeavoured to introduce a greater 
purity of diction, but, by their awkward and Ignorant pre- 
sumption, substituted obscure and unknown expressions to 
a new and turgid dialect," &c. Letters from an English 
Traveller in Spain, in 177S, on the Origin and Progress of 

1 try in that Kingdom. 8vo. Loud. 17bl. p. 'HA, et scq. 

Todd. 



He iu the Greek did those perfections gain, ws 
Which the weak Latin never could attain. 
Our pious fathers, in their priest rid age, 
As impious and profane, abhorr'd the stage ; 
A troop of silly pilgrims, as 'tis said, 
Foolishly zealous, scandalously play'd, 6W 

Instead of heroes, and of love's complaints, 
The angels, God, the Virgin, and the saints. 
At last, right reason did his laws reveal, 
And show'd the folly of their ill-placed zeal, 
Silenced those nonconformists of the age, 6U 

And raised the lawful heroes of the stage : 
Only the Athenian mask was laid aside, 
And chorus by the music was supplied. 
Ingenious love, inventive in new arts, 
Mingled in plays, and quickly touch'd our 
hearts : iia 

This passion never could resistance find, 
But knows the shortest passage to the mind. 
Paint then, I 'm pleased my hero be in love ; 
But let him not like a tame shepherd move ; 
Let not Achilles be like Thyrsis seen, 
Or for a Cyrus show an Artamen ; 
That struggling oft his passions we may find, 
The frailty, not the virtue of his mind. 
Of romance heroes shun the low design ; 
Yet to great hearts some human frailties join : M0 
Achilles must with Homer's heat engage ; 
For an affront I 'in pleased to see him rage. 
Those little failings in your hero's heart 
Show that of man and nature he has part : 
To leave known rules you cannot be allow'd ; 535 
Make Agamemnon covetous and proud, 
YEueas in religious rites austere ; 
Keep to each man his proper character. 
Of countries and of times the humours know ; 
From different climates different customs grow: 5 - 10 
And strive to shun their fault who vainly dress 
An antique hero like some modern ass ; 
Who make old Romans like our English move, 
Show Cato sparkish, or make Brutus lovp. 
In a romance those errors are excused : 
There 'tis enough that, reading, we 're amused : 
Rules too severe would there be useless found ; 
But the strict scene must have ajuster bound : 
Exact decorum we must always find. 
If then you form some hero iu your mind, 66U 
Be sure your image with itself agree; 
For what he first appears, he still must be. 
Affected wits will naturally incline 
To paint their figures by their own design: 
Your bully poets, bully heroes write : 
Chapman in Bussy D'Ambois took delight. 
And thought perfection was to hull' and fight. 
Wise nature by variety docs please; 
Clothe d -ina differing dress: 

Hold anger in rough haughty words appears: M0 

is humble, and dissolves in tears. 
Make not your Hecuba with fury rage, 

w a ranting grief upon the 
I Ir tell in vain how the rough Tanais bore 

His sevenfold waters to the Euxine shore: SM 
These swoll'n expressions, this affected noise, 
Shows like some pedant that declaims to boys. 
In sorrow you must softer methods keep ; 

\n.\ io excite our tears yourself must weep. 
Those noisy words, with which ill plays abound, 5 " 

Come not from hearts that are in sadness drown'd. 

The theatre for ■* young poet'f rl 

Is a bold venture in our knowing t 



442 



THE ART OF POETRY. 



An author cannot easily purchase fame; 
Critics are always apt to hiss, and blame : 57s 

You may be judged by every ass in town, 
The privilege is bought for half-a-crown. 
To please, you must a hundred changes try ; 
Sometimes be humble, then must soar on high : 
In noble thoughts must everywhere abound, 6S0 
Be easy, pleasant, solid, and profound : 
To these you must surprising touches join, 
And show us a new wonder in each line ; 
That all, in a just method well-design' d, 
Mr y leave a strong impression in the mind. 6S5 
These are the arts that Tragedy maintain : 



But the Heroic claims a loftier strain. 

In the narration of some great design, 

Invention, art, and fable, all must join : 

Here fiction must employ its utmost grace ; 69u 

All must assume a body, mind, and face : 

Each virtue a divinity is seen ; 

Prudence is Pallas, beauty Paphos' queen. 

'Tis not a cloud from whence swift lightnings fly ; 

But Jupiter, that thunders from the sky : M5 

Nor a rough storm that gives the sailor pain ; 

But angry Neptune ploughing up the main : 

Echo 's no more an empty airy sound ; 

But a fair nymph that weeps her lover drown'd. 

Thus, in the endless treasure of his mind, 60 ° 

The poet does a thousand figures find : 

Around the work his ornaments he pours, 

And strows with lavish hand his opening flowers. 

'Tis not a wonder if a tempest bore 

The Trojan fleet against the Libyan shore; 605 

From faithless fortune this is no surprise, 

For every day 'tis common to our eyes ; 

But angry Juno, that she might destroy 

And overwhelm the rest of ruin'd Troy ; 

That iEolus, with the fierce goddess join'd, " 61 ° 

Open'd the hollow prisons of the wind ; 

Till angry Neptune, looking o'er the main, 

Rebukes the tempest, calms the waves again, 

Their vessels from the dangerous quicksands 

steers ; 
These are the springs that move our hopes and 

fears ; 615 

Without these ornaments before our eyes, 
The unsinew'd poem languishes and dies : 
Your poet in his art will always fail, 
And tell you but a dull insipid tale. 
In vain have our mistaken authors tried 6a) 

To lay these ancient ornaments aside, 
Thinking our God, and prophets that he sent, 
Might act like those the poets did invent, 
To fright poor readers in each line with hell, 
And talk of Satan, Ashtaroth, and Bel ; 6M 

The mysteries which Christians must believe, 
Disdain such shifting pageants to receive : 
The gospel offers nothing to our thoughts 
But penitence, or punishment for faults ; 
And mingling falsehoods with those mysteries, 630 
Would make our sacred truths appear like lies. 
Besides, what pleasure can it be to hear 
The howlings of repining Lucifer, 
Whose rage at your imagined hero flies, 
And oft with God himself disputes the prize 1 635 
Tasso you '11 say has done it with applause : 
It is not here I mean to judge his cause : 



Yet though our age has so extoll'd his name, 

His works had never gain'd immortal fame, 

If holy Godfrey in his ecstasies frl ° 

Had only conquer'd Satan on his knees ; 

If Tancred and Armida's pleasing form 

Did not his melancholy theme adorn. 

'Tis not, that Christian poems ought to be 

Fill'd with the fictions of idolatry ; W5 

But in a common subject to reject 

The gods, and heathen ornaments neglect 

To banish Tritons who the seas invade, 

To take Pan's whistle, or the Fates degrade, 

To hinder Charon in his leaky boat, ° 50 

To pass the shepherd with the man of note, 

Is with vain scruples to disturb your mind, 

And search perfection you can never find : 

As well they may forbid us to present 

Prudence or Justice for an ornament, &S5 

To paint old Janus with his front of brass, 

And take from Time his scythe, his wings and glass; 

And everywhere, as 'twere idolatry, 

Banish descriptions from our poetry. 

Leave them their pious follies to pursue ; 

But let our reason such vain fears subdue : 

And let us not, amongst our vanities, 

Of the true God create a God of lies. 

In fable we a thousand pleasures see, 

And the smooth names seem made for poetry ; 6b5 

As Hector, Alexander, Helen, Phyllis, 

Ulysses, Agamemnon, and Achilles : 

In such a crowd, the poet were to blame 

To choose king Chilperic for his hero's name. 

Sometimes the name, being well or ill applied, 67n 

Will the whole fortune of your work decide. 

Would you your reader never should be tired ? 

Choose some great hero, fit to be admired, 

In courage signal, and in virtue bright, 

Let e'en his very failings give delight ; 6?5 

Let his great actions our attention bind, 

Like Caesar, or like Scipio, frame his mind, 

And not like QSdipus his perjured race; 

A common conqueror is a theme too base. 

Choose not your tale of accidents too full ; 6S0 

Too much variety may make it dull : 

Achilles' rage alone, when wrought with skill, 

Abundantly does a whole Iliad fill. 

Be your narrations lively, short, and smart ; 

In your descriptions show your noblest art ; 6S5 

There 'tis your poetry may be employ'd ; 

Yet you must trivial accidents avoid. 

Nor imitate that fool, who, to describe 

The wondrous marches of the chosen tribe, 

Placed on the sides, to see their armies pass, 69 ° 

The fishes staring through the liquid glass ; 

Described a child, who, with his little hand, 

Pick'd up the shining pebbles from the sand. 

Such objects are too mean to stay our sight; 

Allow your work a just and nobler flight. 695 

Be your beginning plain ; and take good heed 

Too soon you mount not on the airy steed; 

Nor tell your reader in a thundering verse, 

" I sing the conqueror of the universe." 

What can an author after this produce ] 

The labouring mountain must bring forth a mouse. 

Much better are we pleased with his address, 

Who, without making such vast promises, 

Says, in an easier style and plainer sense, 

" I sing the combats of that pious prince, 

Who from the Phrygian coast his armies bore, 

And landed first on the Lavinian shore." 



THE ART OF I'OETltY. 



443 



His opening muse sets not the world on fire, 

And yet perforins more than we can require: 

Quickly you '11 hear him celebrate the fame 7I ° 

And future glory of the Roman name ; 

Of Styx and Acheron describe the floods, 

And Caesar's wandering in the Elysian woods : 

With figures numberless his story grace, 

And everything in beauteous colours trace. 7l5 

At once you may be pleasing and sublime : 

I hate a heavy melancholy rhyme : 

I 'd rather read Orlando's comic tale, 

Than a dull author always stiff and stale, 

Who thinks himself dishonour'd in his style, 7a) 

If on his works the Graces do but smile. 

'Tis said, that Homer, matchless in his art, 

Stole Venus' girdle to engage the heart : 

His works indeed vast treasures do unfold, 

And whatsoe'er he touches turns to gold : ?i ' 

All in his hands new beauty does acquire ; 

He always pleases, and can never tire. 

A happy warmth he everywhere may boast ; 

Nor is he in too long digressions lost : 

His verses without rule a method find, ' 30 

And of themselves appear in order joiu'd : 

All without trouble answers his intent ; 

Each syllable is tending to the event. 

Let his example your endeavours raise : 

To love his writings is a kind of praise. W 

A poem, where we all perfections find, 
Is not the work of a fantastic mind : 
There must be care, and time, and skill, and 

pains ; 
Not the first heat of unexperienced brains. 
Yet sometimes artless poets, when the rage ~ m 
Of a warm fancy does their minds engage, 
Puff d with vain pride, presume they understand, 
And boldly take the trumpet in their hand ; 
Their fustian muse each accident confounds ; 
Nor can she fly, but rise by leaps and bounds, '* 
Till, their small stock of learning quickly spent, 
Their poem dies for want of nourishment. 
In vain mankind the hol-braiu'd fool decries, 
No branding censures can unveil his eyes ; 
With impudence the laurel they invade, ' 50 

Resolved to like the monsters they have made. 
Virgil, compared to thorn, is Hat and dry ; 
And Homer understood not poetry : 
Against their merit if this age rebel, 
To future times for justico they appeal. 753 

But waiting till mankind shall do them right, 
And bring their works triumphantly to light ; 
Neglected heaps we in bye-corners lay, 
Where they become to worms and moths a 

prey ; 
Forgot, in dust and cobwebs lot them rest, ? " 
Whilst we return from whence we first digrcss'd. 

The great success which tragic writers found, 
In Athens first tho comedy renown'd, 
The abusive Grecian there, by pleasing ways, 
Dispersed his natural malice in his plays: 
Wisdom and virtue, honour, wit, and senso, 
Were subject to buffooning insolence : 
Poets were publicly approved, and sought, 
That vice cxtoll'd, and virtue sot at nought; 
A Socrates himself, in that loose age, ; ~" 

Was made the pastime of u scolling si B 
At last tho public took in hand the can 
And cured this madness by the power of laws; 
Forbad at any time, or any pl.ico, 
To name the person, or describe tho nice. ^ 



The stage its ancient fury thus let fall, 

iedy diverted without 
By mild reproofs recovered minds discs 

And sparing persons innocently ph 

Each one was nicely shown in thl 

And smiled to think ho was not meant the uss: 

A miser oft would laugh at fir-it, to and 

A faithful draught of his own BOldld mind ; 

And lops wero with such cue and cunning writ, 

They liked the piece for which thcniscl'. 

You then that would the comic laurels wear, '* 

To study nature be your only I 

Whoe'er knows man and by a curious art 

Discerns the bidden the heart ; 

lie who observes, and naturally can paint no 

The jealous fool, the fawning sycophant, 

A sober wit, an enterpi 

A humorous Otter, or a lludibras; 

May safely in those uublo lists engage, 

And make them act and speak upon tho stage. •* 

Strive to be natural in all you write, 

And paint with colours that may please the sight. 

Nature in various figures does abound ; 

And in each mind are different humours found : 

A glance, a touch, discovers to the wise ; 

But every man has not discerning i 

All-changing time docs also change tho mind; 

And different ages different pleasures find : 

Youth, hot and furious, canuot brook delay, 

By flattering vice is easily led away ; 

Vain in discourse, inconstant in desire. 

In censure, rash ; in pleasures, all on fire. 

The manly age dees steadier thoughts enjoy ; 

Power and ambition do his soul employ : 

Against the turns of fate he sets his mind; 

And by the past the future hopes to find. 

Decrepit age, still adding to his stores, 

For others heaps the treasure he adores ; 

In all his actions keeps a frozen pace ; 

Past times extols, the present to debase : 

Incapable of pleasures youth abu 

In others blames what age does him ref 

Your actors must by reason bo coutroll'd ; 

Let young men speak like young, old men like old: 

Observe the town, and study well tho court 

For thither various characters resort: 

Thus 'twas great Jonson purchased his renown, 

And iii his art had borne away the crown ; 

If, less desirous of the peoples praise, 

He had not with low farce debased his play 

Mixing dull buffoon'ry with wit n 

And Harlequin with noble Terence join'd. 

When in the Fox 1 Bee the tortoise hias'd, 

I loso the author of the Aid. 

The comic wit, born with a smiling air, 

Must tragic grief and pompous verse forbear; 

Yet may he not, as on B market place, 

With bawdy jesta amuse 
With well bred conversation yon must please. 
And your intrigue unraveilM be with B 
Your action still should 

,in empty scene may lo 6 it - W 

Your bumble style must sometimes gently rise; 
And your discourse sententious be, and 
The passions must to nature ; ; . . . " 

with artful weaving join'd. 
Vivur wit must not unseasonably 

But follow I rer lead the way. 

re how Tei " in » 

, etui lather eludes his amorous sou : 



444 



THE ART OF POETRY. 



Then see that son, whom no advice can move, 

Forget those orders, and pursue his love : 

'Tis not a well-drawn picture we discover : 

'Tis a true son, a father, and a lover. 

I like an author that reforms the age, 85 ° 

And keeps the right decorum of the stage ; 

That always pleases by ju<t reason's rule : 

But for a tedious droll, a quibbling fool, 

Who with low nauseous bawdry fills his plays ; 

Let him be gone, and on two trestles raise 855 

Some Smithfield stage, where he may act his 



And make Jack-Puddings speak to mountebanks. 



CANTO IV. 

In Florence dwelt a doctor of renown, 
The scourge of God, and terror of the town, 
Who all the cant of physic had by heart, 8C0 

And never murder'd but by rules of art. 
The public mischief was his private gain ; 
Children their slaughter'd parents sought in vain : 
A brother here his poison'd brother wept ; 
Some bloodless died, and some by opium slept. 865 
Colds, at his presence, would to frenzies turn ; 
And agues, like malignant fevers, burn. 
Hated, at last, his practice gives him o'er ; 
One friend, unkill'd by drugs, of all his store, 
In his new country-house affords him place ; 8 '° 
'Twas a rich abbot, and a building ass : 
Here first the doctor's talent came in play, 
He seems inspired, and talks like Wren or May : 
Of this new portico condemns the face, 
And turns the entrance to a better place ; 8 ' 5 

Designs the staircase at the other end. 
His friend approves, does for his mason send : 
He comes ; the doctor's arguments prevail. ' 
In short, to finish this our humorous tale, 
He Galen's dangerous science does reject, 8S0 

And from ill doctor turns good architect. 
In this example we may have our part : 
Rather be mason, 'tis a useful art ! 
Than a dull poet ; for that trade accursed 
Admits no mean betwixt the best and worst. SS5 
In other sciences, without disgrace, 
A candidate may fill a second place ; 
But poetry no medium can admit, 
No reader suffers an indifferent wit : 
The ruin'd stationers against him bawl, 890 

And Herringman degrades him from his stall. 
Burlesque, at least, our laughter may excite ; 
But a cold writer never can delight. 
The Counter-Scuffle has more wit and art, 
Than the stiff formal style of Gondibert. 895 

Be not affected with that empty praise 
Which your vain flatterers will sometimes raise, 
And when you read, with ecstasy will say, 
" The finish'd piece ! the admirable play ! " 
Which, when exposed to censure and. to light, 900 
Cannot endure a critics' piercing sight. 
A hundred authors' fates have been foretold, 
And Shadwell's works are printed, but not sold. 
Hear all the world ; consider every thought ; 
A fool by chance may stumble on a fault : 9U5 

Yet, when Apollo does your muse inspire, 
Be not impatient to expose your fire ; 



Nor imitate the Settles of our times, 
Those tuneful readers of their own dull rhymes, 
Who seize on all the acquaintance they can meet, 
And stop the passengers that walk the street : an 
There is no sanctuary you can choose 
For a defence from their pursuing muse. 
I 've said before, be patient when they blame ; 
To alter for the better is no shame. 915 

Yet yield not to a fool's impertinence : 
Sometimes conceited sceptics void of sense, 
By their false taste, condemn some finish'd part, 
And blame the noblest flights of wit and art. 
In vain their fond opinions you deride, 92 ° 

With their loved follies they are satisfied ; 
And their weak judgment, void of sense and light, 
Thinks nothing can escape their feeble sight : 
Their dangerous counsels do not cure, but wound; 
To shun the storm they run your verse aground, 
And thinking to escape a rock, are drown' d. 926 
Choose a sure judge to censure what you write, 
Whose reason leads, and knowledge gives you 

light, 
Whose steady hand will prove your faithful guide, 
And touch the darling follies you would hide : 93 ° 
He, in your doubts, will carefully advise, 
And clear the mist before your feeble eyes. 
'Tis he will tell you, to what noble height 
A generous muse may sometimes take her flight ; 
When, too much fetter'd with the rules of art, 935 
May from her stricter bounds and limits part : 
But such a perfect judge is hard to see, 
And every rhymer knows not poetry ; 
Nay, some there are for writing verse extoll'd, 
Who know not Lucan's dross from Virgil's gold. 

Would you in this great art acquire renown % 941 
Authors, observe the rules I here lay down. 
In prudent lessons every where abound; 
With pleasant join the useful and the sound : 
A sober reader a vain tale will slight ; 9)5 

He seeks as well instruction as delight. 
Let all your thoughts to virtue be confined, 
Still offering nobler figures to our mind. 
I like not those loose writers, who employ 
Their guilty muse, good manners to destroy ; 95 ° 
Who with false colours still deceive our eyes, 
And show us vice dress'd in a fair disguise. 
Yet do I not their sullen muse approve, 
Who from all modest writings banish love ; 
That strip the play-house of its chief intrigue, %5 
And make a murderer of Roderigue : 
The lightest love, if decently express'd, 
Will raise no vicious motions in our breast : 
Dido in vain may weep, and ask relief; 
I blame her folly, whilst I share her grief. 960 

A virtuous author, in his charming art, 
To please the sense needs not corrupt the heart : 
His heat will never cause a guilty fire ; 
To follow virtue then be your desire. 
In vain your art and vigour are express'd ; 965 

The obscene expression shows the infected breast. 
But, above all, base jealousies avoid, 
In which detracting poets are employ'd. 
A noble wit dares liberally commend ; 
And scorns to grudge at his deserving friend. 97 ° 
Base rivals, who true wit and merit hate, 
Caballing still against it with the great, 
Maliciously aspire to gain renown, 
By standing up, and pulling others down. 
Never debase yourself by treacherous ways, "* 
Nor by such abject methods seek for praise : 



Let not your only business be to write ; 

Be virtuous, just, and in your friends delight. 

Tis not enough your poems be admired ; 

But strive your eonversation be desired : '•' " 

Write for immortal fame ; nor ever choose 

Gold for the object of a generous muse. 

I know a noble wit may, without crime, 

Receive a lawful tiibute for his time : 

Yet I abhor those writers, who despise 

Their honour ; and alone their profits prize ; 

Who their Apollo basely will degrade, 

And of a noble science make a trade. 

Before kind reason did her light display, 

And government taught morals to obey, 

Men, like wild beasts, did nature's laws pursue, 

They fed on herbs, and drink from rivers drew : 

Their brutal force, on lust and rapine bent, 

Committed murder without punishment : 

Beason at last, by her all-conquering arts, Mo 

Reduced these savages, and tuned their hearts ; 

Mankind from bogs, and woods, and caverns calls, 

And towns and cities fortifies with walls : 

Thus fear of justice made proud rapine cease, 

And shelter'd innocence by laws and peace. 100 ° 

These benefits from poets we received, 
From whence are raised those fictions since be- 
lieved, 
That Orpheus, by his soft harmonious strains, 
Tamed the fierce tigers of the Thracian plains; 
Amphion's notes, by their melodious powers, mi 
Drew rooks and woods, and raised the Thcban 

towers : 
These miracles from numbers did arise : 
Since which, in verse heaven taught his mysteries, 
And by a priest, possess'd with rage divine, 
Apollo spoke from his prophetic shrine. 101 ° 

Soon after Homer the old heroes praised, 
And noble minds by great examples raised ; 
Then Hesiod did his Grecian swains incline 
To till the fields, and prune the bounteous vine. 
Thus useful rides were, by the poets' aid, I015 

In easy numbers to rude men convey'd, 
And pleasingly their precepts did impart ; 
First charm'd the ear, and then engaged the heart : 
The Muses thus their reputation raised, 
And with just gratitude in Greece were praised. 1 " 20 
With pleasure mortals did their wonders see, 
And sacrificed to their divinity; 
But want, at last, base flattery entertain'd, 
And old Parnassus with this rice was stain'd : 
Desire of gain dazzling the poets' e 102S 

Their works were fill'd with fulsome flatteries. 
Thus needy wits a vile revenue made, 
And verse became a mercenary trade. 
Debase not with so mean a vice thy art : 
If gold must be the idol of thy heart, 1030 

Fly, fly the unfruitful Heliconian strand : 
Those streams are not enrich'd with golden sand : 
Great wits, as well as warriors, only gain 
Laurels and honours for their toil and pain. 



But what? an author cannot live on fame, 1UJ5 

Or pay a reckoning with a lofty name : 

A poet to whom fortune is unkind, 

Who when he goi i hardly dined, 

Takes little pleasure in Parnassus' drean 

Or relishes the Heliconian stn 104 ° 

Horace had ease and plenty when he writ, 

And free from cares for money or for meat, 

Did not expect his dinner from his wit. 

'Tis true ; but verse is cherish'd by the great, 

And now none famish who deserve to eat : lws 

What can we fear, when virtue, arts, and sense, 

Receivi propitious influence? 

When a sharp-sighted prince, by early grants, 

Rewards your merits, and prevents your wants? 

Sing then his glory, celebrate his fame ; 

Your noblest theme is hi.-; immortal name. 

Let mighty Spenser raise his reverend hi 

Cowley and Dcnham start up from the dead; 

Waller his age renew, and offerings bring; 

Our monarch's praise let bright-eyed virgins sing ; 

Let Drydcn with new rules our stage reiinc, lus6 

And his great model- form by this design: 

But where 's a second Virgil, to rehearse 

Our hero's glories in his epic \ - 

What Orpheus sing his triumphs o'er the main, ,oco 

And make the hills and forests move again ; 

Show his bold fleet on the Batavian shore, 

And Holland trembling as his cannons roar; 

Paint Europe's balance in his steady hand, 

Whilst the two worlds in expectation stand IWB 

Of peaco or war, that wait on his command .' 

But as I speak, new glories sti ike my eyes. 

Glories, which Heaven itself does give, and prize, 

Blessings of peace : that with their milder rays 

Adorn his reign, and bring Saturalan days : '" 7 " 

Now let rebellion, discord, vice, and rage, 

That have in patriots' forms debauch 'd our ago, 

Vanish with all the ministers of hell : 

His rays their poisonous vapours shall dispel: 

'Tis he alone our safety did create, 

His own firm soul secured the nations' fate, 

Opposed to all the Boutefeus of the state. 

Authors for him your great endeavours raise ; 

The loftiest numbers will but reach his praise. 

For me, whose verse in satire has been bred, 1IS0 

And never durst heroic measures tread ; 

Yet you shall see me, in that famous field, 

With eyes and voice, my best assistance yield ; 

Offer you lessons, that my infant D 

Leamt, when she Horace for her guide did 

choose: 
Second your zeal with wishes, heart, and eyes. 
And alar off hold up the glorious prize. 
But pardon too, if zealous tor the 
\ mi b en er of each noble flight, 
From the fine gold 1 separate the allay, 
And show how hasty writei ies stray : 

Apter to blame, than knowing how to menu ; 
A sharp, but yet a necessary friend. 



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